Chapter 1
Kade leaned his lanky body against the barn door and scowled out at the drizzle melting into the already soaked earth. The alfalfa field in the distance was obscured by mist. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward as if the extra few inches would help him peer through the gloom. A fat raindrop bouncing off his black felt hat was his reward. Ducking back, he muttered an obscenity.
The rain was needed; there was no doubt about it, but he resented the time stolen from him. Raking, tilling, planting, cleaning irrigation ditches, branding, moving cattle, and all the other myriad jobs were piling up. Work—a jealous mistress—tapped her foot impatiently.
“Waiting for me ‘cause there sure as hell isn’t anyone else standing in line to share the load.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up at the rare indulgence of self-pity. “Well,” he said belligerently, “it’s the truth.”
Voicing the fact made him feel justified and maybe just a bit better. Maybe.
One of the horses leaned his head out of the stall and nickered. Then, emphasizing the point, pawed the packed straw.
Kade registered the impatient sound and ignored it. Something he rarely did. King could wait. He and the other horses filling the stalls wouldn’t starve until he pitched a forkful of hay to them. Spoiled. They were all spoiled. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. They were his babies—his family. Although Gran and his two brothers might disagree.
The scowl deepened the hard planes of his face—a face that wore the seasons of the ever-changing, fickle, Wyoming weather. Fine lines creased the corners of his eyes. His skin was permanently tanned, courtesy of the high mountain sun and snow- whipping winds. And in unguarded moments, furrows of worry wrinkled his brow. Responsibility hung heavy on those wide shoulders.
His eyes ranged from cold, unreadable blue to deep cobalt, the color of the summer sky. They could look through you with a bone-chilling gaze or make you want to bask in their penetrating warmth. Rarely, though, did they reflect what he was thinking. He kept his thoughts private. The only exception being unguarded moments when they lovingly roamed the open spaces and land that surrounded and made up the Double K Ranch.
The name always brought a weak smile to his thin lips. The Double K was named by his parents Kurt and Kandy McKune. Then they had him, and with their zany zest for life and optimistic personalities, named him Kade. In time, it was to become The Triple K. However, time is a tease and doesn’t march to any drummer but its own.
Hard work, treacherous seasons, and the mind-numbing vagaries of ranch life contributed to tarnishing his parents’ optimism. Thus, when his brothers, Declan and Morgan, were born, they received names that sprouted from their mother’s love of reading and the fictional characters that captured her imagination sometime during the nine months she carried them. They were also as different from Kade as their names.
He sighed and suppressed a shiver. The dampness was permeating the Levi jacket that covered his broad shoulders—shoulders that tapered to narrow hips made firm by hours spent in the saddle.
Kade pushed away from the door and picked up the pitchfork resting there. He’d feed the kids, muck out their stalls, and see if he could get the cantankerous tractor to do more than belch black smoke. He needed a new tractor; there was no doubt of that. But like all other expenditures, it would have to wait. He should have had the money, and he would have if . . . He forced his mind to veer from that subject. What was done was done. But in moments like this, even after five years, he still kicked his own butt for being such a gullible fool.
Kade’s mouth tensed. No money was going out until he made the final payment, the balloon, on the Double K. It was due the fifteenth of May, and here it was the tenth of April, but he was ten thousand dollars short. The majority of the payoff had been accumulated by cutting corners, and even though it was not a huge amount, the balance seemed insurmountable. He was operating lean, and there was nowhere else to cut.
And damned if he was going to sell out to the energy companies that had been hounding him to allow fracking on the Double K. No way was he letting some outfit blast fissures in rocks thousands of meters under the earth, his earth, with water and sand. Sure, it might release trapped deposits of oil and gas, but what about the wastewater from the operation? It would be water riddled with hazardous chemicals and contaminants. The last smooth-talker from an energy company had assured him fracking was safe. He even had a thick, spiral-bound study, testifying to the benefits of fracking. He’d waved the geological surveys under Kade’s nose while extolling all the virtues of this honored method of releasing oil or gas pockets. Then, like a carrot before a donkey, he’d thrown out the obscene amount they’d pay him to “do what’s right and make a step into the future of this country.” He’d made a step all right, and so did the earnest young man when he’d told him what he could do with his studies. Kade had also made sure the man understood if he wasn’t off his land in the next five minutes, he’d help him do it.
Going about the familiar repetition of forking hay and cleaning stalls, his mind searched and rejected possible solutions. Short of robbing a bank, coming up with ten thousand dollars was as elusive as the mist outside. Like a squirrel caught in a cage, he felt trapped. Hell, he was trapped. The only time he could slow down the worries and forget for a few precious minutes was when he was riding the trails, checking the fence line, soaking in the wide-open spaces, and drinking in the pure Wyoming air that floated down from the rugged Wind River Range.
Hugging his ranch home and majestic in its rugged splendor, the Wind River Range was home to the largest wintering bighorn sheep herd in the lower forty-eight states. Often, he’d count his blessings while counting the white-faced cows dotting the range as far as he could see. Double K land. His land.
Although it was April and the start of spring, Kade knew if he rode up into the wild wilderness, he’d come across meadows of verdant greens only an artist could describe. There would be small saucers of clear snow melt scattered about and water so icy pure it would reflect the sky and set your teeth on edge with each cupped mouthful.
Fracking to him was an obscene word. The possibility of leaking chemicals into the earth and polluting this virgin land was tantamount to blaspheming God.
There had to be another way to come up with the money. If push came to shove, he could take out a loan for the final amount. But taking out a loan to pay a loan made his stomach churn. Standing over his parents’ graves, he’d made a promise. Actually, it had been two promises. One, he’d never let go of the Double K. He’d die trying first. Second, he’d take care of his brothers. He was failing at that promise, too.