The Wrangler (The Yacht Club #2)

Chapter 20

Twenty

ALEX

My phone rings and I answer without looking, one hand still holding the screwdriver I need to put on the light switch cover. Detail work, but someone has to do it.

“Alex. Zach Litchfield. Good news.”

What’s a lawyer’s definition of good news? He sent me a bill? “Hey, Zach.”

“All past charges in Texas have been dropped. Can’t be brought again.”

The screwdriver slips from my fingers and lands on the bedroom carpet. The switch plate hangs in place, held on by nothing. Like me in this moment. There’s a small lip of reality that my mind is clinging to because I can’t have heard him right. “How? Why?”

“Besides the statute of limitations expiring, there was the notarized statement from Sarah Jane. And it seems Alyss Littlejohn Hayward sent a letter directly to the judge explaining her side of the tale.”

I drop to my ass, my legs no longer working. “Alyss? Sent a letter?” She left town shortly after I did. Didn’t stay to finish high school in town. “Why would she do that?”

“I have a copy of the letter if you want to read it, but it mentions her cousin came for a visit and her father’s current actions against you couldn’t remain unchecked.”

SJ went to Alyss. And now I’m free. No sword hanging over my head. Doesn’t change anything and yet, it changes everything. “I can see my family?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. My assistant will mail you a final statement at the end of the month. And if you see SJ, let her know the pictures won’t be a problem in the future.”

I mouth some kind of answer and the call is over and my life is my own for the first time. First, I finish fixing the plate to the wall. After that, I call the airlines. Gabe is in the condo next door on the second floor, doing the same detailing I was. Well, he’s actually checking the bathroom plumbing for leaks. He pops out from under the sink when I call his name.

“What’s up.”

“I have to go.”

“Grabbing lunch?”

I check my watch. It is that time, but I’m too antsy to eat. “No a flight back home. Gotta pack. Be back in a week.”

He stands up with a hop to get his prosthetic leg under him, wipes his hands on his jeans. “Everything okay?”

“It’s good. Everything’s good. But I haven’t seen my family in ten years and I need to go.”

“Alright then, brother.” He grabs my hand. “Safe journey. I’ll be here when you get back.”

I give him a half hug and pat on the back, grab my tool bag, and head for the Sunflower.

Stone offers to drive me to the airport, but I decide to leave my truck, Reed finally drove out on one of his visits, in long-term parking. I can’t wait to get home even though I’m cutting the time to get on the plane close with the drive to Denver International. It’s late when I land in Dallas. Luckily, I’m able to rent a car. It’s a tiny thing I have to fold in half to fit into, but I’d shape myself into an origami swan and fly home if I had to at this point.

A long drive later, I realize my family is probably already in bed. Day starts early on the ranch, but I couldn’t wait another minute to see them. The porch light is on, its orange glow so familiar and welcoming. How many nights did I return home to this view, never appreciating the wide plank porch, the swing, even the blooming pots of geraniums my momma always puts out in the summer? Home. It calls to me, invites me to walk up the two steps, and hesitate about what to do next. Never have knocked on my own front door before, but even though I know my home, I’m not completely sure of my place here anymore.

I clench my jaw, roll my fingers into a fist, and rap on the door. Three quick bursts. I half expect to hear the unique response of a shotgun being prepped to pepper whoever is the asshole on my daddy’s front porch. Instead his face appears in the opening, blinking away the sleep. Concern melts away replaced by shock. “Alex?”

“Hi, Daddy.”

The door flies open and my father tugs me across the entry and into his arms. This is no man hug, this is a long lost son being embraced, enfolded back into everything he’s lost. My eyes sting. He calls to my mom over my shoulder. Footsteps flying down the stairs prompts him to release me. A tear tracks down his cheek.

“Oh.” My momma’s gasp pulls my heart from my chest. She’s on the bottom step, hand on her heart.

“I’m here, Momma.”

“My boy,” she says, launching off the stairs and wrapping herself around me.

I don’t remember her being so tiny. She’s a force larger than life that whooped me more than once when I deserved it. But somehow, the ten years have stripped away her fierceness. Left her a little colorless and soft. But she smells the same and her tears can still shred my heart.

“You’re here.” She leans back and holds my cheeks. Water fills her blue-gray eyes. “You’re finally here.”

“Sorry to be so late.” I say it like I missed curfew not that I missed a decade. Seeing my family over internet video chats on the rare occasion they could get a good enough connection to sustain a call is nothing close to standing in my home with my parents. Seeing everything is the same as when I left. This is what I lost. This is what I missed. This is what I came home for.

She sniffs. “You must be hungry. Let me fix you something. Your room is waiting for you.

