“See, you do care.” Babs’ eyes turned watery before she blinked the moisture away. “Yes, he comes with some impressive credentials, including five years as the lead trauma surgeon at Denver Health. He and your father have a love/hate relationship.” Her lips quirked, as if she knew what he would say to that.
“Like Leland has with everyone, including me.”
She chuckled and gave his arm a slight push. “Go, take care of your horse and I’ll tell him you’ll be in shortly.”
Kurt drove around to the stables where they housed the Thoroughbreds and ushered Atlas out of the trailer. With a coat color somewhere between white and tan and white tail and mane, the stallion was a striking animal and one he’d grown fond of since buying him six years ago. Spending time riding Atlas every day instead of having to settle for weekends at the boarding stables was one of the perks of returning to the ranch he was looking forward to most.
“Here you go, boy.” Opening the gate into the pasture behind the stable, he unhooked the lead from his halter and slapped his rump. Atlas took off at an exuberant gallop and it was a pleasure watching his enthusiastic acceptance of his new surroundings. He found a small group of other horses and after a few nips and head butts to establish territory, everyone seemed to get along. With a sigh of inevitability, Kurt turned toward the house and strode across the lawn to check in with his parent before unpacking.
He could hear Leland’s brittle tone as he veered toward the master bedroom suite on the south side of the house. Reaching the double doors to his parent’s room, he pushed one open and saw him sitting in a wheelchair facing the wide window where he must have watched him walking from the stable. Kurt cut a quick glance toward Cory, his father’s private aide, who gave him a welcoming smile.
“Sir, it’s good to see you again. Mr. Wilcox is happy you’ve come back to stay.”
Shaking his hand, Kurt glanced at Leland with a lifted brow. “Is that so? Nice to see you again, too, Cory. Dad, have you been giving him a hard time?”
Leland grunted. “Boy’s always pestering me to do more. Man can’t even get any peace in his own damn room. You’re late.”
“So I am,” he returned without an explanation. Leland’s frail appearance jolted Kurt, kept him rooted in place for a moment as he took in the lost weight and the lack of muscle tone in his right arm and leg. So much for hoping for more progress by this time. “Babs said the doctor will be here soon. Anything you want to tell me before he gets his say.” Nodding to Cory, he waited until the younger man slipped out before padding over to the man who, for the first time, looked all of his seventy-two years. His mother had been ten years younger than Leland, and yet, had still died in her mid-forties of a cancer all their money couldn’t buy off.
“He’s okay, he lectures but knows when to quit, unlike Cory.” Leland scowled, irritation flashing in his eyes. “That young therapist is a thorn in my side. You know her, she married one of the Dunbar boys.”
“I heard last year, Connor and Cade held a double wedding. I was sorry I couldn’t make it.” As much as he’d wanted to attend his friends’ wedding, he couldn’t get away from Houston in July. Having spent two weeks here the Christmas before, he’d had a chance to meet Sydney, Cade’s wife, and he remembered Tamara from years ago as a cute kid who had eyes only for her neighbor, Connor. The Dunbars lucked out with those girls, both of whom proved to enjoy their dominant control as much as spending time at their private club, The Barn.
Leland snorted again. “About as sorry as you are for taking off in the first place. Your choice.”
Kurt couldn’t keep from flicking a glance at the ten-by-ten picture of Brittany sitting on the small bedside table with some of her collectible knickknacks surrounding it. His tone carried an edge of warning as he returned his gaze to his father and said, “I’m not going down that road again. You’re dealing with a lot, I get that, Dad, and I’m willing to do all I can to ease your burden in running the ranch and help you recover, but I will not rehash Brittany’s death or let you continue blaming me. Understood?” He’d decided to pull off the gloves first thing regarding his father’s health and any accusations about the drunken car accident that had taken his twenty-year-old sister’s life along with three others.
Leland’s face clouded with sorrow, his dark eyes shifting from Kurt to out the window and the small, fenced family plot up on a hill. His grandparents, uncle and aunt, mother and sister were buried there, resting, he hoped, in peace.
“I saw you unloading a quarter horse. Nice looking animal.”
Kurt shook his head, as if he hadn’t heard him right. “Not the response I was expecting. What gives?”
“People change, Kurt, and sometimes life throws you a curve ball that knocks you in the head and wakes you up to a few things.” He waved his hand without looking at him. “Go, get settled back in. We’ll talk again when the doc gets here.”
Reaching out to him for the first time, he squeezed Leland’s unaffected shoulder, the muscle bulk a small relief. At least he wasn’t letting his good side deteriorate along with the weak side. “Give me an hour.” He turned to go, but swiveled his head to say, “His name is Atlas. Maybe, when you’re ready, we can go for a ride. I’ve heard that can be good therapy.”
“Don’t push it, boy,” he growled and Kurt felt better at the return of his disagreeable attitude. It had been so long since he’d seen his accommodating side, he didn’t know how to handle it.
As he started hauling his things in from the truck, Kurt listened to Babs bustling in the kitchen and smelled something good as he veered down the hall opposite the one leading to his father’s quarters. Four rooms, each with a private bath, were in the east wing of the six thousand square foot house, his room since birth the first one on the right. His sister’s across the hall remained closed and he knew, if he were to peek inside, it would look the same as it had almost ten years ago when she’d died. That closed door bothered him as much as the shrine arranged on a table next to the fireplace, right below the big screened television in the den. You couldn’t watch TV without her eleven by fourteen inch picture surrounded by the ceramic animals she loved to collect filling your peripheral vision. Her smiling face tugged on his conscience, and his heart.
Grief he understood. Hadn’t he succumbed to that emotion upon hearing about the accident that had ended four young lives? Following their mother’s death three years earlier, Brittany had turned to alcohol and drugs for solace instead of to him or Leland. He’d tried, God knows how hard he’d tried to straighten her out, get her help and counseling, but nothing stuck. Their father was too awash in his own heartbreak to do anything except tell him to watch out for his sister, and then blame him every time she resorted to her wild ways.
Setting his two largest bags on the bed, he refused to rehash the two years he’d tolerated his father’s constant blame following Brittany’s death. When he’d made the decision to return home to take over the ranch he’d been groomed to run since childhood, as well as take care of Leland, he’d vowed to let the past go. Now, if only his parent would come around, they might salvage something of their relationship that, at one time, had been very good.
By the time Kurt was putting away the last of his clothes, he heard a car door shut from his open window. Looking out, he saw a tall man with salt and pepper hair and matching goatee carrying a black bag and striding up to the porch. Beating Babs to the front door, he smiled at the short, round woman who tried scowling but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“I’ve got it, Babs. I believe it’s the doctor.”
“I know, that’s why I was in such a rush. I may be pushing sixty, but I’ve got eyes and that Dr. Hoffstetter is as much man candy as you.” She wiggled her eyebrows with a smirk.
Shaking his head, he shooed her back, grabbing for the door handle. “Go finish lunch. I’ll invite him to stay.”
“On it, but don’t take long. We’re having fajita chicken salad.”
Opening the door, Kurt tried not thinking about marinated chicken tossed with black beans and homemade barbeque ranch dressing, one of his favorites. “Dr. Mitchell Hoffstetter.” He held out his hand. “Kurt Wilcox, Leland’s son.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Shaking his hand, the doctor removed his Stetson as he entered. “And