Cowboy's Unexpected Family (Thorne Ranch Brothers Book 1) Page 16

  He sighed as he reached the high point along the long driveway that overlooked the main buildings of the ranch, parked, and unfolded himself from the cab of his old, beat-up Ford truck. It was a good truck, almost as old as he was, but sturdy, and Trevor was grateful for it. He was fond of telling people when he was a little too far into his cups that it was one of the only useful things he’d gotten from growing up on the McCall ranch.

  “And I could sure use a beer now,” he muttered to himself, shielding his eyes with one calloused hand and looking out over the expanse of his family’s land. If he could call it that, which, he reminded himself, he had no real right to do.

  It was good land, beautiful, really, despite the old wounds dredged up simply by seeing it again. As little as he wanted to be here, a part of him responded to the place he had always called home. His father had always said that land had a way of getting under a man's skin, of seeping into his blood and taking root. Trevor and the late James McCall had disagreed plenty, but on this matter, they had been of one mind. It didn't matter how widely he traveled or how far away from home he ended up: there was nothing in the world like standing under the expanse of the open Winding Creek, Montana sky.

  “Brother!” a familiar voice called from behind him. Trevor heard a car door slam and turned to see his middle brother, Carson, standing next to his own truck. Unlike Trevor, Carson had not opted to keep the old clunker their parents had gifted him. At the moment, he was driving a brand new, shiny monstrosity, presumably bought with his winnings from rodeo riding.

  "Well, look at what the cat dragged in," Trevor chuckled, closing the distance between them and pulling Carson in for a hug. "I was wondering when you guys were going to get here. I was starting to think I was the only one who was going to make it."

  "What—is Randy not here yet?" Carson asked in surprise, turning in a slow circle as if by doing so, he might make their baby brother magically appear.

  “Nope, haven’t seen him,” Trevor said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, the way he always did when he was feeling on edge. Lord knew he felt that way now. Truth be told, he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, if such a thing were possible.

  He’d known it was going to be like this, at least had expected some approximation of his current level of discomfort. Trevor wasn’t under any illusions of home being the kind of place a person could always return to. Whoever had said that had either had a strong case of nostalgia or had grown up without a family of his own. As far as Trevor was concerned, the notion of home was just another fantasy.

  "Well, what do you want to do, then?" Carson asked, prompting Trevor to abandon his own thoughts begrudgingly. "Do we wait here in the clearing for Baby Brother to show, or should we go to the house?” He cocked an eye at Trevor. “The lawyer’s going to be waiting. He's...he said we've got business to attend to."

  Carson's voice broke near the end of the statement, and for a gut-wrenching moment, Trevor didn't think his younger brother was going to be able to finish the sentiment. It didn't matter how much Trevor had been dreading returning to the McCall ranch. Seeing Carson this way made him want to put his fist through something. Though the two of them had fought like cats and dogs growing up, they loved each other all the same. No matter the differences between them—and there were more than Carson could begin to guess at—Trevor would have done just about anything for the guy. Actually, that went for both of his brothers.

  “Come on, little man,” he said gruffly, clapping his hand on Carson’s back. “Let’s head to the house. Don’t want to keep Mr. Barnes waiting.”

  “Cut it out, Trev,” Carson groaned, rolling his eyes. That response set Trevor to laughing, a great guffawing sound that felt good for the soul. Carson was two years younger than Trevor’s twenty-eight and three inches shorter than Trevor’s height of six foot three, something Trevor had always enjoyed ribbing him about. Some things never changed, whether you were twelve or going on thirty.

  Trevor was surprised by the twinge of emotion it ignited in him, but he was pleased, too, glad to find something he could enjoy aside from the view at the old family homestead.

  “Come on,” he said again, still chuckling at his brother’s indignation. “Let’s go to the house. What do you wanna bet we find Randy already there?”

  “Yeah, okay. We’ll go to the house.” Carson's tone didn't exactly match his spoken agreement.

  For that, Trevor couldn't exactly blame him. He would have preferred to be just about anywhere but the house they had grown up in. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never set foot there again, and the fact that their parents were both gone now didn't make him feel any better about going back on his word.

  He turned his face up to the sky, where large, fat clouds were gathering, ready to dump their bounty onto the two McCall brothers. Not that Trevor would have minded. He'd always liked standing out in a storm, and it would beat listening to the reading of his parents' will, any day of the week. He didn't need to ask to know that Carson felt the same way. Only a sense of duty sent them back to their trucks, climbing in and slamming the doors, starting engines that somehow managed to sound as resigned as Trevor felt. In Trevor's case, duty was joined by a strong desire to get things over with so he could go back to his real life.

  "Not long now," he promised himself and the empty cab of his truck as he eased it back onto the road that led to his parents' house. "Not too long now, and all this will be behind you for good."

  He nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of doubt settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. That dread didn’t mean anything, or at least, it didn’t have to. All he had to do was get through the reading of the will, have some dinner and a few beers with his brothers, and as soon as tomorrow morning, he could be on the road. In a couple weeks, it would be like none of this had ever happened. Just another unhappy memory, another bad dream to file away in the part of himself he made sure never to visit.

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