I eat everything she puts on my plate. Cold ham. Reheated mashed potatoes and gravy. A scoop of green beans and a couple cold corn fritters I dip in maple syrup. Her homemade biscuit is on the edge of being dry, but I slap some butter on it and savor every crumb. My parents sit at the kitchen table with me, silently watching. Probably a lot like how they looked at me as a newborn. Theirs, but unfamiliar. Eating, so that’s a good thing.

The cold glass of milk is the perfect finish. I set down the glass and exhaustion hits me. I worked so hard to get here, and now that I am, all I want to do is sleep in my own room, in my own bed. “Want some help with the cows in the morning?”

My dad nods, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Best get to bed then. I hear they don’t sleep in like they used to.” It’s an old joke. How I was teaching the animals to sleep in so they could get more rest when I didn’t get up on time.

“I’ve been slacking on their training.” He stands and my mom takes my plate. I offer to wash it but she waves me away.

I kiss her cheek before I head up the stairs, taking my bag from the entryway with me. My room is exactly as I left it. No dust. Ribbons and trophies on a shelf mounted to the wall. Posters that have yellowed and curled. My black belt hangs in the closet with my gi. A picture of me and Alyss at junior prom. We look like babies. I put it face down not sure how my momma dealt with looking at it every week when she cleaned the room. But nothing that happened was Alyss’s fault. I’m too tired to figure out my feelings except quiet joy at being home. I strip down and crawl between the sheets on a bed that’s slightly too short now. A couple punches to my pillow and I’m out.

Despite the fact I’m still on Colorado time, I’m up and ready to spend the day working. Not that different than my normal day, except that I’m home. Momma has breakfast on the table when I come downstairs. Some things have changed. New curtains in the windows and Daddy invested in some automation and has a couple of hired hands to help. He’ll need it if he wins the election for Sheriff. Still can’t believe he’s running but the county is tired of M.D. Littlejohn and his dictator bullshit.

The ranch isn’t quite as big as I remembered it. None of the horses I rode are still here, but I still remember how to ride, even if I am sore the first couple of days. I help with construction projects, fixing the fence and patching a tiny leak in the barn. At night, I tell them stories about my life in Colorado. About how Blake is healing and the resort property is coming along. They tell me about the latest gossip since the last time we had a call which was longer ago than I remembered. I fit here, and I’m family, but I’m still just visiting. Despite being in the places where Alyss and I spent so many hours, it’s not her I miss. SJ crosses my mind more times than I care to admit. Things I want to tell her about my day, places I want to show her. She hurt me, flayed my heart, but she’s the one whose absence I feel there now.

My heart is a dumbass.

Sunday, after church, all the neighbors come by for the barbecue my parents are putting on in honor of my visit. Everyone from my old football coach, to my once best friend’s parents are there. Every neighbor in a ten mile radius has brought their offering to the meal. The tables groan under corn casseroles, corn bread, potato salad, macaroni salad, bean salad, baked beans, pinto beans, and more kinds of pie than I can identify. Daddy has two full briskets, racks of ribs, and burgers and hot dogs for the kids. I haven’t seen a crowd this big since the last football game I played in. But then they were seated in the stands. Now, I’m visiting with everyone and telling the story of where I am and what I’m doing over and over again. A few ask if I’m married yet or have a girlfriend. But only a few. Most know why I left town. I’m sure some of them still believe I’m guilty. Truth can be harder to find than a sober man at a bar. And it rarely tells a better story than a drunken lie.

As the party winds to a close and folks fill up their trucks and their mini-vans with their families, a familiar and unwelcome sight rolls up the road to our driveway. Lights flashing, the sheriff’s car skids to a stop and M.D. Littlejohn, slides out of the driver’s side, placing his had on his balding but still crew-cut head. He hitches up the waistband on his pants and strides over to where my father stands at the head of the drive. Several of the ranchers join him along with a couple well-known citizens, like the chief of the volunteer fire fighters, and our banker, Mr. Curtis.

“What can I do for ya’ M. D.” I note my daddy doesn’t use the sheriff’s title for the first time in my hearing.

“Heard your boy was in my county.”

I move to stand next to my father and cross my arms. “What can I do you for?”

“Got a warrant for your arrest.” He lifts the cuffs off his utility belt and slaps them in his palm.

My guts go liquid for a hot second before shifting to ice. Not. Again. “Got a piece of paper proving that?”

“Everyone here knows what you did to my daughter, Alex Craig.” He pitches his voice loud enough that anyone in this county or the next could hear him.

“You mean, Alyss? The one who’s living in Charleston with her husband the doctor who wrote a letter to the judge who dismissed your trumped up charges? That daughter?”

He gapes like a catfish cleaning the bottom of a pond. Did he assume I wouldn’t know?

“Unless you have a piece of paper, signed by the judge, I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not some green teenage boy caught with his pants down, Sheriff. Not this time.” If he’s going to call me out, I might as well finish painting the picture.

