Page 6 of The Cowboy's Secret Babies

Do you think I need to come home?he’d asked Harlan while they were out chopping wood on Christmas night.

His older brother had held his gaze a little bit too long, the snow coming down hard and the light from inside not quite doing its job.

I do, he’d said quietly.And soon.

That had really cinched it. Ryder hadn’t stayed home then and there. He couldn’t. He’d made commitments to the tour and that meant there were still bulls to ride, as he’d said.

But now it was February. It was a good stopping place, if a man wanted to stop—or needed to press the pause button. A lot of bull riders took off part of the winter anyway, depending on what tour they were signed with. The American Extreme Bull Riders Tour that Ryder had headlined for years now took a break this time of year, then came back in the spring.

Ryder figured he could do the same this year instead of heading down south toward good weather and a beach the way he usually did.

Assuming, that was, that their father was actually as bad as Wilder claimed.

The trouble was, Ryder had the sinking feeling that he was. It was bad enough that Zeke had acted so frail over Christmas, sitting in a chair with a blanket pulled over him like he was feeling the draft from death’s door and was holding it off with a flannel shroud.

Maybe the reality he really didn’t want to face was that it was happening. It was happening, it was bad, and there was no bargaining that away.

When he thought about Zeke’s condition, it made sense that he was here. When he thought about the fact that his father might actually be dying the way he’d told them all he was last Easter, well.

Ryder knew he was doing the right thing.

He just wished he didn’t have to do it.

As he drove along the dirt road that wound its lazy way into the heart of the ranch and up to the sprawling old house where he’d grown up, he didn’t follow it all the way up. There were little dirt roads that pulled off here and there, and he could see smoke coming from the various chimneys that marked the individual cabins that were tucked away in the trees and the rolling hills.

This was where most of his brothers lived, out of sight of each other because a grown man liked a little privacy even here on the family land. But they also liked to stay close enough so that they could all easily pitch in on the ranch work the way Careys had for generations.

Ryder had nothing against ranch work. It was hard, physical labor and the truth was, he’d always liked it. He’d just always also wantedmore. Maybe it was because he was the middle son. He’d known from a very young age that if he ever wanted anything attached to his name that was only his, he had to leave this place to get it.

Today, he passed the turnoff to the piece of land that he’d chosen when he and Wilder had turned eighteen, but had yet to build on. He kept going, and turned down Wilder’s little road instead.

And then there was no getting around it. He was here. He was home.

The moment Wilder saw his truck out front of his cabin, there would be no pretending otherwise. No backing out.

Ryder parked. Then he pushed his way out of the truck and stretched, letting the frigid air slice straight through him with all its teeth. He pulled his cowboy hat down on his head and thought it was a little too familiar, the way his boots crunched into the snow. It was the same as the kick of frigid air against his skin, like a burn.

He was barely halfway across the yard when the front door opened and there was Wilder himself, standing there with the light from inside spilling out all around him, but grinning ear to ear and much brighter.

Idiot, Ryder thought, but he felt the same swell ofrightnesshe always did when he and Wilder were sharing space. They didn’t have to talk about it. It was just…the way things always had been. Twin stuff.

“You made it,” Wilder said, but he was shaking his head. “I expected you to call me from somewhere warm and say you’d changed your mind. That you needed a little R and R down in the Keys or some shit.”

“I did change my mind. But I came anyway.” Ryder eyed his twin. “I hope you’re happy.”

Wilder laughed, because he was one of the few people alive who didn’t find Ryder formidable and intimidating—the others being the rest of their immediate family, possibly another reason he didn’t spend much time here—and met Ryder at the bottom of his porch stairs.

“I am happy. It’s about time.” He clapped Ryder on the back, pulled him in for a hug Ryder returned. Ungraciously. Then Wilder laughed louder at the expression on his twin’s face. “I know, I know. Just look at this winter wonderland all around you. What a nightmare.”

“You’ve been here too long. It’s too cold. Humans aren’t meant to live under five feet of snow for months on end.”

Wilder smirked. “And you, famous rodeo star Ryder Carey, are forced to stay here against your will. What a tragedy. How will you ever survive?”

Ryder shoulder checked his twin as he richly deserved, then smiled past him to where his sister-in-law had come out to stand in the doorway to their little cabin.

“Cat,” he said, and tipped his hat in her direction, opting not to pay close attention to how red-cheeked she was, suggesting that they’d been having a happy little afternoon before he showed up. That he’d interrupted them pleased him. Why should Wilder have any fun? Ryder knew he wouldn’t. Not around here. “A pleasure to see you. And if I didn’t say this at the wedding, it’s a great pity you married so beneath yourself.”

“I tell her every day that she could do better,” Wilder said happily, coming up to the door and grinning at his wife. “She’s ornery, though. Keeps claiming she’ll stay if she wants to stay, thank you very much.”

---