“He went to jail. It looks bad now.”
“Yeah. Okay. But from what AJ said, those assholes asked for it both times. Some people can’t learn any other way not to mess with a guy’s honor, his reputation.”
“Does he talk to you?”
“About Afghanistan? What went down there? Some.”
“Paul is horrible about it.” Lily was a little shocked, hearing herself. She was almost never critical of her husband, especially in her father’s presence, but what she’d said was the truth, and as she got older, she was finding it harder not to speak up for it. “If AJ talks about the difficulty, the—the horrors he encountered, Paul shuts him down. He tells AJ to be a man and quit his whining. It makes me so angry.”
“He wants his son to be strong, that’s all. If a guy isn’t strong, life will take him down. It will put him on his knees. Paul doesn’t want that for AJ. No father wants his kid to be weak.”
“Since when is it weak to be sickened by the atrocities of war? It’s madness.” Butternut’s ears twitched as if at Lily’s vehemence.
Her dad said, “It’s how the world is—how society is,” and after that, they were quiet.
The farther they rode, the more Lily’s sense of dread wove itself into the sound of the wind, the creaking of their saddles. The sun began its descent, falling behind a low-hanging crenellation of clouds, infusing them with lilac-tinged light. In ordinary time, Lily might have let herself revel in it, riding with her dad, the beauty of her surroundings. But even in ordinary time, she had worried about AJ. She had felt, especially since his return from Afghanistan, that he was at risk, that anything might happen. This—as unreasoning as it was, she’d been expecting something like this, a disaster of major proportions.
“Did he tell you he stopped going to counseling?” Lily asked her dad. “All of it, the group therapy, the one-on-one sessions—”
“He said it wasn’t helping.” Her dad was unperturbed. “Too much dwelling on the past, and he wants to move on. He’s talked to me about getting involved with the Wounded Warrior Project, which would be a good thing for him, I think. But he’s got to find his own way, Lily.”
“I wish—”
Her dad turned to her, brows raised.
She shook her head. The list of what she wished was too long, too hard to name. But to have AJ’s love and his trust, to have him feel he could talk to her, seek her help in times of trouble—those things were at the top of it. If only she knew how to reach him, how to close the distance between them. But she didn’t, and it made her heart ache.
“I never talked to my mom, either,” her dad said. “I didn’t want to upset her.”
Lily had never known her father’s parents. His mother had died when Lily was two, and his dad had died before she was born. She said, “I’ve done some research, and men who have been in combat can have flashbacks; they’re hypervigilant, paranoid. They can think they’re in danger, that they have to defend themselves. They do things—”
“Not AJ.” Her dad cut her off. “Not like what was done to that girl.”
There was no sign of AJ at the deer blind, nor any sign that anyone had been there recently. But they did find fresh tire tracks near one of the service gates.
“Are they from your truck?” Lily looked up at her dad from the tire-treaded ground.
“Nah.” He pushed his hat back on his head. “But they could belong to Wylie’s truck, I guess.”
“Wylie Evers? What would he be doing on our land?” Wylie owned the neighboring ranch, the Triple Oak, and the last Lily knew, he and her dad were still feuding over Wylie’s refusal to pay for the repairs when his lightning-spooked cattle damaged a section of the xL’s fencing a few years back. “I thought you two weren’t speaking.”
“I may lease the land to him,” her dad said, “or I may sell it to him. Haven’t decided.”
“You’re joking, right?” But Lily could see he wasn’t. There was weariness in his eyes, the pained shadow of resignation.
“I’m tired of the responsibility. If I go through with the sale, I’ll keep the house and barn and maybe a dozen or so acres, enough for AJ to run a few head if he and Shea want it.”
“What about Winona’s house? You wouldn’t let that go?”
“I built that place for Win after your mom died. It’s hers until she doesn’t want it anymore.”
“Okay, but I thought when you sold the herd last year, that was to relieve the stress, give you free time.”
“Turns out I’m not too good at free time. I’m an old man now, seventy-four, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Ain’t that a kick in the pants.”
“But there’s Erik. If he comes on as ranch foreman—”
“He turned me down. Third time. I’m not asking him again.”
“Oh.” Lily was hurt on her dad’s behalf. She didn’t understand any better than he did why Erik chose to work a string of menial jobs over being the xL’s foreman, in charge of the entire cattle operation. The first time he’d declined the offer, though, her dad had sold the herd. Now it was the land that was in jeopardy. She wondered if Erik knew what her dad was planning, if it would cause him to reconsider.
“He’s never liked hard work,” her dad said. “Basic training kicked his ass, too. Remember?”
“That’s not really fair, Dad. His asthma flared up. He was in the ER half the time, trying to breathe. I don’t know why you always harp on that.” She was lying; she did know it was out of humiliation at being turned down, which was equal to, if not greater than, Erik’s humiliation at having washed out of basic. “I hope Winona never hears you.”
“She knows,” he said, in a way that made Lily think there had been some discussion, possibly heated, between Win and her dad. “She’d change his mind if she could, but she’s got no influence over him. He’s his own man. He’ll suffer the consequences of his dumb-ass mistakes like everyone else.”
“That’s what Paul says about AJ becoming a chef.”
“AJ’s got a focus; he’s not afraid to work and work hard for what he wants. I might wish he would take over here, but I’m happy enough he’s got a dream, the will to pursue it.”
“He’s talked to you about farming the land here?”
“Yeah, but he damn sure doesn’t need six hundred and thirty-seven acres to raise a few hundred pounds of organic livestock. He talked about running a few head of that fancy brand cattle—Akaushi, it’s called—and maybe some free-range chickens, a few rows of vegetables. Whatever he needs to support the restaurant. I’m happy if I can help him.”
“Me, too,” Lily said.
“Hell, maybe I can go to work for him. Give me something to do.”
“From rancher to farmer.” Somehow Lily couldn’t quite picture it—her dad in overalls with a pitchfork in his hand.
He lifted his hat and resettled it. “C’mon,” he said, giving Sharkey’s flanks a nudge. “We’re burning daylight.”