LITMIR.BIZ

      AFTER A MISERABLE night’s sleep, Mike stared at the phone, wondering whether or not he should call his mother. It was possible that Lucky didn’t plan on staying for any length of time. She moved around a lot. He knew because he was in charge of mailing off the monthly check she received from Morris’s trust, and she was forever sending him a new address. If she saw this as a stopover, if she was only going to move on in a few days, mentioning her sudden return would upset his mother, his entire family, for nothing.

      But if Lucky was going to stick around, it’d be better to give everyone some warning.

      He’d called his brother, Josh, already, but Josh was in Hawaii with Rebecca and Mike hadn’t been able to reach him.

      “Mike?”

      Mike glanced toward the door. Plump, fifty-year-old Rose Hilman, who handled the accounting, had just poked her head into his office.

      “Yes?”

      “Gabe Holbrook is here to see you.”

      Forgetting about his mother, his brother and Lucky Caldwell, Mike sat taller in surprise. He’d grown up with Gabe. They’d been best friends since they were kids, but ever since the accident, Gabe rarely came around.

      “Send him in,” he said.

      As Mike waited, he felt a surge of guilt and remorse. Over the past few months he hadn’t made enough of an effort to see Gabe. The man had had a tough two years, the worst imaginable, but he’d become so remote and moody, it was difficult to connect with him anymore. There didn’t seem to be anything safe to talk about. The subjects they used to enjoy—football, rodeo, women—had all become painful reminders of Gabe’s loss.

      Mike stood as Gabe wheeled himself into the room, slightly heartened that his friend looked so healthy. A long-sleeved T-shirt covered the corded muscles in his broad shoulders and arms, which bunched as he forced his chair over the thick pile of the carpet. Obviously he’d been lifting weights. His face was leaner and harsher in some respects, but he possessed the same thick-lashed blue eyes and wavy black hair that had always made him a favorite with women. At least he’d been a favorite before the accident….

      “Gabe, good to see you, man.” Mike rounded his desk to shake hands.

      Gabe’s grip was firm. “It’s been a while.”

      Too long, and Mike knew it. If only the sight of Gabe in that damn wheelchair didn’t make him feel so…heartsick. He shoved his hands in his pockets, because he suddenly didn’t know what else to do with them, and sat on the edge of the desk. “You look good, buddy. You must be drinking more of that wheatgrass juice you made me taste last time I came up to the cabin.”

      It had probably been two months since that visit, but if Gabe resented the neglect, he didn’t let on. “There’re more vitamins and minerals in a tablespoon of wheatgrass juice than—”

      “I know—a whole grocery sack of fresh vegetables,” Mike broke in, chuckling. “And I still couldn’t force it down.”

      Gabe’s eyes swept over him. “From what I can see, you’re doing okay without it. For an old guy.”

      Two years younger, Gabe had skipped a couple of grades in school and always teased him about his age.

      “Forty’s right around the corner,” Mike said, “and you’re not the only one who won’t let me forget it. Josh has been giving me hell for months. So what brings you out to the ranch on such an ugly day?”

      Gabe’s eyes cut to the window, where snow was falling so thickly Mike could barely make out the barn.

      “The roads aren’t impassable yet. But your driveway could use some shoveling. How do you expect a cripple like me to get around?”

      The way he tried to make light of his situation made Mike more uncomfortable. Gabe’s body had been his whole life. Now he was a broken man, could never be fixed, and was living out in the hills like some kind of hermit.

      “You seem to get anywhere you want,” he said, which was true. If Gabe didn’t go out much, it wasn’t because he couldn’t.

      He shrugged. “I manage. Especially when I have a good reason.”

      “Sounds like something’s up.”

      “I wanted to tell you that my dad’s running for Congress in the next election.”

      “Really?” Mike nearly stood at this news, but remained sitting on the corner of his desk to lessen the height difference between them. He hated towering above Gabe when Gabe was really taller by a couple of inches. “That’s great. He’s got the background for it. He’s been a state senator for…what? Nine years now?”

      “Ten, but it’ll still be a tough race. Butch Boyle’s been in office forever.”

      “An incumbent is always difficult to beat. But your father’s well respected in this state. I think he has a good chance.”

      “We need some new blood in there. Butch’s been in Washington so long I don’t think he remembers he’s from Idaho.”

      Mike had to agree. He’d never been impressed with Congressman Boyle. But Mike would’ve supported Gabe even if Gabe had just announced that his father was running for President of the United States. This was the first sense of purpose he’d felt in his friend since the car accident.

      “Fund-raising’s critical,” Gabe continued. “That’s the other reason I’m here. I was hoping you’d help me.”

      “If you’re asking me to contribute, you know I will.” Mike leaned over and shuffled through some papers on his desk, looking for his checkbook, but Gabe’s voice stopped him.

      “I was hoping you’d be willing to do a little more than give me a donation.”

      Mike raised his eyebrows. “What, for instance?”

      “I’d like you to put together a committee. I want to meet with Conner Armstrong and the rest of the investors in the Running Y Resort, and Josh and your uncles and a few other folks in town.”

      “You don’t need me for that.”

      “Actually, I do. I’m not sure they’ll take an ex-football player seriously enough.”

      Mike

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