Chapter 4 #2
Bailey waited until the sound faded before speaking. “He looks just like him.”
“I know.”
“The way he moves, the way he tilts his head when he’s thinking. Even his laugh sounds like Rowan’s.”
“I know.”
“Sierra, that man is walking around town, and it’s not going to take much before someone puts it together. Huck has his eyes and his smile and probably his stubborn streak.”
“Huck’s stubborn streak comes from me.”
“Does it? Or does it come from the man who stood up to his abusive stepfather and enlisted in the military rather than back down from a fight?”
Sierra sank into one of the student chairs, her knees suddenly unable to support her weight. “What do I do, Bailey?”
“You tell the truth. To both of them.”
“What if it ruins everything?”
“What if keeping the secret ruins everything?”
They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by motivational posters, reading charts, student artwork celebrating families.
“He offered to help with the cattle rustlers,” Sierra said quietly.
“And?”
“And I wanted to say yes. For about thirty seconds, I wanted to let someone else carry the weight of figuring out how to protect the ranch and keep us safe.”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t. Because accepting help from him means opening a door I’ve kept locked for ten years.
I can’t take the hurt of him betraying me again.
He may have been the boy next door, but he was a renegade with my heart.
Stole it, broke it into a thousand pieces, and the sad part is that now it’s no good for anyone else.
” Her mouth pinched. “But I can’t get hurt again. I just…can’t.”
“But Sierra. You’re in over your head.”
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but everyone needs backup sometimes. Even you.”
Sierra’s phone buzzed with a text message. She pulled it out and read the screen, then frowned.
“What is it?”
“Mal’s mom. Says her husband and she are running late to pick up the boys from roping practice. Wants to know if I can get them.”
“Go. We can finish this conversation later.”
Sierra gathered her things and headed for the door, then paused. “Bailey?”
“Yeah?”
“If you were in my position, what would you do?”
Bailey considered her. “I’d probably be terrified.
And angry. But I’d also remember that God has a plan for everything—don’t look at me that way.
Even this, Sierra. He can take the impossible and our broken hearts and…
well, I guess I’d trust Him. And eventually, I’d tell the truth.
Because lies have a way of exploding at the worst possible moment, and you and Huck deserve better than that. ”
Sierra gave Bailey a hug before she left.
The drive to the rodeo arena took fifteen minutes through South Eagle and past the high school where she and Rowan had spent countless hours together.
Sierra tried not to think about homecoming dances and football games and promises made.
Tried not to remember the way he’d looked at her when he’d said he’d come back for her after boot camp.
Yeah. Renegade. Or more simply…
A liar.
The arena sat on the outskirts of the city, a collection of metal buildings and practice pens where local kids learned to rope and ride before graduating to bigger competitions. Sierra parked near the entrance and walked toward the sound of whooping and cheering.
She found the boys in the main practice pen, taking turns roping a mechanical calf that jerked and spun unpredictably. Huck was up, rope coiled in his left hand, concentration written across his features as he tracked the machine’s movement.
The throw was perfect—smooth release, tight loop, clean capture. The kind of natural ability that couldn’t be taught, only refined through practice.
“Nice one, Huck!” Mal called from the fence rail. “Bet you could place at state with throws like that.”
“Maybe.” Huck reset his rope, grinning with satisfaction. “My great-grandpa always said good roping was about patience and timing.”
“What about your dad?” Jake asked. “Bet he was good at roping too.”
Sierra’s breath caught. It was an innocent question, the kind kids asked each other without thinking about the complexity of family situations.
“My dad died before I was born,” Huck said matter-of-factly. “Military hero. Mom has his flag.”
“That’s cool. I mean, not cool that he died, but cool that he was a hero.”
“Yeah. Mom says he would have been proud of me.”
Sierra gripped the fence rail, her knuckles white. Would Rowan be proud? Would he see his son’s talent and feel something other than obligation or resentment?
“Hey, Mom!” Huck spotted her and waved. “Did you see that throw?”
“I saw. It was beautiful, baby.”
“Can we stay a little longer?”
“Actually, we need to head home. Mal’s mom is running late, so I’m taking you boys home.”
“Aw, come on. Just ten more minutes?”
“Huck.”
