On most ranches, the main barn sat close to the house, but not at Bill’s place. The Masterson ranch house was the newer house on the property, constructed after the old one had burned down when Bill was just a kid.

Instead of building on the charred remains, they’d dug a new foundation, drilled a well, and placed the main house on the hill, overlooking the valley. The view of the mountains in the distance had always captivated me as a kid.

As I walked outside and gazed around the familiar place, I wondered what had caused my anger as a kid; my father dying young, or my Mom dating and marrying Bill within a year of his burial and moving us here.

I had never given them a chance together. My anger had always lurked just under the surface, sabotaging everything in sight. My body had changed, but my anger hadn’t.

During my time away, I’d done a lot of growing. With the passage of time and, tempered by some of the things I’d seen, I’d accepted that my childhood here, as short as it was, wasn’t horrible.

I walked to the horse stables and enjoyed the feeling of long grass brushing my legs as I strayed off the worn path. A horse that had been running with another along the fence line stopped dead and stared at me, approaching with curiosity.

“Blue?”

He chuffed air out of his nose and took off toward the barn. In theory, I knew Blue would still be here, but seeing him unchanged over the span of years made me smile. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Despite the increasing use of trucks and ATVs, horses and riding would remain a part of the Western tradition. Any self-respecting cowboy rode a horse. I hadn’t added ‘cowboy’ to my resume yet, but I understood how things worked out here.

New siding and steel roofing panels spruced up the barn. I tapped on the siding, feeling how solid the structure was underneath it, and opened the door. The strong smell of horse and dung hit my nose, but I recognized other subtle smells that many folks would miss. Hay, sweet feed, and molasses stirred in the air with an occasional sharp tang of ammonia mixed in.

Although unpleasant to some, the familiar aromas existed as part of life here. I walked down the center aisle, counting all the troughs that separated the walkway from where the horses came in from the outside. Blue waited for me at stall number seven, just like always.

“Hey, fella, you haven’t changed much, have ya?” I asked, giving his nose a good rub. “Where’s little sister gone off to?”

Of course, I didn’t expect an answer while talking to the roan. I walked to the galvanized trash can at the center of the barn. I smiled as I opened the old grain storage bin, and got out a small handful of sweet feed. I held my palm out, trying not to flinch when Blueballs ate it. The rough surface of his big tongue barely missed any seed as he lapped the feed in.

“Ewww. You slimed me,” I laughed, wiping my hand off on the side of his neck.

He chuffed at me again, obviously begging for more, but I didn’t know how much he’d had that day, and I didn’t have more treats. Maybe I’d bring him an apple back later, but first I had to find Alison.

I looked around the horse barn again. Half the stalls had filled with horses that came in from the fields, as they sensed the presence of a human who might feed them, and they were probably hoping to cage a treat like old Blue here. I patted Blue once again and headed out, walking to the hay barn.

I stayed on the trail this time, smiling as Blue and another horse paced me along the electric fence that separated them from the rest of the land. When their fence ended, they stood at the corner of the field, staring at me.

I gave them a half-hearted wave and looked ahead to the big red structure. As a sixteen-year-old, I had lugged hay into that barn, filling it top to bottom. It held hundreds of round rolls of hay, and even more of the smaller square bales.

Bill was somewhat modern, using tractors to stack and move the hay, with large forks to spear the round bales and take them to the field as needed. But manual labor had sculpted my body and hardened my muscles early on. Still, I appreciated the modern touches that made backbreaking work manageable.

This time of year, the barn would be mostly empty, since the harvest wouldn’t come for another couple of months. The empty space sheltered my Jeep, parked out of the way with other unused cars and trucks. Hopefully, it would start up. Lord knew how long it had been sitting. But knowing Bill, he had kept it in great shape, the same way he kept all of his vehicles.

The Jeep sat outside the main doors of the barn, its black paint gleaming in the sunshine. Other than a ding in the bumper, Bill had kept the Jeep flawless and wonderfully preserved. Sun-bleached fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror. I peeked inside the open window and noticed the recent detailing.

“Wow!” I reached in and gripped the steering wheel with one hand. My thoughts filled with memories revolving around that Jeep.

When I’d left for boot camp, I knew I wouldn’t be stateside long, as the nation had been at war or involved in some sort of armed conflict since I was in middle school. Leaving suited me, and if it got me away from the ranch, that suited me even better.

I didn’t need a car overseas, and paying for insurance or storage hadn’t made any sense. I’d handed the keys and title over to my mom, expecting her to sell it. Yet, here it was.

“Tim, I said stop!” A female voice broke the silence, and I heard a slap and a gasp from within the barn.

Training kicked in. Although unarmed and unaware of the full situation, I approached the door as I would any potentially hostile building. I entered low to make myself a smaller target, squinting and trying to force my eyes to adjust to the darker interior of the barn faster.

A broad-shouldered guy gripped a young woman by the shoulder. He tried to kiss her as she swung wildly with the arm that wasn’t trapped against her body. The top three buttons on her shirt were torn open, and a red mark rose on her left cheek. Tears brimmed on her lashes, ready to fall.

Checking my periphery, I made sure there was no one else about, and approached stealthily, walking as quietly but as quickly as I could. At the last moment, the woman saw me approach. Her eyes widened, and she quit struggling.

