Second Chance at Dawn

One

Peter

Present Day

Something slowly pulled me from the deep. I dug in my heels—unwilling to go, but the choice fell beyond my realm of control.

As always.

In that place between wakefulness and sleep, it was difficult to determine if my eyes were open.

I had to lean into sensations—the slight burn, the fan blowing air against my eyelashes.

What even woke me up? I couldn’t tell. I stopped setting an alarm months ago.

Every dark hour bled together and destroyed my circadian rhythm.

I swallowed against my dry throat, suddenly aware of the dream I’d had. Of the way my body was wound—clammy skin, muscles tight with passion, labored breath.

Sarah.

For a few minutes, I forgot I was alone—the dream so vivid her scent lingered between the sheets. I sank further into the pillow, wishing I could force myself to fall back asleep and hold her again.

I locked my arms around my pillow and turned my face into the make-believe crook of her neck—exactly what I’d do if she were lying beside me.

When my eyes were closed, I could see her colors.

Red fire, blue ice, a dozen shades of brown.

But a hollow thud-thud-thud on the door of the fifth wheel jolted me out of my thoughts.

They’d been knocking for a while.

Groaning, I pulled the waffle-weave blanket over my head and draped my bicep over my ear. If I had the energy, I’d chew them out. But it’s not like they would’ve listened anyway. My jaw clenched with resentment at the sound.

“Peter, it’s Tag. We’re comin’ in if you don’t open the door.”

I knew what they wanted and they could march their good intentions straight to the pit of hell.

I willed myself to fall back asleep and grab up one more precious second of peace before they ruined it for the rest of the day.

But keys jangled, hinges creaked, and the fifth wheel dipped as my unwanted visitors filed in.

I counted three sets of feet coming up the metallic steps and over the threshold.

“Peter.” Jesse’s voice this time. “Come on, man. We talked about this yesterday.”

With my head under the covers and my arms still locked around my pillow, I stuck a hand out and lifted a middle finger. Someone laughed.

Ugh. Cooper.

“You know we aren’t gonna leave until you comply.

” Some people’s voices changed based on the situation—more animation when excited, put on accents when trying to be funny, and things like that.

But not Tag’s. The soft, southern lilt in his voice persisted like a steady river.

“You can’t stay in the fifth wheel anymore.

You’re movin’ to the bunkhouse and workin’ with the cowboys or you’re leavin’ the ranch to find some other place to stay. ”

A beat of silence fell over them as they waited for my response.

I didn’t respond, just pulled the pillow closer, tighter.

After Sarah left, I hunkered down in the fifth wheel, unable to find a reason to leave as the last remaining flickers of light were snuffed out.

The cold hard ground beneath my feet could only be rock bottom.

Forget working, even drawing my next breath felt too hard, too heavy.

Over and over, I had wondered if the nicest thing to do was gift Sarah with my million dollar life insurance payout.

Jesse spoke up again. “We’ll drag you out if we have to.”

“It’s time for breakfast, and you’re comin’.” A hand—Tag’s, I assumed—yanked the covers off my head. “Get up.”

My voice rumbled with first usage. “Can I have a few minutes?”

“You’ve had three days,” Jesse said. “We told you last night to set an alarm and be on time.”

“I can’t find my way.”

“Bullshit.” That was Cooper. “Yes, you can.”

Why was Cooper in on this? Their plan must’ve been to intimidate me into submission by mere force of numbers, and I despised how solid that strategy was. My resistance would be short-lived. Sure, I had a stubborn streak, but me versus three cowboys wasn’t good odds.

And I didn’t want my sisters to see me dragged to the breakfast table.

Even the thought put a bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to see my sisters period. Not like this. Not after everything that happened with Sarah. They didn’t think much of me right now, and I was punishing myself plenty.

Tag’s hand, callused and rough, wrapped around my bicep and pulled. “Time’s up.”

I struggled against him, but it was no use. Jesse grabbed my other arm, and together they pulled me off the edge of the mattress.

I looked pathetic, surely—hair mussed, tense with desire, almost naked, and days unshaven. Humiliated, I hung my head as they forced me to stand.

My nose started to tingle as the heat burned behind my eyes.

I frantically blinked, trying to pull myself together.

My pride would never recover if I cried right here and now.

I swallowed, forcing myself to take it in stride until I was alone.

