He answered on the second ring. “If it isn’t my wayward big sister.”

“I’m not wayward. I’m untoward, remember?”

Garrett laughed. Tanna had to close her eyes at the hollow feeling that sound evoked. She missed him. During her years on the road they’d spent a lot of time on the phone. She hated that since he’d started a career as a “security specialist” eighteen months ago, she couldn’t just call him whenever the mood struck her.

“How’re things goin’ in Wyoming?”

“Hawking clothes and slinging drinks at the resort is fun so it doesn’t seem like work most days. Where are you?”

“I’m in Colorado, actually.”

“Hey, you’re close to me. So are you done training?”

“I hope so. So much of it is bullshit busywork. I hate playing step’n’fetch. But I gotta pay my dues before I move up to management, which hopefully won’t take more than six months, since turnover is so high.”

She paused, wanting to ask him a million questions. “What happens now?”

“Checking out my apartment options in Denver.”

“Really? But I thought you’d put in a request for California.”

“I did. But I’ve decided to stay with this office rather than transferring to the one in L.A. Colorado . . . the geography is different enough that I won’t pine for Texas here. Goddamn, I miss sweet tea. I even miss the humidity.”

Tanna laughed. “I don’t miss the humidity. And I’m happy there seem to be very few bugs around here. Anyway, I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For admitting that you’re pining for Texas but adapting to that change better than I have.”

“Tanna. First of all, I wasn’t in an accident that permanently altered the course of my career. Second of all, I didn’t have a career beyond hauling hay. Anything is a step up from unemployment.”

She snorted. A career hauling hay. Garrett hadn’t been some second-generation slacker ranch hand. He’d enrolled in college immediately after high school, signing up for business management classes, computer programming classes. Even theology classes. He’d racked up enough college credits to graduate, but not in any specific major. So if asked, he’d claim a degree in B.S.—which amused him far too much.

“I heard that snort.”

“You were meant to. But I’ll point out that bein’ an unemployed barrel racer doesn’t earn me unemployment checks.”

“Anything new on the getting back on the horse front, sis?” When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “Forget I asked.”

“So when this Wyoming gig dries up, can I move in with you in Denver?”

“I’d like that. Might make me sound like a pu**y, but I miss living with family.”

No, bro, that means you’re still the sweet, kind boy you’ve always been. “Speaking of family . . . Have you heard from Dad?”

“No. Then again I haven’t heard from anybody since training started. Have you?”

“Not a word.”

“Jesus. What a f**ktard. How long has it been since you talked to him?”

“A year and a half. You?”

“About the same. I did get a weird Facebook message from Rosalie’s daughter Lucinda, about the same time you had your accident.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked if our dad and her mom had joined some kind of weird cult where the new members have to cut off all ties with their family.”

“Did you respond?”

“No. I wanted to say . . . that her mom and my dad contracted ass**le-itis and I’m staying far away ’cause I fear it’s highly contagious.”

Tanna couldn’t even laugh at that.

Silence lingered between them for a moment.

Garrett sighed. “You know, there are days that I’m still in shock about how it all played out after Mom died.”

“But other days?” she prompted.

“Most days I’m not surprised Dad surgically excised us from his life.”

“This might be a stupid question, but did you know?”

“That Dad hated everything about the ranch?” A long pause followed. “I had my suspicions.”

Not what she’d expected and she said so.

“Don’t take offense, but you weren’t there most of the time. With the drought takin’ a toll on the cattle numbers, you know we had to sell off a bunch of livestock . . . so he’d been in a state of transition five years prior to Mom’s death.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me? Warn me?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. And you’d’ve gotten pissed off at me and confronted Dad about it. Dad would’ve told Mom to control her daughter, she’d’ve gotten upset and it would’ve become an ugly deal. There was no reason for it.”

How many times had her father called her her mother’s daughter? And why hadn’t she noticed that it’d been an insult to her and her mom? Or at least their close relationship?

“I know selling the ranch upset you, but did you really see yourself giving up your career and settling down to become a full-time rancher after Dad retired?”

She paced to the window. “Dad made that choice for me. Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not. I’m just pointing out a few things you haven’t considered.”