“Do they know you had to tie her up? That you can’t be with a woman unless you restrain her because no sane woman would want you. Pervert.”

“Well, Sheriff.” I tilt my hat back and scratch my hair before replacing it. “Being that gossip travels through this town like a twister on rails, I’m pretty sure they already know. But if by chance some of them missed it, now they do. And no, I’m not embarrassed by my love of ropes and all things ranching or my fascination with the Japanese artform of Shibari. As you well know. And being that these folks all came out here for Sunday dinner, to celebrate my homecoming with my family, I’d say most of them don’t care.” My mother is standing at my side. “They probably do still wonder why your wife left you so abruptly. And they’ll wonder later why you tried to arrest me on charges the judge already tossed out. Might even make them nervous to vote for you in the next election once they figure out you don’t follow the law.”

“I am the law.”

“No sir. You aren’t. You’re an angry little man who has made my life and that of my family’s miserable for far too long. Now unless you have a piece of paper you want to show me, I’ll say, ‘Good day, sir.’” If he pulls out a warrant, I’ll die right here. He goes to his car, opens the door, and leans in.

Fuck, he’s calling my bluff.

He pulls off his hat and places it on the passenger seat.

Is he leaving?

He stands back up and points his finger at me. “This ain’t over. One day, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“I’m sure the Lord will provide for you as well,” I respond.

My mother play slaps my arm. She’s not the only one that can drop a ‘bless your heart’ like burning oil from a castle fortification. Our group doesn’t move until the only thing that remains of the sheriff is the dust cloud on the road away from our ranch. After that, folks make their goodbyes as if nothing happened.

A few days later, I’m carrying my suitcase down the stairs.

“You sure you can’t stay a while longer, son?” My daddy’s question stings, because I hate disappointing him, and I’ve loved being here. My mother clinging to his arm and blinking up at me doesn’t help.

“I didn’t give them much notice when I left. Promised I’d be back to finish the resort in time for the grand opening. And since I’ve got a stake in it—” My shoulders rise as the finish of my explanation.

“Proud of you, son. Despite everything, you’re doing something with your life. Literally building something.” He claps my shoulder. “Proud of you.”

Someday we’ll have to have a discussion about the ranch, but not for several more years. Who knows, I might want to settle down here again. Or maybe the suburbs will have pushed so far out, the ranch will be a gated community. My parents will retire and finally see some of the world. I don’t know, but now I can come back anytime they need me.

“You’ll be here for Christmas, right?” Momma grips my forearm in her still strong hand. “Your sister’s coming with Ray and the kids.”

“Promise. Nothing could keep me away.” Except maybe one of those damn Texas ice storms. Hell, I’d rent a sled and get my ass here because I’m not disappointing them again. Ever.

When I finally get back to the Sunflower that night, the place is dark, but the front light turns on automatically when it detects my movement. One of the upgrades Blake and his team did before his accident. My key slides easily in the lock and I drag myself in. The trip back seemed to take twice as long as the trip to Dallas. A faint hint of lemon oil lingers in the air. There’s a single light on in the living room area.

“Stone.” I acknowledge the silent man in the chair.

“Alex. How’s the family?”

“Good. It was a good trip.”

“Any trouble with that Mad Dog sheriff?”

Not sure how Stone knows the sheriff’s nickname, but it’s Stone. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Glad you’re back. The final inspection is scheduled for next week. Gabe’s done an excellent job of filling in, but I’d like your eyes on it. We’ve got some buyers ready to close and Amy’s just about ready to put this place on the market. All depends on being able to move in.”

“Sure it won’t be a problem.” I have my one bedroom unit waiting for me. Living on site will make the next phases much easier. No commute. Guess I’ve committed to staying. Wasn’t completely sure until that moment. But as much as I love my family, I have a future here. One I’ve worked hard for. Earned all on my own.

“You’ll be ready to do the demonstration at the Grand Opening of the club.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but I respond anyway. “I’m good. No problem.”

“Glad to hear it.” He stands up and turns off the light. “If you find someone else to do the demo with, let me or Cassie know.”

I’m in the dark until he flips the switch at the bottom of the stairway. He’s halfway up before I get my bag and follow. I have no idea what he’s talking about finding another sub to do the demo with. I might find a partner one day, but not any time soon.

“See you in the morning.” He says over his shoulder before disappearing around the bend.

I’m quiet as I head to the opposite end of the hall. There’s a pang of loss that lingers as I pass SJ’s room, but that will fade with time, like those posters on my childhood bedroom walls that I took down and threw away before I left Texas. It’s okay to let things go even if they once meant something to you. But people aren’t posters and it might take me a lot longer to get over the red head who lassoed my heart before leaving it shredded under her heel.