Thomas Wells put down his mallet, yanked the checkered bandana from around his neck, and passed it over his neck and face. Hot, grimy, and sweaty, he reached for the canteen lying near his feet and took a long drink of water. The liquid soothed his parched throat, but he berated himself for leaving it out in the sun. Tepid water was not invigorating. Hard work like building a fence required something more refreshing.

“Hey, Carl,” he called out to the other young man who was pounding a post into the scorched and unforgiving Montana ground. “Need a refill? I'm headed over to the river.” He was eternally grateful that Triple Range Ranch was located close to the cool waters of Sun River. After grabbing his friend's canteen, he jogged down to its banks and knelt to soak his head before filling up both containers.

He would have liked to stay a while, perhaps do some fishing, swimming or just nothing at all, but that wouldn't be fair to Carl. The foreman of the ranch had assigned them both the task of building a paddock for the horses they were going to be training to be ridden, a job he was looking forward to with great excitement.

Thomas loved everything about life on the ranch—riding out in the open range, feeling that he was one with nature—but the prospect of doing something a little different was likewise thrilling. John Porter, the foreman, felt Thomas had a special affinity with horses and had invited him to take part in the training.

Walking back to the barn, Thomas considered the homestead. Not only did the ranch have over five hundred head of cattle, they also bred horses to sell back east, but the Eastern gentlemen wanted well-broken horses and would pay handsomely for them. Triple Range was expanding, no doubt. And he hoped to expand right along with them.

“Thanks,” Carl said, accepting the canteen. “Sure is hot for early June, huh?” His friend took a long swallow, removed his large hat, and dumped a little over his head. “Whew! That feels mighty good.”

Two years his junior at nineteen, Carl was still considered a greenhorn by most men since he'd only been on the ranch about a year. Thomas, however, had come when he was sixteen, although he'd lied about his age at the time. He worried that the owners, Luke Winston and Marge Tanner, wouldn't hire a teenager, so he'd told them he was eighteen. Not too long ago, he'd confessed his fib, but they just grinned and said they knew it all along.

“Just about a year for you here now, isn't it?” he asked Carl. “How's your ma doing? Still pining for you?”

It was a bit of a joke that Carl seemed to be there almost against his will. His father couldn't afford to feed all the kids they had, so he'd sent Carl out into the world to find his way the day after his eighteenth birthday. John had found him rattling around Miles City after completing a cattle drive and invited him to work on the ranch. Since he'd arrived, the young man had matured a bit, but still suffered from homesickness time to time.

“She's alright,” he replied with a good-natured grin. “My second brother is keeping her mind off me. What about you? How are your folks? Don't think I've ever heard you mention them.”

The smile slid off Thomas’s face, and he gave a little shrug. “Don't know,” he mumbled. “Haven't heard from them in ages.”

It was his own doing, but he wasn't about to tell Carl that. He didn't share personal information with anyone. His past was his own business, and if he wanted to keep living the life he had now, he had to keep it that way. No one from back home knew his whereabouts, something he'd worked hard to make sure happened. The one and only letter he'd sent them was posted in Minnesota on his way west, and he'd only sent that out of consideration for his mother who would have worried otherwise. His father would have only been worrying about the family business, the very thing Thomas was trying to escape. The man wasn’t likely to be pining over his wayward son, at least not emotionally. He thought of his sons as future workers, men to one day take over and maintain the work his grandfather had started. Thomas didn't begrudge the man his priorities. That was the way it was in their world. Men were groomed to take over for their fathers and then trained their sons to do the same. But from an early age, he knew that that would not be his life.

“Just about done here, I think,” Thomas said, looking with satisfaction at the work they'd done. It had taken them three days, but as a result of their labor, a fifteen-square-foot paddock stood ready for the first horse.

“I dunno.” Carl looked around the fenced-in area, his brow lowering in doubt. “Guess it will be up to Luke and John to say.”

At that moment, the clanging of the dinner bell resounded from the house, causing both men to smile. Whether or not the paddock was up to their bosses’ expectations, their work was done for the day. The bell regulated their life that way.

After putting their tools in the barn and washing up in the rain barrel by the side of the house, the two young men scraped their boots on the porch and entered the house. The aroma of fried chicken greeted them, making their mouths water.

