Chapter 4 Aspen
Aspen
Ialmost cried when the doctor handed me the prescription.
Not because the medicine would cure Grandpa.
It wouldn’t.
Everyone in the room knew that.
But it might slow things down.
And right now, slowing things down felt like a miracle.
The drive back to the farm was quiet.
Dylan sat beside me in the truck, Buddy’s leash looped around his wrist while the dog stuck his head out the window, ears flying in the wind like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
I wished life were that simple.
When we pulled into the gravel drive, the old farmhouse looked exactly the same as it had the first day we arrived two weeks ago.
Tired.
Weathered.
Trying its best to stand strong anyway.
Kind of like the people living inside it.
I turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
There was so much to do.
I glance over at Dylan as he climbs out of the truck, Buddy already circling him like a guard dog.
He looks so small out here.
Too small for everything life has already handed him.
My chest tightens.
“Hey,” I call softly.
He looks up immediately.
Always listening for me.
Always watching.
“You stay where I can see you, okay?”
He nods.
Doesn’t argue.
He never does anymore.
And somehow…
That hurts more than if he did.
The chickens needed feeding.
The two cows—Desi and Lucy—were probably already standing by the fence waiting for grain.
The grass had grown high around the garden.
And the weeds…
Lord, the weeds were winning the war.
I leaned my head back against the seat.
For one second, I allowed myself to think about him.
Joseph.
My husband.
My Navy SEAL.
Everyone else had called him Tank.
To me he had just been Joseph.
The man who could fix anything.
The man who laughed like the world was a good place.
The man who promised me we’d grow old together.
He’d been gone seven years.
Seven years.
And somehow the ache hadn’t faded.
It had just… settled deeper.
Dylan opened the truck door.
I glance over at Dylan as he climbs out of the truck, Buddy already circling him like a guard dog.
He looks so small out here.
Too small for everything life has already handed him.
My chest tightens.
“Hey,” I call softly.
He looks up immediately.
Always listening for me.
Always watching.
“You stay where I can see you, okay?”
He nods.
Doesn’t argue.
He never does anymore.
And somehow…
That hurts more than if he did.
“Mom?”
I straightened quickly, wiping my eyes before he could see anything.
“Yeah, honey.”
“Buddy wants to run.”
Of course he did.
Buddy jumped out of the truck the second Dylan unclipped the leash, racing across the yard like the entire world belonged to him.
Dylan laughed.
The sound filled the quiet space around the house.
For a moment, everything felt lighter.
I climbed out of the truck and stretched, my back protesting from the long morning.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s get chores done before dinner.”
Dylan nodded seriously.
He always nodded like that now.
Like he was older than eleven.
Like he understood things kids shouldn’t have to understand.
That part broke my heart more than anything.
While Dylan headed for the chicken coop, I walked toward the barn with the feed bucket.
The scent of hay and dirt wrapped around me.
It reminded me of summers growing up.
It reminded me of simpler days.
Desi and Lucy were already waiting by the fence, their big brown eyes watching me like they were judging my lateness.
“Yes, yes,” I muttered. “I know.”
I poured grain into the trough and leaned against the fence for a moment while the cows happily started eating.
I glance toward the porch.
Grandpa is still in his chair.
Still staring out like he’s waiting for something that isn’t coming.
My throat tightens.
“I’m right here,” I whisper under my breath.
Even if he doesn’t know it.
Even if he forgets again tomorrow.
I’m not going anywhere.
The quiet gave my mind too much room to wander.
And somehow it wandered back to the tavern.
The Last Stand Tavern.
Those men.
The ones who had taken care of Buddy.
The tall one with the dark hair.
Nash Rivers.
Havoc.
Even his nickname sounded like something from the military.
And the way the others moved…
The way they watched everything.
The way they stood like they were always ready for something to go wrong.
It reminded me of Joseph.
Of the men he had served with.
Of the way they carried themselves, even when they were just standing around a barbecue.
My husband used to say you could always recognize soldiers.
They moved differently.
Like they belonged to a team even when they were standing alone.
I stared across the pasture, lost in thought.
“Mom!”
Dylan’s voice snapped me back.
He was running toward me.
Buddy beside him.
And for a split second my heart jumped in panic.
“What’s wrong?”
He skidded to a stop, breathing hard.
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
Then he grinned.
“I just wanted to tell you Buddy didn’t run away.”
I laughed softly.
“Well that’s progress.”
Dylan shrugged.
“I think he likes that guy.”
“Havoc?”
“Yeah.”
Buddy wagged his tail like he understood exactly who we were talking about.
I shook my head.
“Buddy likes everybody.”
Dylan looked thoughtful.
“No,” he said slowly.
“He likes good people.”
I watched my son run back toward the house, Buddy racing beside him like a furry missile. Grandpa sat in his rocker on the porch staring out at the farm.
I find him dozing in the chair, the sunlight falling across his face.
For a moment… he looks peaceful.
Like time hasn’t touched him.
I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it gently over his shoulders.
“Joseph always said you’d fall asleep anywhere,” I murmur softly.
His hand shifts slightly under the fabric.
And something tightens in my chest.
“You raised a good man,” I whisper.
My voice cracks.
“I’m trying to take care of you the way he would’ve wanted.”
Then I looked toward town.
Toward the tavern.
Toward the quiet group of men who had helped a stranger without asking questions.
My husband had once told me something about men like that.
You don’t always recognize heroes when you meet them, he’d said.
Sometimes they’re just the guys sitting in the corner of a bar.
I exhaled slowly.
For the first time since moving here…
I didn’t feel quite so alone.