Chapter Two
Garett
Silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the soft, rhythmic thud of the servant’s receding footsteps as he placed a glass of water on the table before Garett. He sat stiffly in the modern front room; the winter sunlight filtering through the glass walls and casting long shadows across the polished floor. Garett glanced at Dante, who sat across from him in a dark suit, the picture of calm authority. Garett, in his ever-present jeans and scuffed boots, felt distinctly out of place. His unease wasn’t helped by the serious look in Dante’s dark eyes. His husband Blaine was right beside him without expression.
“I need a big favor from you,” Dante began, his tone low but firm.
Garett shifted in his seat, frowning. “A favor? From me? What’s this about, Dante?”
Dante leaned forward, his focus shifting sharply towards Garett. “I owe a favor to a New York judge. A debt I can’t ignore.”
Garett’s frown deepened. “What kind of favor are we talking about here?” His voice carried a hint of suspicion, the kind that came from years of knowing favors from Dante always came with strings attached.
“There’s a young man,” Dante said, his words measured. “Torin O’Connor. He’s made some mistakes, and the judge wants him to have a second chance. I agreed to help, but I can’t do it personally, as you know. That’s where you come in.”
Garett blinked, stunned. “Wait, hold on a minute. You’re roping me into this? What kind of mistake are we talking about here?”
Dante stood, walking over to Garett with a folder in hand. He extended it to him, his expression unreadable. “He’s not dangerous, if that’s what you’re asking. Just…a kid who got in over his head with Bishop Bellucci in more ways than one. Needs structure. Discipline. And you’re the best man I know to give him that.”
“Was Bishop using him as a soldier?”
“He was fucking him, then used him once without his knowledge. The judge caught wind of it and needs Torin away from Bishop.”
Garett took the folder, his jaw tight as he opened it and skimmed the contents. A photo of a young man stared back at him—lean, sharp-featured, with a defiant tilt to his chin. “You want me to take him on at the guest ranch?” he asked, his voice flat. He was instantly attracted to the young man’s appearance.
Dante nodded. “For a year. He’s going to live with you, work with you, and learn what it means to earn his place. It’s a big ask, I know. But I trust you to handle it.”
Garett let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “A year, Dante? That’s a hell of a lot to ask. What’s the story with him?”
“He’s a city boy,” Dante said bluntly, watching Garett’s reaction. “Not that it should matter, but it’s worth mentioning. He’s a good kid deep down. He just needs guidance.”
Garett closed the folder. The weight of the information settled on him like a heavy stone, leaving him unmoved. “And you’re sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “You’re sure he can handle ranch work?”
“He’ll have to,” Dante replied. “My driver will pick him up tomorrow and bring him here. You’ll meet him then.”
Garett exhaled slowly, scratching the back of his neck. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him, but he nodded reluctantly. “Alright,” he said finally. “I could use the help anyway. But he’d better be ready to work. I’m not babysitting.” Then he pictured Torin’s flirty grin and realized he really wanted to see him in person.
Dante’s lips curved into a faint smile, a rare expression of gratitude. “He’ll be ready. Thank you, Garett.”
Dante’s husband Blaine added, “I think it’s worth mentioning, he lost both his parents at age seven. His older brother is a judge who was only twenty-one at the time, raised and adopted Torin.”
“How did he lose his parents?” Garett asked.
“Gunned down at their home. Mafia related,” Blaine answered.
“Where were Torin and his brother?”
“With their grandparents at the Jersey Shore.”
As the silence settled between them, Garett stared down at the closed folder in his lap, his thoughts a jumble of frustration, curiosity, and apprehension. A year was a long time, and he wasn’t sure what he’d just agreed to. But if Dante trusted him to do this, then he’d do it. He always did.
The next day Garett sat in Dante’s living room once again, but Torin was nowhere to be seen. Dante had called last night and said he’d be here at ten in the morning.
Dante entered the room in a suit and smiled. “There’s a bit of a problem. He missed his flight and now he’s missing. I promised the judge I’d send someone to find him.”
“Where was his stop over?”
“Bismarck in North Dakota, but he never got on the first flight from New York. I need you to get him here.”
“I programmed his number into my contacts.”
“Right now, he’s not answering his brother’s phone calls. He’s beside himself.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Garett didn’t know how he would, but he had to get that young man here.”
“Let me know when you have him here. Thanks.”
As soon as he left Dante’s, he drove to his high school friend, who was at the local police station. Garett walked into the building, his steps purposefully as he approached the desk where his friend, Mason Greiner, worked. Mason, an officer known for his resourcefulness, looked up from his paperwork, a curious expression crossing his face as Garett greeted him.
“Mason, I need your help,” Garett said, handing over a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I’m trying to locate someone—Torin O’Connor. He was supposed to be on his way to Carrillo Ranch, but he missed his plane. Can you help me track his phone?”
Mason nodded, his professional demeanor kicking in. He typed the number into his system, the faint hum of the computer filling the brief silence. A moment later, Mason looked up. “Got it. His phone’s still pinging in New York City.”
Relief and frustration flickered across Garett’s face. “Thanks, Mason,” he said sincerely, before stepping away to make the call in his truck. His fingers dialed the number, and after a few rings, Torin answered.
“This is Garett from Carrillo Ranch,” he began, his tone direct. “Where are you?”
On the other end, Torin sounded sheepish. “I, uh, missed my plane.”
Garett’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “Do you have a new flight? Does it still stopover in Bismarck, North Dakota? And what time will you get there?”
“Yes and no,” Torin confirmed. “I’ll be in Billings tomorrow at one in the afternoon.”
“Good,” Garett said firmly. “I’ll pick you up there.”
Before ending the call, Garett opened his phone’s camera roll. He selected a recent picture of himself and sent it to Torin, ensuring the man would recognize him when they met.
Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Garett let out a slow breath. At least now he had a plan. He drove home, a chill wind whipping at his coat as he moved to the house, and hastily packed an overnight bag, just in case the weather took a turn for the worse. He looked forward to the drive with Torin, imagining the open road and getting to know him before he assigned him work.