LITMIR.BIZ

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for if he did.

      Savannah’s face flashed in his mind and he felt an old yearning that should be dead and buried. He could wish on every star in the summer sky and she’d never be his. It was as simple as that.

      B.J. dismounted and led his horse into the barn, where he cleaned and put away the tack, then gave the gelding a good brush-down.

      Earlier he’d said hello to Corb and they’d had a little chat. His younger brother was a typical middle child—easygoing and affable. He’d adjusted to being a father and a husband as if he’d been born to the roles. B.J. admired him for that. Even more, he admired him for being able to work with their mother.

      Both Corb and Brock had handled Olive a lot more easily than he ever could. It had always been that way. B.J. remembered railing to his father once about the way the family ostracized Maddie Turner.

      “It isn’t right, Dad. You walked right by her today and didn’t say a word. That isn’t the way you taught us to treat people.”

      His father had looked tired and he’d shaken his head when he’d answered. “You’re right, B.J. You weren’t raised to treat people that way. But sometimes you have to measure one thing against another. Being loyal to my wife is more important to me in this case than doing the polite thing.”

      “But Mom gets so stubborn sometimes. Are you sure she’s being fair?”

      “She isn’t the only one who can be stubborn, son. Your mom does a lot for you and she deserves your loyalty. As well as your love and respect.”

      The conversation had ended there and B.J. had not dared raise the topic again. He knew he’d disappointed his father by even asking those questions.

      As tough as he found his mother to understand at times, he did recognize that she’d devoted her life to her family and this ranch. She’d been a fiercely protective and caring mother when they were younger. And she’d worked long hours with the cattle and horses, as well.

      And it was thanks to her keen business sense that the ranch had done so well after their father’s death and the most recent economic downturn. She’d had the good sense to diversify so that besides running over a thousand head of cattle, they had a booming quarter-horse breeding program, as well.

      While their mother oversaw the entire operation, Corb was in charge of the cattle side of the business and, since Brock’s death, Jackson had taken over the breeding program. His foster brother had been an invaluable part of the core family for a long time now, yet B.J. sensed he wasn’t altogether comfortable with his new role.

      Finished with Big Black, B.J. let him out with the rest of the family’s horses. The ones that were used for working with cattle and pleasure riding by the family were kept separated from the more expensive quarter horses. It was a precaution that had paid off big-time last month when an unexpected outbreak of strangles had resulted in the entire ranch being quarantined for a month.

      If all the horses had comingled, the infection would have caused far more serious consequences than it had.

      As it was, Cassidy had lost her favorite mustang, Finnegan. A loss, B.J. knew, that his soft-hearted sister had felt keenly.

      Earlier B.J. had decided that he would sleep in his brother Brock’s cabin tonight. A long time ago his father had built three cabins along Cold Coffee Lake, which lay about a quarter mile beyond the main house. The idea had been one house for each son, but B.J. had given up his claim to Jackson.

      Corb, his new bride, Laurel, and their baby, Stephanie, lived in the third cabin.

      The middle one had been vacant since Brock’s death last July. It would be a nice quiet place for him to stay until he sorted out what to do with his life.

      B.J. was heading there when he noticed a light on in the office of the home barn. He could think of only one person who would be working on the books at this hour, and it was a person he wanted to see.

      Sure enough, he found Jackson on the oak chair behind the desk, frowning at the computer monitor.

      “Hey, man. Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard?”

      Jackson blinked, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Maybe a time or two. How are you doing? I thought you were in Central Point this weekend with your family?” Jackson stood, and shook his hand warmly.

      When B.J.’s father had first brought Jackson to the ranch, Jackson had been thirteen and B.J. seventeen. They’d butted heads at first. B.J. had resented the fact that his father was paying attention to this kid—this delinquent—who wasn’t even part of the family.

      But Jackson had worked hard, kept quiet and stayed out of trouble at school, and B.J. grudgingly came to respect and even like the guy.

      Eventually he learned enough about Jackson’s past to realize the guy deserved a break. His mom had been in jail herself when Jackson got into trouble with the law. And his father had never been a part of his life.

      At seventeen B.J. hadn’t been able to imagine life without his dad. Now, five years after losing him to a heart attack, he still felt the loss.

      “I was there,” he said in answer to Jackson’s question. “But I decided to come back early.” He shared the family’s results with Jackson, but brushed off Jackson’s congratulations.

      “Just another rodeo trophy, that’s all. I was glad Cassidy and Farley did so well, though.”

      Jackson went to the small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a couple of beers. “But I thought you had another rodeo in Washington you were headed to next?”

      “Had a change of plan. Plus I figured it was time to check up on the place. Frankly, I was hoping to find you enjoying life a little more than the last time I came home.”

      “And when was the last time?”

      “You know damn well when. Last March, when we were celebrating Corb and Laurel’s new baby.”

      “That was three months ago.”

      “Yup.” He eyed Jackson’s face, noting the tired lines around his mouth and eyes. “You had any fun at all since then? Dated any pretty girls?”

      Jackson snorted. “No time for that nonsense around here.”

      “You used to find the time to have fun,” B.J. recalled. “Blaming yourself for Brock’s death is just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

      “I don’t blame myself.”

      “If you’d look me in the eyes when you said that I might be able to believe you.” B.J. took a swallow of his beer and regarded his foster brother thoughtfully. He’d never forget the night before the wedding when they’d been discussing the driving plans. Initially he’d been the one who was going to chauffeur Brock and Corb to the wedding, while Jackson drove Olive in a separate car.

      It was Olive who had nixed that plan, insisting that her eldest son should be the one to accompany her into the church.

      “If I’d been behind the wheel, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Brock would still be dead. Corb would have hit his head and gone into that coma. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. It was just bad timing.”

      Both Savannah and a local rancher who had witnessed the accident had agreed on that point. Why couldn’t Jackson take any comfort from that?

      “Have you ever thought of seeing a counselor or something? Maybe a professional could help.”

      As he’d expected, Jackson shook his head at the idea. “Naw. It’s not just the guilt that bugs me. It’s having been there. And seen it all. I’m the only one, you know. To this day Corb doesn’t remember the accident, or even the entire week before it happened.”

      “He’s lucky he doesn’t—even if it did almost cost him his relationship with Laurel.”

      Jackson nodded, closing his eyes and

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