Second Epilogue
Austin
So far, we’d lucked out with dry roads, and the ranch was only ten miles ahead.
I watched the familiar landscape go by, fighting an odd mix of déjà-vu and shock.
The old supermarket on the corner of Chester Lane had vanished into a bare expanse of concrete and weeds.
The new railway bridge over Aramanth had been raised enough it probably no longer scalped the tallest trucks, and a generation of graffiti had gone with the old concrete arches.
And yet… and yet everything was so familiar my throat tightened.
Eleven years ago, I’d driven these roads the other way, clutching the molded plastic wheel so hard it indented my fingers.
Every curve had been a threat, as I envisioned my father’s cruiser lurking in wait.
The pounding of my pulse, urging me to put my foot to the floor, was barely held in check by knowing I couldn’t afford to speed.
Couldn’t look suspicious. Didn’t dare attract any attention in case Dad knew what Joe had done.
Or even just wanted to mess with Joe, pulled him over, and found me—
“Stop!” I doubled over, my chest closing in hard, a red haze obscuring my vision.
“What?” the vibrations of the engine slowed, we swerved, and then rested at idle. Seth reached over, touching my shoulder. “Austin, what’s wrong?”
“Can’t… breathe.” I panted for air.
“Panic attack?”
“Mm.” I waved a hand aimlessly and relaxed a fraction when Seth’s warm fingers closed on mine.
“Breathe in,” he murmured, his voice quiet and clear. “One, two, three, four. Hold… Out, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight. In…”
I wanted to tell him to piss off, I wasn’t a child.
Except I was dying inside my clamped down chest, and his voice helped.
I dragged in a couple of ragged breaths and managed to match Seth’s words.
Slow in, hold, slower out, puffs of breath over and over that gradually let my cramped muscles relax.
“Thanks,” I said, letting go of his hand and opening my eyes.
Seth shook out his fingers, eyeing me carefully. “Better?”
“Yeah.” I straightened.
“I should’ve guessed this trip might be a bad idea.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” I protested. “I was caught by surprise. You know I’ve had a few panic attacks back home too.”
“Not in years, though.”
“No.” I leaned back in my seat and wiped my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand.
Oddly, I hadn’t had an episode at first when I was actually running from my father for three terrified days, or starving in the woods, or living in a rat-hole motel with drug-dealers in the stairwell. The first panic attack I ever had was almost a year after I started full time at the Star & Bar.
Just an ordinary day, November-dreary weather at dusk, and me tooling along in Joe’s old truck with a dozen things on my mind— a California Highway Patrol car pulled out of a layby and flashed me over.
I hadn’t been speeding, hadn’t failed to signal.
All my brain could come up with was that my father had somehow found me at last. I was lucky my shaking fingers were able to unearth my license for the cop.
Lucky that he let me nod my understanding of his warning to get my taillights fixed and didn’t make me speak.
He’d peered closely at my sweaty face for an unending minute before a crackle from his radio pulled him away.
After he’d gone, I’d sat parked on the shoulder, hunched over the wheel, convinced I was having a heart attack.
Then, once I could breathe, I drove home like a little old lady in her 1950s Buick.
I hadn’t told Seth that time, since I’d realized the heart palpitations were all in my head, but he saw the next one— the arrival of a new dude who was a dead ringer for my uncle Hal.
That was when Seth looked up calming breathing, in search of some way to be useful to me. We’d done this drill a few times since then. It sucked.
“Should we call the ranch off?” Seth asked. “We could drive back to Denver, explore the city for a few days. I’m sure we can find a motel.”
“Fuck, no.” I glared at him, unearthed a tissue, and blew my nose. “I’m okay. Or I will be. I’m not letting my father’s ghost keep me from saying thank you to Joe.”
I could almost feel Seth wanting to remind me Dad wasn’t dead. Sometimes he got too literal. This time he just nodded. “Let me know when you want me to drive.”
“Maybe put your Bon Jovi album on the stereo and kiss me first.”
Seth’s smile warmed my chilled core. “Can do.” He fumbled with his phone, knowing what I wanted, and then “It’s My Life” blasted out of the Miata’s speakers. Seth set a hand under my chin, leaned into my seat, and kissed me.
Slowly, the shakes and the ice inside me melted under the press of Seth’s mouth and the gentle insistence of his tongue. I laid my hand on his face, relishing the prickle of his stubble against my palm. “Love you,” I murmured. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”
He didn’t ask me if I was sure. I kept a grip on his thigh, grounding myself as Seth pulled back onto the road. He shifted smoothly, picking up speed, and gave me a half-wattage smile. “I kind of like this car.”
