Page 31 of Stolen for Keeps
This house should’ve been full by now. A dog flopping out in the sun, kids dragging mud through the halls, a woman’slaughter carrying from the kitchen to the porch. That was the life I’d drawn in my head a thousand times over, back when I was still that adolescent ranch kid who believed in things. In futures.
But that future never came.
Tessa.
Her name swept in like a wind you couldn’t block. It always did.
Grief didn’t just knock the air out of us. It reached inside and rearranged our bones.
After she died, Dad went quiet. He stopped feeding the horses. Then, he stopped feeding us. It was as if something inside him had been switched off, and no one knew how to turn it back on. I was fourteen. Old enough to understand, but too young to know what to do with the understanding I had.
Elia tried. God, he tried. He kept the ranch going like he could outrun the collapse. Some days, they fought. Other days, the silence was so loud that I wanted to scream just to break it. I didn’t know who to stand with. A brother who kept us going, or a father who wasn’t really there.
I loved them both. God, Ilovedthem both.
My hand scrubbed harder at the floorboards. I scrubbed until my shoulder flared and my fingers cramped. Even then, I didn’t stop. Because work was easier than feeling.
And this house—this house was mine now.
It just didn’t feel like it yet.
Movement shifted across the porch.
A dog was sniffing the vase I’d left there.
“Well, hey there, big fella,” I murmured, stepping out. “Smelling the roses, huh?”
There was no collar. And it was a mix I didn’t recognize. Maybe part long-haired sheepdog, part retriever. Or maybe even part coyote, with that tawny tail and the way he moved,half-wild, half-willing to trust. Probably a stray. But the way he padded up the steps, I was sure he already knew the place.
The dog turned as I picked up the vase.
Five yellow roses. One for each of us. The Lucases.
I set the vase in the living room window, just like Mom used to.
The sight hit deep. My throat tightened as I stared at it. And while I stood there, a heavy coat and four paws leaned against my leg. No sound, no bark. He just pressed into me, like he’d decided I was his for the day.
“You knew Buster, didn’t you?” I patted him. His tail thumped. “Let’s see if El’s glovebox still hides some treats.”
He followed me to the truck. And damn if he didn’t beat me there, his head already poking in before the door was halfway open.
“Your lucky day,” I said, tossing him a handful. He wolfed them down like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“That’s all I’ve got, buddy. But if you come back tomorrow, I’ll be ready.”
Without warning, he turned and trotted off, his tail swaying like a flag in the breeze.
And just like that, he disappeared. He literally rode himself into the sunset.
I sat down on the steps, watching the horizon blaze gold and rust. The peaks of the Bitterroot Mountains framed it like a painting, the clouds catching fire as the light dipped low. This was The Sundown at its best. Beautiful in the kind of way that asks nothing of you.
I’d been the lost one. The kid who bolted and didn’t look back. Didn’t write. Didn’t call.
My path back had started the day Elia nearly died.
A couple of years ago, he was beaten half to death, caughtup in a brawl spun from an old family feud that should’ve died out with the men who started it.
I’d returned then.
