PROLOGUE
GRAY
The second I checked my phone screen and my wife’s name popped up, I knew exactly what was coming before I opened the text message.
Sorry, hon. I can’t make it after all. Merry Christmas.
Shaking my head, I sent her a thumbs-up, and that was… well, that. Twenty-five years of marriage and our first message to each other in four months amounted to ten words and a thumbs-up. Still, it was better than the time we went without talking for two years. We didn’t quarrel either. We simply had nothing left to say to each other.
I pocketed my phone and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge that I’d meant to get in the first place before the message interrupted me. I shut the door with my hip and returned to the living room. Pascal, my best friend and former co-owner of my ranch, had been here for a few hours, but I still couldn’t get over how amazing he looked—more relaxed and smiling.
Happiness looked good on him. Managing the ranch had started taking a toll on him, and I felt bad for giving him a hardtime when he first mentioned his intention to sell his share of the ranch.
“Thanks.” He took the bottle from me. “But you should have brought the six-pack.”
Chuckling, I settled down across from him in the worn, dark brown leather armchair. “I’m afraid I can’t join you in getting drunk tonight, Pas. Carter should be here any moment now. I’d rather be sober for that.”
“Carter’s visiting?” The surprise on Pascal’s face resembled mine when the elder of my two sons had called to let me know he would drop by for the holidays. “How in the world did you get him to do that?”
I shrugged. “Believe it or not, it was his idea.”
“That boy’s just like his momma.” Pascal took a long gulp of his beer. “Prefers the pretentious city life over the much more honest and open countryside.”
“Not everyone who lives in the city is pretentious, and let’s not forget you moved away from that honest and open countryside to live in Florida.”
“South Florida, mind you, and I still operate a ranch, just much smaller this time.”
“What about that sweet young thing I saw sitting on your lap the last time you called me?”
Pascal’s face turned red, and he squirmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I snorted. “Like hell, you don’t. Seriously, Pascal, what were you thinking? That boy looks young enough to be your son.”
“Well, I don’t have a son. You want to know what I was thinking, Gray?”
“Clue me in.”
“That after living on the ranch and fucking around with some hard-muscled ranch hands, a sweet, soft boy who likes to cuddle up in my lap is a change I didn’t know I needed.”
“Is it serious?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? For now, he gives me what I want, and vice versa. We understand each other.”
“You don’t want more out of the relationship? Love? Someone you can grow old with?”
“I already have one foot in the grave. The least I can do is enjoy the rest of the time I have. And what about you?” He pointed the almost empty bottle of beer at the framed photographs on the mantel. The pictures were of my two boys when they were younger and one of Emma and me on our wedding day. “When was the last time you slept with your wife, Gray?”
I held up my hand. “Point taken. I’ll stop prying.” I checked my watch and frowned. Carter should have been here already. What was holding him up?
“Seriously, man,” Pascal said. “You gotta know she’s not exactly living the life of a nun in Denver. How come you never bothered filing for a divorce? You two have been separated forever.”
“We’re not legally separated. We just don’t live in the same city.”
Pascal snorted and ticked off on his fingers. “You don’t live together in the same city. You don’t sleep together. You don’t even talk to each other unless it’s some emergency to do with the kids. And you sleep with different people. That marriage is fucked up, if you ask me.”
In the past, I might have been offended, but Pascal had said the same thing no less than a dozen times over the years, so I’d come to terms with it. Most importantly, I’d come to terms with my marriage. To others, my relationship with Emma didn’t make sense. The entire town of Bristlecone Springs knew the only thing we shared were two sons and a surname. She had no desire to return to living in the countryside, and I’d gotten tired of that “pretentious” city life Pascal had mentioned.
At first, I’d tried to live in both places, but my trips to Denver got less frequent until I finally stopped altogether. Emma couldn’t stand the sight of a cow pie, and I couldn’t stand all the manure coming from city folk.
