Chapter 3
three
Bear gripped the steering wheel hard enough to crack the plastic as they pulled away from Solace High.
Logan slumped in the passenger seat, earbuds firmly in place, eyes fixed on the passing storefronts of Main Street.
The guidance counselor’s cheerful “He’ll fit right in!
” echoed in Bear’s head. He didn’t see how the sullen teenager beside him would fit in anywhere, let alone a small-town high school where everyone had known each other since kindergarten.
But Bear had nodded, said the right things, filled out the paperwork while Logan sat in silence, arms crossed, hood pulled up.
He’d hoped—stupidly—that getting Logan enrolled would be the first step toward something resembling normalcy.
That maybe the structure of school would give the kid something to focus on besides hating him.
Instead, the whole experience had been a fresh reminder of how little he knew about his own son.
The guidance counselor had asked about Logan’s academic history, his interests, his goals…
all questions Bear couldn’t answer. He’d stumbled through explanations, making things up as he went, while Logan stared at the floor and refused to make eye contact with anyone.
“Pretty small place,” Bear said, breaking the silence that had reigned since they’d left the house. “But that’s not always a bad thing. Better ratio of teachers to students, more one-on-one attention.”
Logan didn’t respond. Didn’t even acknowledge he’d heard.
Bear tried again. “Ms. Davis seems nice. She’s been there fifteen years, knows everyone in town. She’ll help you figure out which classes to take.”
Nothing. Not a flicker of interest, not a single nod.
Bear turned onto Maple Street but kept driving past their house toward Main Street.
The last thing he wanted was to go back to that empty shell with its unpacked boxes and half-assembled furniture, the silence between them stretching from awkward to unbearable.
He needed a plan, needed somewhere to go that wasn’t just more of the same.
Logan noticed. He pulled out one earbud. “Where are we going?”
Bear checked his watch. “You hungry? We could hit Nessie’s Place.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Of course he wasn’t. The kid had eaten three bites of toast that morning and nothing at lunch, despite Bear’s best efforts to find something at the grocery store that Logan would actually eat.
“You need to eat something,” Bear said, keeping his tone neutral.
Logan’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
They had circled town and were passing the turn for Maple Street again. Bear kept driving and instead turned onto Ridge Road.
“This isn’t the way home,” Logan muttered.
“We’re making a stop first.”
“Where?”
“Valor Ridge.”
Logan’s head snapped around, eyes narrowed. “The prison ranch?”
“It’s not a prison. It’s a rehabilitation program for vets and—”
“Ex-cons,” Logan finished for him. “I know what it is. Mom told me.”
The steering wheel creaked under Bear’s fingers, and he made a conscious effort to relax his grip. He didn’t want to think ill of the dead but…
Fucking Amber.
Of course she’d made sure their son knew exactly what his father was. Exactly why he’d been absent for twelve years of his life.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he hated himself for it. He shouldn’t be cursing the dead.
“Valor Ridge is a place for people to rebuild their lives after they’ve hit bottom.”
Logan snorted. “Sounds like a prison with better PR.”
“Walker—the man who runs it—he’s a good man. He gave me a chance when no one else would.”
“Good for him.” Logan shoved his earbud back in and turned to stare out the window.
Hell.
This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about Amber or the choices they’d both made. It was about the kid sitting in his passenger seat, lost and angry and scared.
It was about not making things worse.
Twenty minutes later, Bear pulled the truck through the front gates of Valor Ridge.
The ranch spread out before them, fields and pastures giving way to the main house and outbuildings, the mountains rising in the distance.
In the afternoon light, it looked peaceful—just another working ranch in Montana, not the place where broken men came to rebuild their lives.
It felt like home. Not that rickety house on Maple. Not that he’d admit it to Logan.
He pulled up in front of the main house and killed the engine. King, who’d been dozing in the back seat, immediately perked up, tail wagging as he recognized the familiar surroundings.
“Wait here,” Bear said, opening his door. “I’ll be right back.”
But Logan was already climbing out, earbuds still in, shoulders hunched against the world. “Whatever.”
Cowboy appeared from around the corner of the house, tail wagging as he trotted toward them. The merle cattle dog was Valor Ridge’s official greeter, and he took his job seriously. He circled Bear once, then went to Logan and sat at his feet, head cocked.
