Where There’s A Will (Conway Collateral Duet #1)

1. Colton

ONE

COLTON

I muscle down the auger as it bucks in my grip. It’s been a long day of mending fences; the stitching in my glove will be etched into my palms for the next few days, I guarantee. Using my body weight, I urge the tool deeper into the soil.

“You’re set,” Nash hollers over the numbing hum of metal eating through earth. I nod, killing the engine and waiting a moment for the loud metallic crowing to die out. My ears ring a little, even after the noise is gone, and I nudge my hat up my head with a curled knuckle, stealing a second to catch my breath.

Nash moves past me, taking over to set the post. Stepping back, I survey the miles and miles of chartreuse land encircling us, nothing but blurry horizons in sight. “Last one,” I tell my friend who is using his level to make sure the post is even. When things look just right, he drops the metal tool onto the spread-open burlap. It thuds into the covered grass but clatters against other tools. Gathering the burlap, I cinch it up and toss it into Comet’s saddle bag.

Nash uses his forearm to wipe sweat off his upper lip. We’re covered in long-sleeved flannels to protect us from the sun, and the fabric is soaked from labor under the hot Texas sun. “All right then.” He tips his head back, squinting up into the aquamarine sky, allowing the scorching sun a quick lick at his face. “Lunch by the pond? I could go for a swim.”

Like myself, Nash isn’t from Texas, and despite working at this cattle ranch together for the last ten years, I don’t think either of us will ever get used to this heat. The freshwater spring nearby is our only respite until the evening, when we can lose ourselves in air conditioning and ice-cold beer. Though beer happens regardless of the weather.

I stuff my boot in the stirrup and mount my horse as Nash does the same. He’s not my horse, not in the sense that he’s the only one I ride. While I do enjoy Comet, truth be told, there’s no ownership of a damn thing for me and Nash on this ranch. I’ve learned to be okay with that, to give myself to another’s cause, someone else’s bottom line, to be part of a corporate dream. It’s not what I envisioned for myself, but I’ve come to terms with it mostly.

I follow Nash’s lead toward the camphor tree, the fire in the sky melting against our backs. The pond isn’t too far, and I’d gladly trade ten minutes of eating a warm sandwich in the blazing dankness for ten minutes of swimming in the spring. I can already feel the cool water swallow me up to my neck, taking the sting of sweltering heat off my skin.

Comet falters behind Dreamer, both of them coming to an abrupt stop as Nash reaches into his pocket, shifting on his saddle.

“What’s up?” I call out, waiting for him to turn. Instead, he turns Dreamer, bringing us face to face. He’s holding the phone we share.

Neither of us have anybody around here. Hell, we don’t have many people outside of Texas, either. We can get by with sharing a phone, considering we don’t use it more than once a month anyway. After a steer clipped Nash with his horns two years ago, and I had to ride back with him in my lap like a goddamn damsel in distress, we never forget to bring the phone out on the pasture.

Always bring the phone.

This is the first time our phone has rang out here, though, so we just sit on our horses, eyeing it for a moment before Nash finally answers. Probably on the last ring, too.

“Hello?” he cautiously greets. His dark eyes come to mine faster than he can pull a pistol from his holster, which is alarmingly fast for a guy who says he’s only ever been a ranch hand.

“He’s right here,” Nash says before outstretching his hand to me.

I look at the screen, identifiers lost by a shiny glare from the midday sun. “Who is it?” I ask.

Nash pinches his gaze on me. “Did you hear me ask?”

I take the phone from him, wondering who would know that I’m here and that this number belongs to me. I didn’t think anyone knew. Except for one person–my sister–but she never calls. Can’t say I call her much, either, though.

“Colton?” The wobbly feminine voice on the line is one I haven’t heard in years. But I know who it is. Now all I need to know is what’s wrong .

“Carsyn,” I state my little sister’s name, wanting her to know that despite my behavior, I never forgot her. “What’s wrong?” It seems like the obvious question considering she’s calling me right now, but asking still feels like a cruel reminder of the choice I made ten years back. The choice to leave. Though I was running from my heartache, I can’t deny that I left her, too.

“Dad’s dead,” she utters, her voice shuddering with disbelief.

“What?” I vibrate, tipping my head down to try and hear her better, though I know I’m hearing just fine.

“Daddy is dead. And… something is wrong with the ranch, I think. Because his lawyer called and… I need you, Colton. Please, I need your help.”

I let out a sigh that holds more pain and regret than I know what to do with. I knock back the brim of my hat, and find Nash watching me. “I’ll leave today.”

Carsyn’s sobs are quiet, but she can’t hide them from me. I don’t know what Levi Beckett got himself into even after death, but I’ll be there for my sister. It’s been long enough. I owe her that and so much more.

“Thank you. And… Colton,” she breathes, a tremble in her exhale as she attempts to steady her voice. “Please, hurry.”

I toss the phone back to Nash who shoves it in his pocket before hitting me with a questioning glare, the Texas sun pouring over his face, sweat beading on his upper lip. “Who was that?”

“My sister,” I tell him, riding toward him. “My dad died.”

From his horse, Nash clamps a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Colton,” he breathes, “I’m sorry.” He nudges his hat from his eyes before he asks, “What can I do?”

I hold his gaze, finding the unending friendship within his eyes that I’ve found nowhere else. When I met him, all I wanted to do was lose myself in the land. Ride the pasture, tend to the cattle, worry about feed prices and keeping the grass green. He was the same. And after some time together doing those very things, I figured out pretty quickly I wasn’t the only one running from pain.

Despite having left home ten years ago, running from the most awful, terrible pain I’ve ever felt, today, it looks like I’ll be running right back to it.

“I gotta go back to Wyoming. To the ranch. Help my sister with the service, I guess.”

Nash scratches the back of his head. “Settle the estate and whatnot?”

I remember Carsyn’s emotional words. “She said there’s something wrong, and the lawyer called,” I repeat back to Nash, wrapping the reins around my palm and preparing to take us back to the barn as fast as possible. “Dad was deep into a gambling habit. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’m coming with you,” Nash says, his tone unwavering. He takes his hat off his head, stroking his dirt-laden hand through his sweaty dark hair. After placing it back on, he tips it my way. “There’s nothing here for me without you, so I’m coming.”

I nod. “All right then.”