Chapter Two
TJ
I'd been up since five, and by mid-morning my hands had gone numb twice already.
December cold wasn't new, but eighteen degrees with wind cutting through the valley hit different.
I'd already moved through the routine I could do half-asleep—feed the cattle, check water troughs, make sure everything was secure before the storm hit.
Weather report said snow by afternoon, heavy accumulation by evening.
Nothing we hadn't handled before, but enough to keep me on the property for a day or two.
Fine by me. I had nowhere else to be.
My breath fogged in the cold air as I forked hay into the last feeder.
The barn smelled like it always did—hay and livestock, familiar smells that had been part of every morning of my life.
The cattle pressed close, their body heat rising in clouds of steam.
A few of the cows were getting close to calving—I'd need to keep extra watch on them once the storm cleared.
Outside, the December sky hung low and gray, promising serious snow. The kind that buried fence lines and turned the whole valley white.
I pulled my work gloves tighter and headed for the equipment shed. Wanted to double-check the generator before lunch, make sure we had fuel for the next few days. The ranch had weathered plenty of Christmas storms over the years. This one would be no different.
My boots crunched through the inch of snow that had already fallen overnight. The wind was coming from the north, steady and cold. I checked the fence line along the north pasture—solid. Checked the water heater in the main trough—working.
I walked down to the south pasture to check on the pregnant cows. Number forty-seven stood apart from the herd, her belly heavy, that look in her eyes that said she'd drop her calf any day now. Made a mental note to check on her again after I got back. If I got back before dark, anyway.
The wind shifted, bringing a bitter edge that meant the temperature was dropping fast. Going to be a cold one. The kind of night you wanted to be inside, fire going, maybe some company.
Not that I'd have any. Another quiet holiday on the ranch, which was fine by me. The cattle didn't care if I was alone.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket as I was securing the generator shed. Mom.
Come up to the house. Need to talk to you son.
I frowned at the screen. Mom didn't usually text during the day unless something was wrong. I typed back: Everything okay?
Yes. Just come up.
I finished with the generator and headed toward the main house, my boots caked with mud and manure from the morning's work.
The two-story log home sat at the heart of the property, smoke rising from the chimney.
I'd grown up in that house. Knew every creaking floorboard, every view from every window.
Someday—if I ever found someone willing to share this life—it would be mine to fill with my own family.
Someday.
I stomped the snow off my boots on the porch and opened the door. Warmth and the smell of coffee hit me immediately—and something baking. Mom's Christmas cookies, probably.
"In here," Mom called from the kitchen.
I walked through, already pulling off my Stetson. Dad sat at the kitchen table, still wearing his work shirt despite the late morning hour. Mom stood by the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug. Both of them watched me with expressions I couldn't quite read.
Serious, but not bad.
"What's going on?" I hung my hat on the hook by the door.
"Sit down, son." Dad gestured to the empty chair.
I sat, tension creeping into my shoulders. "Someone dying?"
"No." Mom laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Nothing like that. We wanted to talk to you. Officially."
Dad cleared his throat. "We're retiring."
I blinked. "What?"
"As of January first," Mom said, setting her mug down. "Your dad and I are stepping back. The ranch is yours, TJ. Fully. We'll still be around to help when you need it, but day-to-day operations, all the decisions—that will be up to you going forward."
I sat back in my chair, processing. I'd known this was coming eventually.
I was the oldest. Emily had her tech job in Seattle, was happy there with her husband, no interest in ranching.
Cole loved the Navy, was making it a career, already talking about doing his full twenty years.
Neither of them wanted to take over the family business, and that was okay.
They'd found their paths. This was mine.
But hearing it out loud made it real.
The weight of it settled over me—three generations of Johnsons working this land, and now it was mine to carry forward. Pride mixed with responsibility, heavy and real.
"Okay," I said finally. "When are you moving out?"
"End of January." Dad's voice was steady, confident. "We bought a smaller place outside Livingston. Five acres. Enough for your mom to keep breeding her dogs on a smaller scale, not so much that we're killing ourselves with upkeep."