“She ain’t no pickup truck, that’s for sure,” I agreed, watching his face and not the scenery.
Fifteen minutes later, we turned in under a hanging sign for the Circle-K Ranch.
A pair of Quarter Horse colts raced us along the other side of the driveway fence before wheeling away, bucking in high spirits.
The familiar sight of those horses calmed me some more.
The fear-sweat cooled and dried on my face and under my arms. Seth slowed to a crawl and followed a sign to guest parking.
He cut the engine. “Shall we?”
“Yeah. Let’s stretch our legs.” I was lucky to be short. This car would never fit a tall man like Joe.
Speaking of tall, a lanky cowboy in a charcoal Stetson strode across the gravel to meet us, holding out his hand. “Hello,” he said, his voice an echo deep in my skull. “Welcome to the Circle-K, I’m—” Joe stopped short, staring at me.
“Hey, Joe,” I squeaked through my tight throat. “Long time, no see.” All the ways my father might’ve messed with Joe because of me flashed through my head in an ugly parade. Just because Joe wasn’t dead didn’t mean he’d escaped his good deed unscathed.
But he grinned with pure happiness, grabbed my hand, and shook it like he wanted to yank my arm off. “Frankie! Holy shit, Frankie Morse!” Joe turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Sylvester, get your ass out here!”
A very tall, slim man with styled dark hair, eyes like ice chips, and jeans that fit so perfectly they looked painted on, strolled out of the barn toward us. “You bellowed?”
“Look who’s here. It’s Frankie Morse. You remember, I told you.” Joe finally let go of my hand and gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, but it’s fucking great to see you.”
The stylish guy looked me over. “I remember. The truck. I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list, though. Are you just stopping by?”
Seth moved closer behind me. “Austin Grant. He’s my husband. I’m Seth Grant.”
“Austin’s my middle name,” I explained.
“Ah. I’m Sylvester. Welcome to the Circle-K.
” He glanced at Joe, who was still grinning my way, and a little of the chill went out of him.
“I’m sure Joe’s glad to see you. Cowboy, you catch up with Frankie— Austin.
Show him and his hubby to their suite and I’ll greet the next arrivals.
” His hand on the small of Joe’s back in passing made no secret of what they were to each other.
I was happy for Joe, as long as Sylvester was warmer than we’d seen so far.
“Come on,” Joe said. “We can put your bags in your suite and then I’ll show you the place, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love to,” I said. “Seth and I actually run a dude operation in California, so fair warning, I’m going to steal all your secrets.”
“Yeah?” Joe looked back at me as he led us inside. “You stuck with ranching, then. I’m glad. You had a good touch with the livestock. Here, up the stairs and second on the left. This is you two.”
We dumped our bags inside the door of our room, which was fancier than anything I’d ever stayed in, and then took Joe up on his promise to show us the barn.
We descended a back staircase and out into a well-tended barnyard.
“We don’t run much livestock here,” Joe said.
“Just forty head of beefs for show for the dudes. So if the cows look like rejects, don’t judge us. ”
I stopped, eyeing a gorgeous black gelding in the paddock. “I might judge you on your horses, though. He’s a beauty.”
“Donner. Friesian-Quarter Horse cross. He’s a good one.
” Joe led us inside the barn where a row of pretty heads turned his way, nickering for attention.
Sylvester stood in the aisle and glanced over but kept fiddling with a door latch.
Joe turned to Seth. “I don’t know how much Fra…
Austin’s told you about his dad, back in the day. ”
“Enough to know the man belongs behind bars, like he is,” Seth said.
“So you guys do know he got convicted this fall.” Joe took off his hat and ran a hand over his blond hair, which he wore longer than I’d ever seen it. “Did you look up how that shit went down, his arrest and all?”
“Not really,” I said, a little chill hitting me. “Just enough to see Dad was the asshole he’s always been. I didn’t want to read about him.”
“Exactly. He was an asshole before you left, and an asshole afterward. Nothing your dad ever did was your fault, okay?”
“You’re making me nervous.” I stepped closer to Seth, and he put an arm around me.
Joe grimaced. “I don’t aim to. Just figure I should tell you the truth and make sure it doesn’t worry you none.”
“That’s clear as mud.” Anxiety sharpened my voice.
Sylvester put down his toolbox and came over to us. “What I think Joe’s trying to say is that you should know your dad went to prison for trying to burn down our barn, but it’s not your fault.”