Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Chesney
The ranch always smells the same after Christmas—pine that’s already starting to dry out, wood smoke clinging to the walls, coffee that’s been reheated more times than you can count because everyone’s too busy to drink it while it’s hot.
It should feel like home. Instead, it feels like stepping into a version of the life I abandoned and walking straight into a room full of everything I never dealt with.
It feels like too many memories I wish I could forget.
I don’t come home often. In fact, it’s a place I actively avoid, if I can.
Birthdays get phone calls, holidays get excuses—money’s tight, work’s too busy—and when I do make it down here, it’s always a quick in and out before anything has time to settle under my skin.
All things considered, it’s not that hard to do when you live two hours away.
It may not be far, but it’s far enough that I can pretend this place doesn’t exist unless I let it.
Far enough that I don’t have to see the barn every morning or the fence line out back…
or the spot just past it where my life changed forever.
But this year’s different.
This year, I couldn’t avoid my childhood home, no matter how much I wanted to.
Swallowing thickly, I linger in the doorway longer than I should, keys in one hand, groceries in the other, and my boots half-covered in snow and dirt.
It’s been a whopping one day since I drove back into town—Sweet Briar, Wyoming, where the snow comes early, the mountains are always watching, and everybody knows your business before you do.
I put it off for as long as I could, rolling across the county line in the early hours of Christmas morning.
“You planning on coming in, or just standing there?”
I glance up. My older brother, Truett, is leaning his shoulder against the kitchen doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. Even though it’s been close to four years since I’ve been back here, he still looks the same.
Older, maybe, and a little more tired around the edges in a way that doesn’t come from work alone.
“Wondering if I had enough time to make a quick getaway before anyone notices,” I say dryly, only somewhat teasing.
He huffs a small chuckle. “Busted.” Truett takes the bags from my hand, and I drop my keys on the entryway table and shrug out of my jacket, hanging it on the same hook I’ve always used. Muscle memory. That’s all this place is to me now—habits I’ve never been able to forget. “How were the roads?”
“Not too bad,” I say. “A couple spinouts on the highway, but other than that, smooth sailing.”
Sweet Briar—and really, any town in this area—is no stranger to snow, especially this time of year. But on Christmas, we were hit with a snowstorm that lasted most of the day before temperatures plunged into the negative twenties, turning everything into ice.
“Do you know if your place got hit?” he asks casually, tossing a box of cereal into the pantry.
“Spoke to Nate on my way to the store. Said they got some, but not enough to close the garage.”
“That’s good. He’s managing without you just fine?”
I move toward the coffeepot, pouring what’s left into a mug that’s already been used once today. Nodding, I say, “Things have been slow this month. Plus, we’ve got another mechanic on deck.”
“Garage still busy?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I lean over the counter as I take a sip. Mmm…lukewarm. “We partnered with a local insurance company last spring, and it’s been great for business. Well, that, and the fact that our only competition retired and went out of business.”
“That’s good.”
Arthur’s Body Shop has been in my family for decades.
My grandfather on my mom’s side opened its doors shortly after my mother was born, and he ran it until his dying day.
It’s in the heart of Honey Creek, the small town I call home, and just far enough away from Sweet Briar that no one knows me unless I tell them my last name.
Which I don’t make a habit of doing often.
Before he passed, my grandfather asked me to take over for him, but I couldn’t.
Not when I know how much that garage means to him and how it would be nothing but a means to an end for me.
My best friend, Nate, who grew up next door to my grandparents and is like family to us, accepted the role instead.
He’s the better man for the job anyway. Working on cars is and always has been his passion.
For me, it was something so far disconnected from what I was used to that it made it easy to forget about the tragedy I came from, even if only temporarily.
Truett heaves a sigh. “Glad things are working out for you down there. Sure would like to see more of you, though.”
“I know,” I murmur, avoiding eye contact. “I sent money last week.”
“I got it.”
My brother puts the last of the groceries in the fridge before standing in front of the sink, peering at me from across the island. He runs a hand over the back of his neck like something’s sitting heavy there, and I’ve noticed he’s done that a lot since I walked through the door.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
There’s a pause—too long of a pause—and my stomach twists.
Truett looks down at the counter, then back up at me. Something in his expression tightens. “He’s resting.”
That’s not an answer.
Something in my chest caves in, and I have to set the mug down before I drop it.
Cancer. The word doesn’t need to be said.
It’s already here—in the house, in the silence, in the way Truett won’t quite meet my eyes for a long beat.
I knew this was coming; it’s the reason he was so adamant about me being here for Christmas.
But knowing it and hearing it are two very different things.
My grip tightens around the mug. “Resting how?”
“The surgery took a lot out of him,” he says. “But the doctors are actually optimistic this time. Which I’ve learned is medical code for don’t get your hopes up too much, but maybe don’t panic either.”
Even though I arrived yesterday morning, this is the first time my brother and I have been able to really talk. He wanted to make sure Christmas went off without a hitch for my dad, so chatting about cancer, and surgery, and the doom-and-gloom wasn’t really on the menu.
