Something caught my eye right then, and I stopped working. “What is that over there? Is that smoke?” I asked.
My father turned and gazed in the direction I was looking and laughed. “Yes. Kaylee mentioned she was doing some burning today. She cut down a tree.”
I grunted at the mention of her name, then turned to look at my father. “She cut down a tree? By herself?”
“Does that surprise you, son? The woman is spit and fire.”
I scoffed. “No. Nothing Kaylee does surprises me.”
We went back to working on the fence, but if he didn’t think I caught the slight smile on his face, he was wrong. I glanced up again to see the smoke. It was turning darker.
Kaylee. Damn woman.
I slowly shook my head. “Do you think she can handle that?” I asked, wiping my brow. It was hotter than normal for this time of year. March in Hamilton was usually in the thirties, but today it was fifty-eight degrees, and I was working up a sweat.
“Ty, did you really just ask that?” my father asked with a chuckle.
I rolled my eyes. If you looked up the words independent woman in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of Kaylee Holden. Not that I thought there was anything wrong with that. I admired her for making the move from Georgia to Montana and taking on the old farmhouse that Lincoln had originally bought from Brock. My brother’s first wife, Kaci, passed away while giving birth to their son, Blayze, and Brock decided to sell the house last year, since he hadn’t stepped back inside since Kaci died. Lincoln, being an interior designer with a love of old houses, bought it without even looking at it in person.
Brock built another house on the family ranch not long after Kaci died. It was a much bigger, grander house. So when Lincoln found out she was pregnant with Morgan, she ended up moving in with Brock and Blayze.
Once Kaylee decided to make Hamilton her permanent home, she moved into the old house and took over the remodeling of it. The girl had no idea what the difference was between a screwdriver and a hammer. I swore, every time I turned around she was changing or trying to build something.
“Dad, it was just last week that she nearly cut off her hand while trying to cut that sheet metal for the raised beds in her garden. Remember? Not that that made her change her mind. Lord knows what the woman is capable of with a chain saw.”
He rubbed his chin as he thought about it. “Maybe you should go see if she needs help.”
I swallowed hard, not wanting to risk the raging hard-on I’d suffer being in her presence. “Or Tanner could go.”
My baby brother Tanner was home for a few days. He was a world-champion team roper with his friend and team partner, Chance Miller. They had been ranked number two at the time of Tanner’s latest injury. Chance decided not to team up with anyone else and was giving his body a rest while Tanner was recovering from a broken ankle. He got hurt while jumping off his horse. It was a stupid injury, and one that shouldn’t have happened, but he landed wrong, and the damn thing snapped in two places like a dried-up twig. The only good thing that came out of it was our mama was damn happy to finally have all her boys home.
“Tanner can hardly walk on his ankle, and you want him to go help Kaylee cut down a tree?”
With a half shrug, I replied, “I rode a bull with a broken rib countless times. He just has a broken ankle. It’s sort of a sissified injury, if you think about it.”
My father wore a tight smile, not wanting to chuckle, but then he allowed the sadness to seep back into his eyes.
My chest ached for a moment, and I fought to push my own pain away. Pain and sadness over a life I no longer had. One I still missed but normally refused to think about.
Bull riding was once my entire life. The only dream I’d chased after. I didn’t want to settle down and have kids, didn’t want to work on the family ranch, at least not until I was in my midthirties. I loved my life. Bull riding, alcohol, and women. Not necessarily in that order, but more like those three things tied for first place in my own rankings. Those were the three things I lived for. I loved the ranch as well, but I thought I’d have a bit more time to follow my dreams before I helped run the ranch.
I didn’t get a say in any of that, though. Four long years ago, my dream was taken from me. Crushed in the blink of an eye. Doctors told me I most likely wouldn’t regain full use of my leg. I proved them wrong, but it came at a cost. The pain I endured while in physical therapy was what had me popping the pain pills left and right. Before I knew it, I was getting my hands on stronger pills and taking more than I should. I hid it from my family for a while until eventually I started changing. I got moody and mean, drank a lot.