Chapter 1
Chapter One
Present Day
The cab rumbled to a halt just shy of the black wrought-iron gate, and nostalgia hit Darian like a snowball to the chest. The impact cold, sudden, and too sharp to ignore.
Through the windshield, he stared at the overlapping Rs and bronze horseshoes mounted proudly on the arch.
They glinted dully beneath a low winter sun.
He rubbed his hands over his thighs, to ward off the chill in his bones that might have come from the cold outside, or it could be just him.
The Ranch logo hadn’t changed. Neither had the towering mountains behind it, their snowcapped peaks cutting into a steel-colored sky.
Or the way the gravel cracked beneath the tires when the driver inched forward.
But he had.
A lot.
Inside the guard shack, Jacob Andrews leaned into view like always, his breath puffing into a white cloud as Danny rolled down his fogged windowpane. Jacob’s ears and head were covered in a beanie hat and his hands were encased in gloves, but he still looked cold with a red nose and cheeks.
The moment his eyes landed on Darian, he straightened. The cheerful tilt to his mouth faded. He stepped outside into the cold.
“Well, I’ll be. Danny,” he murmured, adjusting his hat. “Been a long time.”
Darian gave a nod. It had been. Two years since he’d last come through this gate. That time, Wilbert had been beside him. “It’s “Darian” now, he said stiffly.
He didn’t smile.
Couldn’t.
His eyes burned, and he had to swallow around the lump in his throat. This return was nothing like his first visit.
Jacob’s gaze dropped, just briefly, to the large black backpack wedged on the seat beside Darian, then lifted again to his face.
Something shifted in the man.
He knows.
Of course, he does. They all do.
There was no “Danny”. No lollipop plucked from Jacob’s pocket. No teasing glint in his eyes. Just a brief clearing of the throat and a step back.
But that was okay. He hadn’t been Danny in a long time.
“You’re all set,” Jacob said, voice even. “Drive safe down the lane.” He tapped a button, and the gate slowly parted with a creak.
No small talk. No wink or wave.
Darian welcomed the silence. His social skills were folded up somewhere between memory and mourning.
The cab crept forward.
The long drive wound through snowy fields where horses huddled together, tails swishing, steam rising from their flanks. Bare trees stood watch like frozen sentries. The wind had swept the powder into graceful drifts, and the Ranch unfolded gradually, familiar and strange all at once.
At first glance, it looked like time had stood still.
But when he narrowed his eyes, he spotted something moving.
Falcons. Two of them high in the sky, effortlessly gliding on the air currents above the main lodge.
Even the falcons got to come in pairs.
The ache in his chest flared sharp.
The cab slowed at the foot of the porch steps. Frost clung to the wooden beams of the covered porch, and icicles glistened at the edge of the roof like winter’s teeth.
The building itself looked the same. And that was the hardest part.
The six steps leading to the entrance were dusted with salt, and his boots crunched softly as he stepped out.
He remembered bounding down those stairs beside Blake, Sadie on his other side, Megan trailing behind with a juice box and mismatched socks.
They’d made a game of it, taking two stairs at a time, shrieking with laughter when someone missed and they tumbled into a pile at the bottom.
To the sides, flowerbeds lay tucked beneath burlap covers and a fine dusting of snow.
But he remembered them full of color. He and the other Littles had weeded those beds that summer until their fingernails were caked with dirt and their cheeks sunburned.
Master Jared had hosed them down afterward, muttering about mud monsters and handing out lemonade.
His gaze lifted to the double doors.
He’d skipped through those. Daddy just behind him, warm hand resting on his back. He half-expected the scent of cinnamon rolls and cedar to greet him the second they opened.
The driver moved for the trunk, but another figure beat him there.
Moses stepped out from the shadows like a quiet tree come to life. His tall frame was steady and familiar. He lifted a hand, signed something, and then lifted Darian’s suitcase like it weighed nothing.
