1. Bishop

"You ready?"I ask Midnight as I saddle him. His snort sounds like a smirk, and I pat the white stripe on his neck affectionately. He's getting up there for a horse, but just like the rest of us, enjoys feeling useful. He's been with me through thick and thin, works as hard as the rest of us, sometimes riding for long hours with scarcely a rest or water break.

The ranch hands accompanying me are waiting near the paddock, seemingly ready for the next grueling forty-eight hours. We've been through this before—the outbreak of a cattle virus, this time Q fever, which was detected after two calves were stillborn. To slow the spread, we're leaving the pregnant cows behind and moving the rest of the herd to greener pastures just beyond the gorge. We'll need to pass through the valley, which will take the better part of the day, but they'll like their new surroundings because the brush is greener.

"Bishop," Dad calls to me just as I'm about to mount Midnight outside the barn. "You be careful out there."

And he doesn't just mean from the elements. It's possible Q fever can spread to humans too if we don't take precautions while handling the herd. Just part of ranch life.

"Always." I adjust the scabbard holding my rifle near Midnight's flank. The ranch hands also carry shotguns for protection, especially on longer journeys. You never know if you'll run into trouble with snakes, wolves, or thieves. The cattle industry is lucrative, our family has certainly done well for generations, and a handful of smaller ranches covet what we have, no two ways about it. Stealing our main source of income is not out of the question, despite our cattle being branded and the entire county knowing full well most of the black angus livestock belongs to us.

Dad will be staying to meet the vet who will check the pregnant cows to be sure the fetuses are still thriving. I can see the worry lines around his eyes. He's always concerned about the cattle and horses, but in a time like this, his stress level is through the roof. The cost of any more stillborn calves will no doubt be keenly felt.

Add in being short-staffed again, and the tension around here grows so thick, we can cut it with a knife. A break from the ranch will be a welcome change. I can see it on the employees' faces too as they wait for me to get moving.

Ranch life is never easy, and as the world modernizes, it's harder to find staff who still want to work the land. But it's either in your blood or it isn't. The environmentalists picketing in town and sometimes outside Sullivan Ranch obviously don't help, and some employees have gotten gun-shy about our way of life despite it being important to the state of Colorado.

I mount Midnight, and we canter over to the ranch hands, a couple on ATVs, the rest on horseback, while Dad follows beside us to greet them. He gives last-minute instructions because he can't help himself, even though I'm in charge.

My parents are in their sixties, which isn't old by today's standards, but I know Mom dreams of them retiring and handing over the reins to their only child. It wasn't always that way, but my older sister, Faith, died after a fall from a mare when she was eight. It's the reason Mom still won't get on a horse unless she needs to, though I can't be sure about that, just a good guess. It's as if she holds a grudge against the entire species because one took her child from her. Since then, she's been in charge of brokering the cattle deals and spends most of her time at her desk or on the phone. Dad buries his grief in his work, just like me. Being on a horse actually makes me feel closer to Faith, though I was only five when the accident happened and don't remember much about that day, except all the sadness.

Speaking of my mother, she must've spotted us out the kitchen window because she rushes out of the house to add something extra to my food satchel, no doubt some of our favorite sugar cookies or maybe chocolate chip this time. It's her way of working out her own worries about a trip like this.

"Much obliged, ma'am," Wade replies with a wink, knowing the treats will be a sweet ending to a long ride.

"See you in a couple of days." Dad pats Midnight's muzzle. "I'll make sure to place an ad in the newspaper asking for ranch hands and a cook."

That only gets me thinking about Mrs. Dixon, our last amazing cook who passed away suddenly more than a decade ago. We haven't had anyone stick around long since then or make tasty meals like she did. And her son…God, would I ever not think of Porter or what we shared so long ago? I thought of him even when Aimee and I were married. Maybe that's why it had only lasted two years. Just wasn't meant to be because Porter had ruined me in more ways than one.

"The newspaper? Does anyone read those anymore?" I tease. "I told you nowadays people look for jobs online."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mother said the same." Mom winks when I glance at her. "If there's no luck, we'll try it your way."

I turn toward the mountain, and the others follow. I prefer rounding up the cattle on horseback, and plenty of the others do as well. That's the one overlap I have with my dad regarding tradition. ATVs might be more efficient in certain scenarios, but nothing beats human or animal instinct.

After trotting for a spell, I lead them in a gallop as we cross the field and surround the cattle we'll be driving up the foothills and toward the gorge. With the wind whipping against my cheeks, I get that feeling in my stomach that can't compare to any other when it comes to working the land. Even after I inherit this ranch, I don't think I can stop being out here. I have that in common with Dad too. No way he can't have his hand in every aspect of the business on a daily basis. It somehow grounds us, makes us feel part of the earth.

