Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
isaac
Even though we’re neighbors, I don’t get by the Peterson place as often as I should. Definitely not since cowboy training camp started.
Jimmy was a friend to Dad, and he’s always been decent in that gruff, mind-your-manners-boy sort of way.
Technically, we share a property line. But the old run-down farmhouse is miles out past the bull pasture, through a long-dead orchard, and tucked behind a fence that sags like it’s given up the ghost.
But it’s Sunday and I’ve got a fresh bramble-berry cobbler my mom insisted I drop off, and after talking about Dad with Elena at dinner, the Petersons were on my mind.
When I knock, there’s only silence. I wait a minute, knock again. I’m about to try a different door when the front one cracks open just enough for a bloodshot eye to peer through.
“Jimmy,” I say, offering a half grin. “Brought you somethin’ sweet.”
He blinks like he’s seeing me through smoke. “What for?”
“Because you’re so sweet, old man,” I tease. I lift the box with the cobbler and a few jars of jam Mom and Ivy canned. “Berries are ripe. Mom figured Ida might want a cobbler. Said it was her favorite.”
I think my mom knows the favorite dessert of half the county.
Something flickers across Jimmy’s face, fast and sharp.
“She can’t eat much these days.”
I nod. “I’m sorry. I heard she hasn’t been well.”
He doesn’t respond, just swings the door open wider, like it’s a chore he doesn’t want to do.
I step inside. The place is dim. Stale. A far cry from the warm little nest I remember Ida Peterson keeping. She always had cinnamon apples simmering on the stove or one of those country candles burning that made you feel like you were in a gingerbread barn.
Now it smells like bleach and something sour in here.
“She asleep?” I ask gently.
Jimmy nods, wiping his hands on his threadbare jeans. “Restin’. Been restin’ a lot lately.”
I glance around. Set my hat on a side table. There’s an inch of dust accumulated on every surface. I don’t hear a television like usual, just the low hum of a fan blowing in another room.
“I’m real sorry, Jimmy,” I say quietly. “Mom told me they said it was too late for treatment.”
He flinches.
It’s small, just a twitch of his shoulder. But I catch it.
“I tried,” he mutters. “We did everything we could. They said it’d be easier this way. Just keep her comfortable ‘til the good Lord takes her home. No more pokin’ and proddin’.”
“You got a Hospice nurse or someone helping out?” I set the cobbler and jam on the kitchen counter, wondering if I should go ahead and loosen the lids but knowing that’d be a grave insult to a proud man.
His jaw flexes. “Don’t need no help. Been taking care of my wife most of my adult life.”
Stubborn old goat.
His eyes dart toward the hallway like he’s worried she’ll hear us. The man looks wrecked, sure—but there’s a thread of something else running under the surface. Not sorrow. Not fear.
Guilt?
Maybe I’m imagining it.
I’ve seen what dying does to people—how it hollows out a house and turns love into pain and anger. The main house at the ranch was like a tomb after Dad died. For months. Until Ivy arrived.
Jimmy’s never been much for talking. But the jumpy vibe is new.
“Someone else here, Jimmy?” I glance down the hall, but he directs me back toward the front door.
“No. No one’s here. Just me and Ida like always,” his response is quick. Too quick.
I shove my hands into my pockets. I consider asking if he wants to play cards or watch some SportsCenter, but he seems eager for me to leave.
“Mom said she’d been meaning to stop by last week but hadn’t had the chance. She’ll probably check in next week.”
His head jerks up. “She don’t need to do that.”
“She’s been bringing you pie for as long as I can remember. I don’t think you get a say anymore.”
He grunts, but it doesn’t sound like amusement. He herds me toward the door and I take the hint.
“I’ll let myself out,” I say. “Holler at us if you need anything, Jimmy. I mean it.”
He only jerks his chin upward, gray stubbled jowls wagging with the movement.
I walk back out to the truck, rubbing the back of my neck because it’s prickling like I’m being watched.
Jimmy came to all my high school football games, and Ida used to knit each of us a blanket or scarf every Christmas since we were kids.
I’d always been welcome in their house and so had my siblings as far as I knew.
One of the last things my father said to me was, “Make sure you check on the Petersons every chance you get. Us aging ranchers have to stick together.”
The memory of Jimmy looking so broken at Dad’s funeral hadn’t left me, now I suspected he was planning one for his wife. I look a lot like my dad. Maybe the reminder is too much. Maybe there is only so much loss and pain a person can take.
But I’ve never been shooed out of that old house like an unwanted intruder before. I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m hoping Wyatt has a clue.
I’d been planning to tell Jimmy about the Sheriff coming by Wyatt’s wedding. About the news that Dad hadn’t died of natural causes. Mostly to warn him in case someone came lurking around the property line. But everything about that interaction had been off.
One thing was certain, more bad news was the last thing Jimmy Peterson needed.
I don’t typically call Wyatt in the middle of the day, especially on a weekend when it’s not work-related. So, I’m not surprised when he answers on the first ring.
“Whatever you did, undo it,” he says in lieu of a greeting.
“I haven’t done anything wrong…lately.” Except that whole breaking-that-legally-binding-contract-I-signed thing, but that was unintentional.
The first time at least.
“What’s up?”
I sigh heavily into the cab of my truck. “Where are you?”
“Me and Ivy and Elena are grabbing an early dinner at The Stillery. I’d invite you, but you probably have plans.”
I put my truck in gear. He had me at Elena. “No plans. I’m on my way.”
“Isaac—” he breaks in, but I stop him.
“It’s serious, Wy. It’s about Jimmy Peterson.”
He pauses a beat, then I hear Ivy say something I can’t make out in the background. Another deep breath and my brother says, “You want me to order you your usual?”
“That’d be great.”