Mom nodded. "I'll scale down to a few litters a year. Focus on showing the retrievers more. It'll be nice to have less responsibility, honestly."
"You sure about this?" I glanced between them. "You worked your whole lives—"
"Which is exactly why we're ready." Dad leaned forward, his weathered hands folded on the table.
"Sixty years of breaking my back is enough, TJ.
Your mother wants to see something besides the backside of cattle.
We want to see Emily in Seattle more than twice a year.
Maybe take that trip to Ireland she's been planning since before you were born. "
"You've earned it," I said, meaning it. "Both of you."
"We know you'll take good care of this place." Mom's eyes got a little misty. "You always have. You love it the way we do. Maybe even more."
I did love it. The land, the work, the rhythm of seasons and cattle and knowing every fence line by heart. Some men needed cities. I needed this—the land, the work, the quiet. It was enough.
Emily had invited me to Seattle for Christmas. Said I could sleep on their couch, meet her husband's family, see the city. Cole had offered the same from San Diego—come down, hit the beach, forget about Montana winter for a few days.
I'd said no to both. The ranch needed me. The herd and our horses needed me. And the truth was, I didn't know how to be anywhere else anymore.
"Promise us something," Dad said.
"What?"
"Don't let this place be all you have." His expression softened. "We worry about you, son. You work hard, we're proud of that. But you're twenty-nine years old. When's the last time you went out? Saw friends? Met someone?"
I stared at the table. "I'm fine."
"You're single." Mom's voice was gentle, almost teasing.
"And we know that's partly our fault. We've needed you here, depended on you.
But now that we're stepping back, maybe you can finally.
.. breathe a little. Live a little. We want you to have someone to share all this with.
You're too young to be married to a ranch. "
"I like my life."
"We know." She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "We don't want you to wake up at fifty and realize you spent it all alone because you thought the business needed you more than you needed someone to share it with."
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I thought about the main house, big and empty except for me. About coming home every night to silence. About watching my siblings build lives while I stayed the same.
"I'll work on it," I said, which was easier than explaining that most women didn't want what I had to offer. Five hundred acres, thirty minutes from town, long hours, no promises of anything glamorous.
"Good." Mom patted my hand and stood. "Now, speaking of living a little, I need a favor."
I should have known there was more.
"The puppies are ready to go home," she continued. "Most of the buyers picked theirs up yesterday, but RoyAnn—you remember her? Lost her husband back in March?"
"Yeah." I'd met her once at one of Mom's dog shows. Nice woman, probably mid-seventies.
"She was supposed to pick up her puppy yesterday, but the weather forecast scared her off. She lives near Paradise Valley, and with the storm coming, I don't think she'll make it here. I promised her a Christmas companion, TJ. She's been so lonely."
I saw where this was going. "Mom—"
"It's a quick drive. Hour and a half to Paradise Valley from here, if the weather holds. Drop the puppy off, turn around, come home."
"Storm's supposed to hit this afternoon."
"You'll beat it. And you're accustomed to driving in inclement weather." She gave me that look, the one that said she'd already decided and arguing was pointless. "Besides, it'll be good practice. Boss makes the hard calls, does what's right even when it's inconvenient."
"Playing the boss card already?"
"Is it working?"
I sighed. Glanced at Dad, who shrugged like this was my problem now. Turned back to Mom, who was smiling because she knew she'd won.
"Which puppy?"
"The last female golden. She's in the kennel, already has her red bow.
Sweetest little thing." She was already moving toward the mudroom.
"I've got formula, blankets, toys all packed up.
RoyAnn's address is programmed in your truck's GPS.
" She paused, then added with a slight frown, "Hopefully the thing will last through the season. "
"It better," I muttered.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in Mom's kennel holding an eight-week-old golden retriever puppy who would not stop squirming.
"Come on now," I muttered, trying to secure her in the carrier. "You're going to a good home. Settle down."
She let out a soft cry and licked my hand, her whole body wiggling with excitement or fear or both. The red bow around her neck was already crooked. Brown eyes that trusted me completely, oversized paws, and ears so floppy they dragged when she moved.
Yeah, this soft little creature had my number already.