Prologue - Em
Five years ago - Age 24
“Hey, dad. You got a minute?” I say, hanging back in the doorway to his office near the back of the house.
This has been the only home I’ve known since Mom and Dad brought me home after adopting me at three days old.
My birth mom was a local teenager who did the most selfless thing she could ever do and gave me up so that I could have the best life possible. Lucky for me, she picked the two most loving people on the planet to claim me as one of their own.
They’d never planned on adopting and already had my older brothers Derrick—Dare—then aged five, and Asher, then aged two, when I was born. But Ma’s best friend Mamie worked at the local hospital’s maternity unit and as she tells it, she took one look at me andknewI was meant to be a Wilson.
Twenty-nine years—and my twin brothers EJ and BJ later—Mamie isstillmy biggest fan and back-up parent when I need one. In fact, it was her that told me I needed to leave town and prove tomyselfthat I could succeed outside of the box I was raised in. Figuratively, of course.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, I love the mountain, and I love our ranch. Idon’tlove the assumption that the mountain and the ranch are all I could ever want or need.
Like every young woman, I have dreams, things I want to do and see, and goals I’ve set for myself because I want to prove to myself that I can do it. It just so happens that some of those things can’t happen if I never put myself out there. And by there, I mean outside of Timber Falls, Alaska.
That’s why I’m lurking in Dad’s doorway, delaying the inevitable talk where I have to break his heart and tell him I’m leaving the ranch again. The first time was for college. This time it’s to accept my dream job on the opposite side of the state.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Either you’ve finally snapped and I’ve got a son-sized hole to dig behind the barn, or you’ve got somethin’ else you don’t want to tell me,” Dad says, leaning back in his chair and scanning me from head to toe. His lips twitch. “Can’t see any blood, so I’m thinkin’ all my sons are still breathin’.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad. Though if EJ or BJ mix up the laundry and turn my work shirt pink again, I’m not promisin’ anythin’.”
He waves his hand between us. “C’mon, then. Out with it. What’ve you done?”
A gasp escapes me. “What makes you thinkI’vedone somethin’?”
Pinning me with a stare, Dad slowly lifts a brow. It’s one of thoseDadlooks that says everything without needing to utter a single word.
The sigh that crosses my lips sounds as resigned as I am. He must read something in my expression because he gets up and walks around his desk, not stopping until he’s standing in front of me.
“What is it?” The humor is gone now. All that’s left is fatherly concern and an unwavering determination to fix whatever’s wrong.
“I got the job,” I blurt out, my eyes locked on the floor between us.
“That’sgreat.” My head snaps up and I catch Dad’s proud, beaming smile before his face falls a little. “Isn’t it?”
“Itis. I just thought?—”
“That I’d be mad? I washopin’you’d get the job, sweetheart. They’d becrazynot to want someone as hardworkin’ and brilliant as you,” he says.
I cock my head, shooting him a confused look. “You’ve always said we needed to stay true to the mountain and the ranch… to thefamily.”
“Yep. I did. Thoughsometimes, someone comes along that’s too big for this mountain. Someone so beautiful, so talented, sogivin’, that it’d be selfish for their dad to hold them back when he knows they can do so much good in the world,” he continues, making me want to cry for a whole other reason now.
“Dad…”
“Not sure you were ever meant to be a rancher,” Dad says, his voice as rough as granite. “Though I know you’re meant to have a place on this mountain.” He turns his head to look out the window toward the ridge we call home. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you belong here.”
“I know, Dad.”
“This land shaped you, the mountain claimed you, and it’llalwaysbe your home. Just like in here,” he says, tapping his chest.
I swallow hard. Sully Wilson is hard as nails, gruff and rough, with prickly edges and a chip on his shoulder the size of the peak we live on—and for good reason. But as our dad, he’s got a soft gooey center where he holds those he loves dear.
“This has and always will be home, Dad. It’s just not where I’m meant to be right now.”
His eyes crinkle at the sides, as soft and warm as I’ve ever seen them. It’s the same way he used to look at Ma before she passed. “We always said you were the smartest one.”