“First in again?” Kate, Luke’s wife, commented with a teasing smile. “Guess it pays to work so close to the house.”

“Not necessarily,” Marge answered. She was the real boss of the ranch, but no longer wanted the burden and had passed it on to Luke. Approaching sixty, the older woman was happy to have the young people take over and help out with the cooking for them all. “They have to wait around smelling it for longer. I'm not serving you two one morsel of this chicken before each man's feet are under the table.”

Her tone was fierce, but her eyes twinkled as she nudged a plate of cookies toward the two young men. They needed no further encouragement, but fell on the treat and devoured them all within five minutes.

“Is there anything that needs doing around here?” Thomas asked after he'd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We should keep busy until the others come.” He knew that the other men wouldn't be there for another thirty minutes or so, and he didn't enjoy just sitting around. Over the past five years, he'd become a man who enjoyed manual labor, something which would shock his father.

“If you are very sure you want to work more, the chair in the front room needs attention,” Elise, John's wife, indicated with a wave of her hand. She'd been busy setting the table, but paused to press a hand to her back, most likely to compensate for the weight of the child she carried up front. Her Italian accent was still pronounced, but her English had improved remarkably over the past ten months. She'd married John just one month after arriving, and now their first child was on its way.

A wail from the corner indicated that baby Lucas was awake, but Kate had barely turned her head when eight-year-old Maddie was by her little brother's side.

“Peek-a-boo!” she exclaimed, popping up by his side. The little boy stopped crying immediately and clapped his chubby hands together. “Peek-a-boo!” she repeated. “I see you!” Thomas saw Kate smile tenderly at the scene, and he felt his own throat close. In moments like this, he missed his own mother. She hadn't doted on them the way Kate did on her children, but she'd clearly loved all four of them. It was his father who kept her from being more affectionate, saying that she would spoil them, especially the boys, with too many hugs and kind words.

“You're such a good big sister,” Kate told Maddie affectionately. “How would I ever get along without you?”

Maddie shot her mother a quick smile, then turned her attention back to Lucas. “You want to get out of there, don't you? Are you going to show me how you can crawl?” She reached into his bed and easily lifted him out.

The infant had indeed made significant progress in that direction, and as Thomas worked on the rocking chair nearby, he enjoyed watching the two children. He'd never been allowed to play with his younger brothers and sisters. There had always been a nanny to do that. If he ever married and had children, he would raise them like Luke and Kate were doing, a method that wasn’t anything like what he’d experienced.

After fixing the slat in the chair, Thomas sat down and tested it. Carl was hunched over a letter in the corner, presumably from his mother. He had to stop himself from sighing. Why couldn't things have been different for him? He would have liked to maintain a relationship with his mother and siblings. If his father had shown an ounce of compassion toward him, or even the slightest inclination to listen to his own hopes for the future, he would have stayed and tried to convince him that he was not the one to take over the family business. However, his father had been determined that he not only work at the company, but also marry the daughter of one of the oldest families in New York, someone he overheard his parents discussing one day when they didn't realize he was nearby. That had sent him reeling with shock and was the nail in the coffin. That very night, he made plans to leave.

He'd barely been sixteen.

A clamor from just outside announced the arrival of the other men and interrupted his musings. He was glad of it, because reminiscing about his past generally brought him more pain than he'd ever admit.

“Daydreaming?” Luke asked when he spotted Thomas in the rocking chair. “Must be pretty big, whatever's on your mind, if it's making you miss dinner.”

“It's nothing,” he mumbled and stood so fast, his head started spinning. “I fixed the chair.”

Luke looked at the rocking chair and gave a little nod. “Good. The paddock's done as well, Carl tells me.”

“I believe it is, but you'll have to see for yourself.” He paused and regarded his boss, searching for words to express how glad he was. “I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”

Luke gave him a funny look. Every once in a while, his former way of speaking sneaked into his conversation and threatened to expose his background. He rushed to cover it now.

“I'm right glad to be working with John. He's a real good boss.”

Nodding, Luke glanced toward the kitchen. “Well, I'd say that the women will be none too happy if you keep their food waiting. Let's go.”

He was on his feet in an instant, berating himself for his gaffe, but glad that Luke didn't mention it. It was probably all the thinking he'd been doing about his past that had brought it up. He'd have to be more careful.