The guy must have thought the girl gave in. He pressed his lips against hers, and his hand relaxed in that moment. My fist crashed into his kidney.

His whole body clenched in pain as the woman tore her body out of his grip. Agony covered the guy’s face, and with a start, I realized he couldn’t be any older than a high school student in his senior year. Still, he had brought this trouble, and I’d already started the dance.

He took half a second and looked at me, sizing me up. Judging opponents by their looks could be deceptive and downright stupid in a fight. I knew he was taking in my lanky six-foot frame and wondering if his bigger bulk could overpower me.

Within a heartbeat, he decided that it could. He swung a haymaker, counting on putting me out. I’d had insurgents jump into the foxhole with me that had more power and finesse than this loser.

I ducked from his wild swing. Off balance with his right side exposed to me, I punched him hard in the gut, and he doubled over. A quick knee to the face put him down hard on his back.

“Don’t kill him,” the woman begged from behind me as I had my boot poised over his stomach ready to stomp his ribs.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” I put my foot down beside the kid’s head.

I glanced back at her. She couldn’t have been much older than the asshole on the ground. Her hair was auburn, and freckles were generously sprinkled across the swells of her ample chest. She attempted unsuccessfully to hold her shirt closed, black lace bra peeking out despite her efforts.

“You okay, miss?” I tried to keep my eyes locked on her face and mentally kicked myself for checking her out the way I did.

“Yes, no…I....”

“You’re going to need to ice that.” I gently touched the red spot on her cheek. The bottom of her eye was already swelling a bit.

“Yeah, I… Look out!”

The douche bag behind me had gained his feet while I checked on the girl. I looked at him before he tackled me to the ground. His face had colored to a dark purple in rage, and blood from his nose smeared sideways from contact with my knee.

I hit the ground hard with the guy on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. He swung wild punches to my head, but he was no fighter. I held up my free arm, protecting myself. Slowly, my breath returned.

My arms and shoulders would be bruised from his hits, but I waited for him to tire out or slip up. He slowed slightly, and I shot out a quick rabbit punch to his throat.

He choked, and his weight lessened on my chest. He tried to get up, but I wrapped my right leg around his chest as he held his throat, and pulled him sideways off me. I rolled onto his chest and pinned his arms with my legs.

I paused for half a second, and then rained blows down on his face, much in the same way he’d wanted to do to me. I ignored the hell it’d be on my hands, but perhaps it was the only way he’d understand. I’d either choose to hit him into submission or I could just kill him. I was trying really hard not to kill him.

A pattern of pounding emerged: eyes, nose, ear, side of the head, in the head. When I tired of throwing punches, I stood up and watched him roll back and forth. Blood poured out of his split lips and nose, and his eyes had already swelled shut.

Since he didn’t learn a lesson the first time, I threw in two good kicks to the lower part of his rib cage, gauging the pain by the expression on his face.

“No, no, no, no!” The girl’s small voice begged off to the side, and I turned to find her crying.

“Shhhh…here.” I pulled my flannel shirt off and handed it to her so she could cover herself.

“You killed him,” she whispered.

I looked behind me, thinking the worst but finding I hadn’t. He was just passed out from the pain, and his chest rose and fell slightly.

“He’ll live for now,” I told her, rubbing my hands across my arms, to warm them from the cooler air as the day had gotten later. My tank top was thin, and the absence of my flannel chilled me.

When I turned back to her, she had my shirt on. It hung big on her to a comical effect. The sleeves hung down past her hands and almost to her waist. She hugged herself and shuddered, but I guessed it wasn’t from the cold.

“Does Bill still have a working line out here?” I asked. She nodded.

I walked to the other side of the barn, keeping the still form of the guy in my sight. I put in a call to 911 and reported the attempted rape. As an afterthought, I suggested they might want to send an ambulance too.

The 911 operator sounded shaken by my matter of fact tone, but I didn’t care. They got the information of where to come, and I confirmed that I’d wait for them. The girl cried harder now.

“Shhhh—” I walked up close and put my arms around her. She leaned in, put her head on my chest, and sobbed.

I breathed in her scent of strawberries and vanilla, which tickled my memory. I patted her hair softly, kissing the side of her head. It was the only thing I could think to do; my heart and body were suddenly ready to defend this woman from any man. I’d never felt this strong of a pull towards a woman in my lifetime.

Then I heard the sirens. She stiffened in my arms at the sound, and I held her closer as she trembled.

“It’ll be over soon. Just be strong,” I told her gently, soothingly, and tried to ignore the effect she was having on me. She wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder.

“He was going to rape me.”

“He didn’t,” I murmured, not sure if it was a question or a statement.

“No. He would have if you hadn’t come when you did.”

“He’s going to be gone for a long time. I’ll protect you from him,” I promised. She sobbed and squeezed me tighter. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight.

As the sirens grew nearer, the more immediate the buzz of ATVs and tires crunching gravel sounded outside the main door.

The big door rolled open, letting in a shaft of light, and three figures hurried through. It took me a moment to take them all in. Bill, Mom, and Jackson stood stock still as they analyzed the scene.

“Dammit, Cameron. I told you I’d like you to talk to him, not kill him,” Bill shouted, his face a mask of surprise and anger.

“Daddy!” The girl hurried from my arms and buried her face into Bill’s chest.

“Alison?” I asked, stunned.