"Come on, boy!" I press my heel against Midnight's flank, and he ups the pace and leads the way, urging the cattle toward the far end of the pasture. Our two border collies are there as well, helping contain the herd and watching for livestock strays. They'll stay the night with us. It's their way of life too.

As we head toward a thicket of trees at the base of the mountain, my gaze naturally tilts toward where one of the many streams on the property lies. The stream. The one I never returned to since Porter left town so suddenly, I'd practically gotten whiplash. And my heart broken. We wouldn't have worked, I'd told myself repeatedly over the years. It would've ended soon enough. But I crave him like no other. His company, his laugh, his quiet groans. I wanted so badly to knock the chip off his shoulder. But I never got the chance.

Our families didn't associate because of a long-ago dispute between our great-grandfathers, who used to be friends and business associates. But when Porter's dad died, out of desperation, his mom applied for a position as our cook. My parents encouraged it and offered her the job, they'd told me, hoping it would help soften the grudge his family held against ours.

I remember the first day I saw Porter standing near one of the paddocks, his eyes alight with wonder at the horses, and as I approached, his expression changed to a scowl. As if he remembered he was supposed to be mad at the Sullivans. By the time we'd turned eighteen, I had grown fond of that scowl and all his other moods.

No one on the ranch knew we'd had a thing, though I suspected Wade might've, going by the looks he'd give us when we sped away to our special place near the stream and then again upon our return. But he never said a word. My parents still don't know I'm bisexual, and definitely no one else on the ranch either. I go into town to get my needs met from men or women, and if we're together as a group, I only flirt with women.

I don't know why I'm still in the closet, honestly. Maybe it's because I carried a torch for Porter for years, probably still do, and figured I'd never feel that way about another man again.

Or woman, for that matter. Aimee and I were good friends and compatible in the ways that counted, so we tried to make it work—maybe she did more than me. It wasn't that I didn't love her. I just didn't love her enough.

After Faith died, it was just me, and my parents continued to instill a good work ethic and business sense since I'll be inheriting this ranch. They missed her so much, so I worked hard to toe the line and earn their respect and that of the men in my charge. And that's important when we're at the mercy of Mother Nature on this land.

Marrying Aimee was also my parents' dream, so we'd have the stability of two ranches behind us, as well as, eventually, little ones—our own heirs. But it didn't work out, and I feel guilty about that. Haven't had it in me to seriously date again or bring anyone else around, so my parents didn't get their hopes up.

I shut down those painful thoughts to focus on my horse, the cattle, and the rocky terrain.

By nightfall, everyone is exhausted. We set up camp in the valley and get the animals watered and settled near the brook. We fill up our canteens with fresh water and purifying tablets, while Jeb, one of our ranch hands, starts a fire so we can heat up the food we'd brought.

We tell stories as we eat, then pass around Mom's cookies. At least the ones left after our earlier break on the other side of the foothills.

One of my favorite things on the planet is being out here and sleeping under the stars. That's when I miss him most. Not that Porter and I ever got the opportunity to spend a night alone under the night sky, but I'd dreamed about it. Unfortunately, we were always in the company of my dad and the cattle hands, though enjoying those times nonetheless.

I get situated in my sleeping bag and lie back to get some shut-eye. But it won't come. Instead, I look up at the stars and imagine telling him about the new constellations I've read about in one of the dozens of facts-laden books Porter would tease me about. I wonder where in the world Porter is and if he ever thinks of me too…though I doubt it. Why else would he refuse to see me after his momma died? He was as resistant as I was persistent, one time even waiting all night outside his door with the casserole and sympathy card Mom sent with me.

And then a few days later he'd vanished on the wind. Oh, I've heard rumors over the years of a hotheaded cattle hand who travels from one ranch to another, working the land in between drinking and fistfights with whoever dares question him. I keep imagining all that anger is directed at the world because he feels he doesn't have anyone left anymore. And fuck, that kills me most of all. Why didn't he come to me? I would've welcomed him with open arms. My parents too.

Maybe he feels he has something to prove to the world. He's become damned good at breaking horses. An expert, I hear. Apparently, when the Bureau of Land Management does a wild horse round-up in the indigenous homelands, Porter is one of the men called to help.

He's better at it than I've ever been, and that means he's been able to keep working. Maybe that's why so many ranches put up with his attitude. He's always had this quiet way with horses. Like silent communication that soothed them and made them docile when he was around.

One by one, I hear the soft snores of our staff, but my eyes stay open, looking at the stars. They're more brilliant out here than in the city limits. Likely because of the light pollution. The air is purer out here too, crisper in the winter months. And I enjoy it all, no matter the season.

Wherever you are, Porter, I say to the breeze, I hope you find what you're looking for.