Darian managed a thin smile. He turned to face Moses fully. “Thanks,” he said, enunciating clearly for the man to read his lips. “Good to see you.”
The six steps seemed endless.
Inside, the warmth was immediate and welcome.
The lobby smelled like cedar and freshly baked cookies. Not cinnamon rolls, but close enough. The fireplace roared, casting gold light across the log walls and the beams overhead. Plush rugs muffled his footsteps as he followed Moses deeper inside.
Everything looked the same.
But nothing was.
He had to blink back tears again.
Each step was too heavy for a place that used to feel like home.
Like a kid sneaking past a sleeping dog—half-hoping it wouldn’t notice, half-afraid it would—he inched toward the front desk.
His heels dragged across the floor, and his heart pounded harder with every step, like it might give him away.
And there she was.
Sadie.
She hadn’t changed one teensy-tiny bit.
Her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind her ears today.
A clipped daisy pin sat just above one temple like it was holding sunshine in place.
The oversized navy sweater she wore swallowed her petite frame.
The sleeves tugged down past her wrists like she needed just one more layer of comfort.
It wasn’t one of her usual pastel Little-day picks.
No ruffles, no frills. Just simple and worn-in, the kind of thing you pulled over your head when you needed a hug without having to ask for one.
He suspected it was Derek’s.
And the fact she was wearing it said more than words ever could.
“Darian Merrick.” Her dark eyes welled the second they met his, but her smile stayed, wobbly but genuine. “Check-in for a one-month stay in the Butterflies program.”
Her gaze raked over him and he wondered if she saw past the bold, vivid pink hair, shaved short on the sides and longer on top.
She didn’t say I’m so sorry.
She didn’t say You look different.
Instead, she stepped around the desk, with her arms already lifted before he could process it.
“Danny.”
That single word hit harder than any condolences ever could.
His breath caught. He didn’t step back, but every muscle pulled tight, unsure.
Although Jacob used his name moments before, this time it sank past his defenses.
Months of being Darian, acting as the caretaker and the decision-maker, until he was the man left standing when everything else had fallen away.
But her arms wrapped around him anyway. Her hug was perfect, not too tight, not overwhelming. Her comforting touch was just there.
The Little name echoed in his head and a tingle prickled over his skin like he was slipping into an old coat. Still soft and familiar. Still… his?
Was he still Danny? Could he be?
He hadn’t felt like that boy in so long.
A sigh shuddered through him, and he let himself lean into the warmth of Sadie’s embrace. Maybe this was why he’d come back. To find that bittersweet part of himself. The one who still believed in bedtime stories and sticker charts and Daddies who made everything okay.
Darian nodded and croaked despite a dry mouth, “Hi, Sadie.”
“How’ve you been?” she asked, almost like the words escaped before she could pull them back.
He blinked once. “I lost my Daddy.” It came out flat. But it scraped his throat raw, like each syllable had claws.
He hadn’t said it aloud to anyone. Not like that. Not so plainly. And now that the words were out, it hit him with a magnitude the funeral hadn’t. Like the Ranch had heard it and wouldn’t let him take it back.
Sadie’s chin dipped, and she pressed her lips together, nodding like she understood every sharp edge of what he hadn’t said. The silence between them was reverent.
He stood there, suddenly too aware of the ache in his chest and how empty his hands felt without Wilbert’s to hold.
Her bottom lip trembled just once, then she straightened and after a last squeeze returned to the desk. “Are you sure you don’t want to be in the Littles’ Wing?”
Darian swallowed and inhaled.
Back to business.
He straightened. “I’m sure. I have to… I just.”
Sadie patted his hand. “You don’t need to explain yourself.
So a regular room it is. At least for now.
” She gave a firm nod. “You’re in one-fourteen.
The room is on the ground floor, inside of the U.
Your sliding doors open right onto the pool deck.
The hot tub’s clean and waiting.” She slid the card across the desk but didn’t let go of it until he took it.
