Chapter 1

1

T

here was nothing like country air. Charlie Matthews took a deep inhale, filling his lungs with an abundance of the oxygen offered to him in this wide-open space. The sweet tang of honeysuckle tickled his nostrils. The musk of hay and horses clung to his upper lip. He gulped down more of the intangible substance until the smells left his lungs and permeated his heart.

Charlie was so used to breathing the processed air inside a cockpit. Up in the clouds, the sparse oxygen was clean, pure. It didn't smell like it belonged to anybody. Down here on earth, on the Flying Cross Ranch, it smelled like home. Because this was home.

He was home.

Charlie inhaled again, opening his mouth to take in even more of the scents of the ranch he'd spent much of his life on. The tang of manure touched his tongue. The perfume of wildflowers was a cloud around his nose. And best of all, the savory scents of a dozen casseroles stuffed into the fridge made his belly grumble.

By his inability to shut the fridge door without force, Charlie could easily estimate that everyone in Honor Valley had brought over a dish. All of his father's neighbors wanted to make sure that Haran Matthews had everything that he needed. Which was a change.

Not the notion of folks being neighborly. This was still a small town, after all. It was a change because, once upon a time, the community had been leery of the Matthews boys.

Just a decade ago, anytime a car would kick up gravel on its way down the drive of the Flying Cross Ranch, Charlie and his brothers would run into the woods and hide. Even if whatever damage had been done to whatever discarded piece of property, or ruffian's jaw, or pretty girl's misguided heart, wasn't their fault. Because if it was any one of their faults, then it was all of their faults. Their parents believed in group punishment as a deterrence.

It never worked. The singular thing that actually deterred the six sons of Haran and Tessa Matthews from their wicked ways and childish games was the day their beloved mother took ill and passed away far too suddenly for the boys to catch their breaths and process their loss.

"That's enough now, son," said Haran Matthews.

Charlie's father was propped up on the living room couch that overlooked the hundreds of acres of the family's land. The pillows Father Matthews's wife had sewn surrounded him, like plush soldiers flanking his every side. Charlie had been in the process of adding one more pillow to his father's back when the old man shooed away his intentions.

"I'm fine here," said Father Matthews. "Why don't you go out and see some of your old friends."

In this town, the only friends the Matthews boys had had been themselves. Well, that and the Silver sisters on the ranch next door, who were also social pariahs in this town. Charlie knew his father wasn't referring to his other sons or their next-door neighbors.

By old friends, Charlie knew exactly which friend his father meant. Seeing her was on his agenda soon. But not today.

Charlie reached out and covered his father with a blanket that his mother had knit. The light blue fabric was in stark contrast against his father's brown skin. Charlie's pale hand was in contrast as well as he tucked the edges.

Father Matthews's hands were what Charlie loved best about his father. Those large, callused hands were what Charlie had noticed when he became Father Matthews's son twenty years ago. The man who would become his father had reached his hand out to Charlie, open-handed like they did on television shows where men dressed in suits and clasped hands.

The eight-year-old boy that Charlie had been had hesitated. He'd never shaken another person's hand before. He wasn't sure how to do it. Even before that, he wasn't used to any adult being kind to him. Somehow, he'd willed up enough courage to do that new and unknown thing. Taking Father Matthews's hand had been the best decision in his life.

"Don't the two of you have some pact where you have to be the first person each other sees when you're both back in town at the same time?"

The two of them did have that pact. This was the first time that Charlie would be breaking that promise to her. When she learned why, he knew she would forgive him.

She probably would forgive him.

She maybe would forgive him.

Hopefully, she would forgive him.

They'd made that pact when they were kids. They were adults now. Like him, she had grown used to adults breaking their promises over the years. This would be the one and only time he would break his promise to her.

His father had had a heart attack only a few days ago. Charlie had to take care of family first. Even though she had been his family before the Matthews had come in to rescue him from foster care.

That day had been the first time that Charlie had left her behind. It hadn't been the first time that she'd left him. Nor would it be the last.

For two decades, they'd been ships passing in the night. Docking a few days here and there. Rarely in the same port for too long. Today, Charlie was casting his anchor.

Which was entirely the wrong metaphor since, as an Air Force Pilot, he had hung up his wings before coming home. He was setting down his anchor, parking his boat, and mixing all the metaphors. The point was, Charlie Matthews was home to stay.

He took in another deep breath. This time breathing in the scent of his father.

Fresh pine.

Sweaty tack.

Safety.

Love.

"Just go and see her," said his father. "I'm just going to rest here."

For a man of the cloth, his father was actually a decent liar. Father Matthews uttered the bold-faced untruth with the peaceful air he'd use in a sermon. The problem was that Charlie had already caught him outside in the stables the other night. His father might not want to be babysat, but it's exactly what he needed.

"Nice try, old man. But I'm taking you in for your checkup today," said Charlie. "I have the rest of my life to spend with Savy."

Charlie thumbed the plastic ring he wore on a chain around his neck. He'd be seeing Savy soon. He'd be seeing her every day for the rest of his life after he got his father back on his feet.