But then, I wouldn’t be alone any time soon, would I?

The bunkhouse would become my new home today.

Jesse instructed Cooper, “Find him some clothes.”

A metal-against-metal grating sound filled the air as Cooper pulled open my top drawer. A cool t-shirt hit me in the chest. Jesse and Tag released me long enough for me to locate the tag at the collar and yank it the right way over my head.

Next came a pair of jeans which I slowly pulled on over my underwear, ignoring the heat in my cheeks as I zipped up.

All of them were quiet, giving me space to get dressed without being verbally harassed, which I appreciated.

It occurred to me that they might’ve hated forcing me as much as I hated being forced.

After I put on socks, my tennis shoes, and my Rockies hat, I snapped, “Am I allowed to take a piss and brush my teeth?”

“You got ninety seconds.” Tag answered. “We’ll be outside.”

Making damn sure I took longer than ninety seconds, I finished getting ready and debated on whether or not to grab my smart glasses.

They were really helpful with some things, but required higher data speeds for processing a new environment and the connection at Meadowbrook sucked if you were anywhere other than the big house, connected to their WiFi.

And, knowing Tag, I probably wouldn’t be hanging around the big house all day.

I opted for my glide-tip cane and left the glasses.

A few seconds later, the twittering of birds and a crowing rooster met my ears. Gravel crunched beneath my rubber sole as I stepped onto the ground.

Jesse said, “We put some guide ropes up, leading to the major destinations around the ranch.”

“Guide ropes?”

“Yeah. If you take a few steps down this way…” Jesse’s voice grew distant as he walked to the end of the fifth wheel.

I followed him, listening to the way his boots crunched the pebbles.

“Right up around shoulder level is the gooseneck.” I lifted my hand, dragging my fingers over smooth metal. He asked, “Feel that?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“We tied a rope there.”

My fingers found and latched onto said rope. “I got it.”

“That rope will take you all the way to the back of the big house. You’re exactly two hundred and two feet from the steps up to the porch where we eat breakfast.”

I shouldn’t have needed a rope. I ground my teeth together, frustrated. The first thing I learned at the training center was how to confidently navigate. Yet moving forward was still the most frightening thing I had to do every day.

Tag chimed in. “We’ve got another one leading from the front porch to the barn and another from the barn to the bunkhouse. But they aren’t stayin’ up. You get twenty-four hours with the ropes then they’re comin’ down.”

I nodded as if my pride hadn’t already been desecrated. “What…what am I doing today?”

Tag took a deep breath. “Cooper is goin’ to teach you everything you need to know. Ain’t that right, Coop?”

“Yep.” Cooper chuckled, the sound soft and breathy. “Ever threw hay bales, Peter?”

I didn’t respond.

“I promise we’ll have fun. I’ll even throw in a bonus and let you listen to my playlist.”

“Sorry, buddy.” Jesse clapped me on the back. “He likes screamo.”

The men headed up the gentle slope toward the big house so I shakily grabbed the rope and pushed my feet onward, letting the frayed plastic fibers scrape the inside of my palm.

The metal tip of my cane clacked over the gravel then the echoes muted as the ground morphed into damp grass.

It was a touch overgrown, wetting the bottom of my pant legs.

The delectable scent of fresh baked bread filled the air and my mouth pooled with saliva. Hollie had brought meals down to the fifth wheel, but I hadn’t eaten much of anything in several days. Now, I realized how hollow my midsection felt, how hungry I truly was.

Their footfall changed when they hit the bottom step and I took the sound as a cue, lifting my cane and climbing then following the porch around to the picnic table.

A soft chatter reached my ears—cowboy’s voices, the clank of silverware against ceramic, and Hollie. I dipped my head, allowing the bill of my hat to cover the shame on my face.

“Morning, Peter.” Hollie approached me and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. She lowered her voice. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yep.”

Her hand moved air as she motioned past me toward the picnic bench. “We’re leaving this end seat open for you.”

“Cool. Thanks.” I eased into the spot.

With her hand still on my shoulder, she said, “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Coffee hit the bottom of a ceramic mug as she said, “We’re having biscuits, gravy, and eggs.”

“Okay.”

Once everyone was seated, food was passed in a circle around the table. Each bowl was thrust into my hands, and I had to serve myself like a big boy.

Sarah would approve of that. I snorted at the thought.