Sadie shifted her weight and smoothed the hem of the oversized sweater, fingers tugging at a loose thread like it might unravel the question she didn’t quite want to ask.
Her eyes darted to his, then away again.
“Do you…” She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Do you want us to bring anything over from storage?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “No. I don’t need it.”
Not anymore.
She gave a quick nod, biting her bottom lip as she smoothed her palm over the daisy pin at her temple, then dropped her gaze to the check-in screen.
She blinked once, licking her lips before she nodded. “Okay. No problem.”
The door behind her opened, and Derek stepped out with his phone pressed to his ear. His expression was calm, and he nodded at Darian. “I’ll be there in twenty. Yes. Of course.” He ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. His gaze landed on Sadie.
He didn’t speak but simply reached out and pulled Sadie against his side. She melted under the touch, and the pinched line between her brows smoothed.
Moses appeared at Darian’s side with the suitcase in hand, ready to walk him to his room. Unable to look at his friend and her Daddy for much longer, Darian turned and followed along.
Moses led the way down the long hallway, shoes whispering over the rug, suitcase wheels humming behind him. The further they walked, the quieter it got. Just soft lighting, distant birdsong, and the subtle buzz of his own pulse pounding in his ears.
His room was on the inner curve of the U-shaped building. Moses opened the door and stepped aside.
Darian crossed the threshold and stopped.
Sunlight streamed through the sliding glass doors, warming the wooden floor like it remembered him.
The bed stood tall and wide, its sheets tucked crisp and neat, inviting in a way that made his chest ache.
To the left sat a padded armchair positioned beside an electric fireplace, both framed by soft lighting.
On the right, a compact kitchenette waited, with a row of neatly arranged mugs hanging above the coffee pot, everything clean and perfectly in place.
And straight ahead, just past the glass, a hot tub bubbled behind a privacy screen, steam curling upward like a quiet invitation.
It was everything he’d asked for. Exactly how he remembered it.
Too much and not enough, all at once.
Danny didn’t move for a full minute. His hand rested on the doorknob. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths.
Then he stepped forward. First one foot and then the other.
He set the keycard on the nightstand. Sat down on the edge of the bed.
And felt the weight of everything he’d been holding insistently press down.
They’d never made it back that fall. Or the one after.
The shoulder pain that had sent Wilbert home early hadn’t been from a pulled muscle. It was the first whisper of something worse. Something that didn’t get better.
Stage four. Lung. Spread to his bones. Then the lymph system. No cure. Just pain management.
Danny had put on his adult hat and marched them both to the hospital. He held the clipboard while Wilbert got scans. He made the appointments. Drove him home. Tucked him into bed.
He bathed him when the tremors started.
He changed the sheets when they couldn’t make it to the bathroom.
He stopped ordering plushies and started ordering morphine.
And he did it gladly. Fiercely.
Because that’s what a good boy does.
But the price was steep.
The day Wilbert stopped smiling was the day Darian covered everything in the nursery with sheets and closed the door without looking back.
Three months later, it was over.
Wilbert Tennessee died surrounded by soft pillows and Danny’s humming voice and the scent of lavender oil.
Darian inherited the house. The money. The silence.
He quit his job. Didn’t leave the house. Lived off delivery and memory. The sippy cups stayed in the cupboard. The books and colored pencils in the closet. The rainbow chart on the wall, gathering dust.
Ten days ago, he’d ordered sleeping pills.
They arrived in a plain brown box.
He opened it. Sat on the floor with the cap in his hand for nearly an hour. He even thought through the note. Not for sympathy, he didn’t want that. He needed the clarity.
It hurts. I’m tired. I miss my Daddy.
But he didn’t write it.
He just sobbed until his throat gave out.
I want my Daddy.
The next morning, he flushed the pills and opened a tab on his laptop.
Rawhide Ranch.
One month.
Butterflies program.
Wilbert couldn’t take care of his Little anymore.
So Darian would have to.