“You were just there last week.”
Huh? “That’s right. My bad.”
I paid Willie, then snatched Briggs’s truck keys. “How about I drive? I didn’t finish my beer.”
“Okay.” He shrugged and led the way to the parking lot where his old Chevy truck waited.
I climbed behind the wheel, cringing at the scent in the cab. There was a coffee tumbler in the cup holder and my guess was that the creamer he’d added had long since curdled.
With the windows rolled down, I drove to the ranch, passing the gravel road that I’d been on earlier today. The place where I’d found Winn’s car. The next turnoff led to the back side of Indigo Ridge, and as we made our way up the mountain foothills, I stole a few glances at Briggs.
He looked older today than I’d ever seen. The skin on his cheeks sagged slightly. The whiskers were white. Briggs was five years older than Dad and had lived his entire life on this ranch.
He’d been there to help Dad build us kids a tree house. He’d helped me break my first horse.
When my grandfather had been ready to pass down the ranch and his business holdings to his sons, Briggs had chosen to let Dad take over. Management had never been his passion. He was content to have a bank account healthy with money he rarely spent and a simple life living on the land that owned his heart.
Briggs’s cabin was nestled in a grove of evergreens in arguably the prettiest meadow on the ranch. A stack of unevenly chopped firewood was scattered around the porch. An ax was propped up against the steps.
“Chopping wood?” I asked.
Briggs nodded. “Getting a head start before winter.”
“Good plan.” Though I wasn’t too keen on him running the stove if he couldn’t manage to put on a matching pair of boots.
I parked and picked up the travel mug, dumping the contents as we made our way to the house. With no idea what I’d find, I braced as I followed him inside. But the cabin was as clean and tidy as ever.
“How are things going on the ranch, Griffin?” he asked, taking the cup from my hand and carting it to the sink.
That was the first time he’d called me by my name tonight.
“Good. Busy. We’re about done with fence repairs for the year.”
“That’s always a good feeling.” He chuckled. “Want to stay a while? Join me for dinner?”
“No, but thanks.” I gave him a smile. “I’d better get on.”
“Appreciate you swinging by.”
“You’re welcome.” Did he remember even coming to the bar?
Goddamn, this was hard. My heart clenched. His blue eyes were the same as those I met in the mirror each morning. He was the very best uncle a boy could have wished for. He’d treated Dad’s children—me—like one of his own.
Briggs had been married once, briefly, until she’d left him after their third anniversary. My siblings and I, my parents, had been his family. He hadn’t missed a single one of my basketball or football games. He’d been present at every graduation.
Seeing him like this . . . fuck, but it was hard.
“I’ll see you soon.” I waved goodbye, then let myself out.
I was more than ready to go home.
Except I didn’t have a vehicle. It was downtown.
“Shit.” I pulled out my phone and called Dad. “Hey, can you come pick me up and run me into town?”
“Now?” He sounded like his mouth was full.
“Yeah. Now. I’m at Uncle Briggs’s cabin.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“In town. And I need to talk to you.”
“All right.” There was the shuffling of feet and a muffled exchange with my mother before the line went dead.
I started walking down the road, making it about a mile before I heard the rumble of an engine and Dad’s new pickup emerged from a bend in the trees.
He had a drop of barbeque sauce on his shirt.
“Sorry to interrupt dinner.”
“It’s okay.” He turned the truck around, heading toward home. “What’s going on?”
I blew out a long breath, then told him about Briggs.
“Damn,” he cursed, his hands tightening on the wheel. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You need to do more than talk.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Maybe we should call Grandpa’s doctor. See if we could get Briggs into a home or—”
“I said I’d handle it, Griffin,” he snapped.
Christ. I held up my hands. “Fine.”
Tension crept through the truck’s cab, and when Dad pulled in beside my rig on Main, he didn’t say a word as I climbed out. He reversed out from his spot and drove away before I’d even fished the keys from my pocket.
I unlocked my truck and hopped in, slamming the door too hard. “Damn it.”
Briggs had had a few episodes like this over the past year. It had started with mixing up a name at family dinner. But that happened all the time, right? Mom used to run through all our names before landing on the one kid in trouble.
Except for Briggs, the small mistakes were becoming habit. He’d driven into town this winter and Knox had stumbled upon his truck on Main. Briggs had forgotten where he was. Six months ago, Talia had bumped into Briggs at the grocery store and Briggs’s shirt had been backward.
But tonight . . . tonight had been the worst. He’d actually thought I was Dad. The entire time we’d been at Willie’s.
Maybe if my grandfather hadn’t suffered from dementia, I wouldn’t worry as much. But I’d been a teenager when Grandpa’s mental health had deteriorated. I’d watched him become a ghost of the man I’d known.
It had crushed Dad. Briggs too.
Now our family would go through it again.
My stomach growled, forcing me out of my head. Leftovers waited for me at home. So did a pile of work. But as I drove down Main, my truck steered itself toward a little gray house with a red door.
There was no time for this. The ranch didn’t run itself and I had shit to do. But I parked on the curb, spotting Winn through the front window.
She’d shed the black shirt she’d had on earlier for a plain white tank top. The straps of her black bra peeked out at her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, the ends swaying across her shoulders as she dragged a tall cardboard box down the hallway.
When I rang the doorbell, I heard a loud thud and then a pair of muted footsteps before the door flew open.
“Hi.” She shoved a tendril of hair off her sweaty forehead. “How’s your uncle?”
“Not great,” I admitted. “My grandfather had dementia. Alzheimer’s. It didn’t set in until he was in his seventies. It’s happening earlier with Briggs.”
“I’m sorry.” She waved me inside, closing the door behind us.
I inspected the living room, as full of boxes as it had been this morning. “Are you unpacking?”
“Sort of. My bedframe arrived today.”
“So you aren’t planning on sleeping on the floor forever.”
“It was on backorder. My mattress arrived before I moved, but not the frame.”
“What about the one you had in Bozeman?”
“It was Skyler’s.” Her lip curled. “I left all of the furniture to start fresh.”