Logan took out his earbuds and backed up a step. “What… does it want?”
“That’s Cowboy,” Bear said. “He belongs to Walker.”
The dog’s blue eyes stayed fixed on Logan with unnerving intensity for several long seconds. Then Cowboy leaned forward and nudged Logan’s hand with his wet nose.
Logan flinched but didn’t pull away. “Is he going to bite me?”
“No. He’s just saying hello.”
Bear watched as Logan tentatively reached out and touched the top of Cowboy’s head. The dog’s tail thumped against the ground in approval.
“Come on,” Bear said, starting toward the porch. “Let’s see who’s around.”
He didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what he was going to say to Walker or anyone else. He just knew he couldn’t go back to that empty house yet, couldn’t face another hour of Logan’s silence and his own failures.
The porch door banged open before they reached the steps.
River Beckett emerged in bunny slippers, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a faded t-shirt, a mixing bowl of cereal clutched in his hands.
His dark curls were longer and wilder than usual, sticking up at odd angles, and he hadn’t shaved in at least three days.
“Holy shit,” River said, stopping dead when he saw Logan. “You brought a kid. Walker, there’s a kid.”
A voice came from inside the house. “I know there’s a fuckin’ kid. He’s standin’ on my porch wearin’ bunny slippers, eatin’ my cereal.”
River looked down at the cereal bowl, then back through the door. “Your cereal? Walker, I have been eating this cereal every morning for nine years. At what point does it become my cereal?”
“At the point where you buy your own damn box,” Walker called back, followed by the sound of his boots on the hardwood floor.
“Nine years of almost-free labor and the man draws the line at Cocoa Puffs,” River muttered before shoving a big spoonful into his mouth. He eyed Logan as he chewed, taking in the earbuds, the hunched shoulders, the jaw set like the kid was waiting for something to go wrong. He swallowed.
“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself, and set the bowl aside. He wiped his hand on his pajama pants before sticking it out to Logan. “Hi. I’m River. I don’t know how to talk to teenagers. It’s been a long-ass time since I was one, but I’m gonna try anyway. You like Coco Puffs?”
Logan eyed the outstretched hand with suspicion. “Not the way you’re eating them. Is that strawberry milk?”
“Ask me, it’s the only way to eat them.” River waved that away. “But what about horses? You like horses?”
“No, not really.”
Two whole answers. A new record. Bear hadn’t heard that many syllables out of the kid in days. Should’ve figured if anyone could pull a reaction out of Logan, it would be River.
River all but bounced down the porch steps. “Excellent. Come meet a horse named Lazy Susan. She also doesn’t like horses or my dietary habits. You’ll get along like toast and butter.”
Logan didn’t move, glancing back at Bear with something close to panic in his eyes.
Bear nodded. “Go look at the horse.”
He thought Logan would refuse, would stand his ground and force a confrontation right there on Walker’s porch. But then his son’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he turned to follow River down the steps and across the yard toward the barn.
Bear watched them go, River chattering nonstop, gesturing animatedly with his free hand while Logan trailed three steps behind, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
King trotted between them, somehow managing to be underfoot for both, until River’s dog, Goose, came barreling in from the side yard, all floppy, gangly teenage limbs and big feet.
The new arrival distracted King, and the two dogs circled each other in a frenzy of wagging tails and sniffing.
“He likes horses.”
Bear turned to find Walker standing in the doorway, two steaming mugs in his hands.
The older man wore his standard uniform—faded jeans, work boots, and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
His face was weathered from years in the Montana sun, his eyes sharp with an understanding that made Bear feel exposed.
“He says he doesn’t,” Bear said, accepting the mug Walker offered. The coffee was strong and black, with a hint of something that might have been cinnamon.
Definitely Johanna’s doing. Walker wouldn’t think to put cinnamon in his coffee, but his new wife would.
“Kids say a lot of things that aren’t true.” Walker settled into one of the rocking chairs on the porch and gestured for Bear to take the other. “Especially when they’re hurting.”
Bear didn’t sit. He couldn’t. Not with Logan across the yard, getting farther away by the second. “He hates me, Walker.”
Walker took a sip of his coffee, considering. “Maybe.”
The simple, honest response was somehow exactly what Bear needed to hear. Walker Nash didn’t waste time on platitudes or reassurance. Just the truth.