“Fine.” He coiled his rope with the exaggerated disappointment of a ten-year-old whose fun was being cut short. “But I’m practicing again tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.”
The drive home was filled with the boys’ chatter about roping techniques and the rodeo competition. Sierra half listened, her mind churning with Bailey’s words.
And Rowan. Oh, she’d never pry the look of him, intense, those blue eyes on her, ripping through her world out of her mind.
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let him back in.
She dropped Mal and Gunnar at their respective houses, then headed toward the ranch as the sun began to set behind the mountains. October evenings came early, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that made the landscape look like something from a postcard.
“Mom, can I ask you something?” Huck’s voice was quieter now, more serious.
“Always.”
“Do you think my dad would have taught me to rope?”
The question hit her in the chest. “Yes, baby. I think he would have loved teaching you all kinds of things.”
“Do you miss him?”
Sierra’s throat tightened. “Every day.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She did miss Rowan every day—missed the boy she’d loved, the man she’d thought he might become, the father she’d imagined he would have been to their son.
“Do you think he would have liked me?”
Oh, no. “Huck, he would have loved you more than his own life.”
That part was absolutely true. Whatever else Rowan had become, whatever choices he’d made about staying dead to the world, he would have loved his son with the fierce protectiveness that had always defined him.
But that was the Rowan she knew. This man…? Oh, she didn’t know.
They came to the final hill before the ranch, and Sierra saw the smoke before she saw the flames.
“Mom.” Huck’s voice was small, frightened. “Something’s wrong.”
Something was wrong.
The red barn was on fire.
Flames licked through the roof, sending sparks into the darkening sky. Smoke billowed across the pasture, and she could hear the sound of sirens in the distance—someone had already called the fire department.
Sierra floored the accelerator, her truck flying down the gravel driveway.
No—nooo. The barn where her great-great-grandfather had stored his first harvest. The barn where Grandpa Elway had taught her to gentle horses and stack hay and understand what it meant to be responsible for something bigger than yourself.
The barn where she’d kissed Rowan Wallace for the first time when they were fifteen years old.
The barn where Huck was made.
Sierra pulled up to the house and saw Morrie running toward them from the direction of the fire, his face black with smoke and his eyes wide with something that might have been panic.
“Get to the house and stay there. Fire department’s on the way, but this thing’s burning fast.”
Sierra climbed out of the truck on unsteady legs, pulling Huck close to her side as they watched four generations of Blackwood history disappear into smoke and flame.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Rowan’s voice from this morning. You can’t handle this alone.
He was going to haunt her forever. Because the stupid man just might be right.
How did he think he could just drive into Renegade and fix everything in a day?
Rowan stuffed his spare shirt into his duffel bag with more force than necessary, the fabric bunching against the worn canvas.
The Mountain View Motel room looked exactly like what it was—a place where people stopped when they had nowhere else to go.
Water stains decorated the ceiling, and the carpet held the accumulated odors of forty years of transient guests.
“Well, this has been educational.” Saxon closed his laptop and stretched his arms over his head. “But I found us something better than this five-star establishment.”
“Define better.”
“Four walls, running water, and no one complaining about domestic disputes through paper-thin walls at three in the morning.” Saxon gestured toward the laptop screen.
“Furnished rental house on Aspen Street. Month-to-month lease, available immediately. Owner’s a widow who moved to Phoenix and doesn’t want the house sitting empty. ”
Rowan paused in his packing. “Us?”
“You didn’t think I was going to let you handle this mess alone, did you?” Saxon’s grin was all teeth. “Besides, I like drama. Very entertaining.”
“This isn’t entertainment, Saxon.”
“No, it’s a tactical situation requiring backup and intelligence gathering.
Two things I happen to excel at.” Saxon stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the faded curtain to peer out at the parking lot.
“Plus, someone needs to keep you from making any more brilliant strategic decisions, like announcing your resurrection in the middle of Main Street.”
“Technically, we were in the police station. And I’m not the only one who was dead.”
“I didn’t leave behind a girlfriend who was clearly waiting for me to return.” Saxon quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, okay, that was…that’s on me. But I was planning on returning.” Rowan’s jaw tightened. “That operation in Syria was supposed to be our last.”