“What procedure was it again?”
“TACE,” he explains. “They went in through an artery and targeted the tumors directly. Cut off blood flow to some of them while delivering high-dose chemo straight to his liver.”
Jesus.
I scrub a hand over my mouth and heave a sigh. “How’s he doing? He looked fine yesterday, but we both know that doesn’t mean shit.”
Dad’s idea of recovery has always been pretending he isn’t sick enough to need it. Typical rancher behavior.
“Better,” Truett admits, sounding almost surprised by it himself. “Less pain. More energy over the last few days. He actually made it outside for a few minutes the day before Christmas without me having to threaten him first.”
That pulls a weak laugh from me as I shake my head. “They think it worked?”
“They think it helped.” My brother pauses. “At least enough to buy more time.” The words hit me deep in my chest. More time. “He keeps asking about the north pasture, and whether the calves are putting weight on.”
Of course he does. Even cancer can’t make that man stop thinking about the ranch.
“Sounds like him.”
Truett breathes out a laugh, then sobers before saying, “He asks about you a lot, too.”
Guilt twists in my gut like a knife. “I wish you’d told me about the surgery sooner.”
His eyes slice over to mine, narrowing. “I tried,” he spits out. “You barely ever pick up, and it’s not exactly something you leave in a voicemail or send through a text message.”
There’s nothing I can say, because he’s right. As the years went on, communication with my family dwindled, and it’s no one’s fault but my own.
I scrub a hand down my face. “How are you managing everything?”
A humorless laugh slips out of him. “I’m not.” He stares up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing. “Medical bills are stacking up; insurance only covers so much. The ranch isn’t bringing in what it used to, especially this time of year, and it’s not like I can leave to pick up extra work.”
More guilt settles deep.
“I’ve been sending what I can,” I say.
“I know.” His voice softens a little. “And it helps. It really does. But everything… It’s a lot.”
I can see that. It’s written in the lines on his face, the way his shoulders carry more than they should, the silver peeking through the dark strands atop his head, getting more prominent every time I see him.
And I can feel it in this house, on this property.
The way it’s quieter than it used to be, like it’s holding its breath.
Like all the life’s been sucked out of it.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, even though I don’t know how. It’s just something the Jennings family always says. Doesn’t mean it’s true.
Truett nods like he’s humoring me. Like he’s past that way of thinking already and knows some truth I don’t.
After the accident when I was sixteen, I moved to Honey Creek to live with my grandparents on my mom’s side.
It was too heavy and too heartbreaking to stay.
It changed everything. How could it not?
I don’t think any of us have ever recovered.
I know I haven’t. When I was younger, I used to be a lot closer to my older brother.
I looked up to him. But now, it’s almost like we’re strangers.
Truett and I sit here for a minute, the weight of everything settling between us. But then a knock sounds through the house, loud and unexpected. We both look toward the door, Truett frowning before his gaze slices back to me.
“You expecting someone?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Who the hell would I be expecting? Are you?”
“Not that I know of.”
Neither of us move at first, but then the knock comes again. It sounds…impatient. I push off the counter, wiping my hands on my jeans as I head toward the front of the house. It’s probably nothing. A neighbor, or a delivery. Maybe someone from town who heard I was back.
My hand wraps around the handle, and I open it without much thought, but when I see who’s on the other side of the door, everything in me stops. Because it’s Jasper Smith standing on my family’s porch. For a moment, my brain doesn’t catch up. Doesn’t make sense of it.
Because it can’t.
Because he shouldn’t be here. Jasper Smith shouldn’t be anywhere near this place, yet here he is. A ghost from my past, and the last person I expected to see.
He’s taller than I remember. A whole lot broader too. His dark brown hair curls slightly at the ends of a cowboy mullet that should look ridiculous and somehow doesn’t on him. If anything, it makes him look rougher. Meaner around the edges. Which isn’t how I remember him.
Then there’s the mustache. I hate the mustache. Mostly because it works on him, like the hair. Paired with the sharp line of his jaw and those permanently exhausted dark brown eyes, it gives him this unfair combination of rugged and devastating that probably should be illegal in a town this small.
Jasper’s eyes lock onto mine, dark, steady, and familiar. Too familiar. My chest tightens so fast I can’t breathe. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but somehow none of that matters.
“Chesney,” he says gruffly, my name sounding wrong in his mouth. Or maybe it sounds too right. I don’t know. All I know is that everything I buried, everything I left behind, is standing in front of me on my family’s front porch like it never happened.
The ground shifts underneath me, and a slow, creeping panic builds in my already tight chest. “What are you doing here?” I ask tersely.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything.
“Chesney?” My brother’s voice comes from behind me, but I can’t turn around. Can’t look away. Not from him. And not from this. Whatever this is.
Jasper’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he holds up a manila folder. “Looks like we’ve got a problem.”
My heart drops into my stomach, and my mouth dries. Whatever he’s holding can’t be good.