I woke at 0500 hours—force of habit from seven years of military life combined with Jack's ranch upbringing. The sun hadn't even considered rising yet, but my body was hardwired for early mornings.
My childhood bedroom looked exactly as I'd left it seven years ago. Rodeo trophies on the shelf. Faded posters of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies. A bookshelf that held everything from Louis L'Amour westerns to tactical manuals I'd collected as a teenager. The bed was too small for my current frame—my feet hung off the end—but it was comfortable in a way that had nothing to do with physical comfort.
It was *home*.
I lay there for a moment, processing the overlay of memories. Marcus Chen had never had a childhood bedroom like this. He'd grown up in a cramped flat where every space served multiple purposes. Jack Dutton had grown up with land stretching as far as the eye could see and a family that was complicated but present.
The guilt hit me suddenly—survivor's guilt, maybe, or imposter syndrome. Marcus was dead. I was living Jack's life with Marcus's memories and three fictional characters' abilities. What right did I have to this?
*You have every right*, I told myself firmly. *ROB gave you this chance. Jack Dutton exists because of the life Marcus Chen lived and the choice he made. You earned this.*
It didn't entirely banish the guilt, but it helped.
I rolled out of bed, dressed in workout clothes—Rangers PT gear that still fit despite the bulk I'd added—and headed outside before anyone else woke.
The ranch at dawn was something special. The air was crisp and clean in a way city air never managed. The mountains were dark silhouettes against a sky that was just beginning to lighten. Cattle were shadows in the pastures. Everything was quiet except for the occasional lowing of livestock and the distant sound of a creek.
I started running.
The first mile was easy—Jack Reacher's physicality meant I could run for hours without strain. The second mile, I pushed harder, testing the limits of this new body. The shoulder wound from Syria was healed, just a faint scar and occasional stiffness. Nothing that would slow me down.
By mile three, I was in the zone—that meditative state where the world narrowed to breath and movement and the rhythm of feet on dirt road.
John Wick's tactical awareness meant I automatically catalogued my surroundings even while running. Exit points. Potential threats. Strategic positions. It was exhausting and invaluable in equal measure.
Patrick Jane's observational skills added another layer—noticing the tracks in the dirt (cattle, horses, one set of ATV treads), the slight color variation in the grass that indicated underground water flow, the way the fence posts were aging and which ones would need replacement soon.
I was so focused on processing all this information that I almost didn't notice the rider approaching until he was fifty yards away.
Lee Dutton sat on his horse like he'd been born in the saddle—which, functionally, he had been. At thirty-eight, Lee was the oldest Dutton sibling, the responsible one who'd never left the ranch, who'd devoted his entire life to being the heir John Dutton needed.
He was also, if I didn't change things, going to be dead in less than a week.
The knowledge hit me like a punch to the gut.
In the show—in the *original timeline*, I had to remind myself—Lee died in the first episode. Shot by Robert Long during a conflict over cattle that had wandered onto Broken Rock Reservation land. He'd die in Kayce's arms, telling his younger brother that he loved him, bleeding out in the dirt over something as stupid as territory and pride.
I stopped running, breathing steady despite the miles, and watched my oldest brother approach.
Lee pulled up his horse, looking down at me with an expression that cycled through surprise, assessment, and finally settled on cautious approval.
"Jack?" His voice was rougher than I remembered—Jack's memories were of a twenty-year-old's voice, and seven years had added some gravel. "That you or did Dad hire a bodybuilder?"
"It's me." I grinned up at him. "Hey, Lee."
"Hey yourself." He swung down from his horse with the easy grace of someone who'd spent forty years in the saddle. "Christ, you got big. Beth texted me last night, but I thought she was exaggerating."
"Beth doesn't exaggerate about size. She's too analytical."
"Fair point." Lee moved closer, and I could see him really taking me in—the height, the muscle, the bearing of someone who'd spent seven years in one of the military's most elite units. "Army treated you well."
"Rangers," I corrected. "They treated me hard, but fair."
"Rangers, huh?" Lee's expression showed genuine respect. "That's serious business."
"It was." I paused, studying my brother. He looked tired—the kind of tired that came from years of responsibility and never quite feeling like you measured up. Jack's memories showed me a brother who'd always been there, always been steady, but who carried the weight of being the oldest Dutton like Atlas carried the world. "You look good, Lee. Tired, but good."
"Running a ranch this size will do that." He glanced at me. "You out here running for fun or you still on Ranger time?"
"Both. Hard to break the habit of 0500 PT. Plus, wanted to see the ranch at dawn. Missed it."
Something softened in Lee's expression. "Yeah? Thought you couldn't wait to get away from here."
"I was seventeen and angry," I said honestly. "Angry at Dad for being Dad. Angry at my body for not being good enough. Angry at the world for making me feel trapped." I met his eyes. "I needed to leave to figure out who I was without being 'the youngest Dutton.' But I missed this. Missed you guys."
Lee was quiet for a moment, looking out over the ranch as the sun started painting the mountains gold. "We missed you too. Dad won't say it, but he worried. Called your CO twice to check on you."
"He did?"
"Yeah. First time was after your second deployment. Second time was after..." Lee hesitated. "After you got hit. We heard through channels that Rangers had casualties in Syria. Dad about drove himself crazy until he got confirmation you were alive."
That information hit differently with Marcus Chen's memories of a father who'd died too young to worry about him. John Dutton was difficult, demanding, and emotionally constipated, but he loved his children fiercely.
Even when he was terrible at showing it.
"I didn't know," I said quietly.
"He wouldn't want you to." Lee smiled slightly. "But you're home now. That's what matters."
We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sun rise.
Then my tactical awareness—John Wick's instincts—noticed something. Lee's horse was favoring its left front leg. Not obviously lame, but enough to notice.
"Your horse is off," I said, gesturing. "Left front. Slight favor."
Lee turned to look at his mount, frowning. He walked over, ran his hand down the horse's leg, picked up the hoof. "Son of a bitch. Stone bruise. How'd you catch that?"
"Observant." It was easier than explaining I had the tactical awareness of cinema's most competent assassin and the observational skills of a fake psychic. "You should probably rest him today."
"Yeah." Lee set the hoof down gently. "Good catch. Saved me from making it worse."
Patrick Jane's ability to read people showed me Lee was impressed but also slightly unsettled—like he was recalculating who his little brother had become.
"Walk back with me?" Lee suggested. "We can talk. Been seven years. Probably have some catching up to do."
"Sure."
We started walking back toward the main lodge, Lee leading his horse, me cooling down from the run. The sun was fully up now, painting everything in morning gold.
"So," Lee said. "Beth said you're heading to LA? LAPD?"
"That's the plan. Figured I'd stay here a week, spend time with family, then head west for academy training."
"A week, huh?" Lee was quiet for a moment. "That's not much time."
"It's what I've got." I glanced at him. "Why? Something happening that needs more time?"
And here it was—the opening to potentially change everything. In the original timeline, the cattle dispute with Broken Rock Reservation happened in a few days. Lee would ride out with ranch hands to retrieve Dutton cattle that had wandered onto reservation land. Robert Long would be there with tribal police. Tensions would escalate. Lee would be shot.
Patrick Jane's understanding of human psychology told me this was a delicate moment. Push too hard and Lee would get defensive. Don't push enough and I'd miss the opportunity.
"Just the usual ranch politics," Lee said, but his tone suggested it was more than usual. "We've got cattle that keep drifting onto Broken Rock land. Fences are intact, but they're finding ways through. The tribe's getting frustrated. Dan Jenkins is making noise about development. And there's always something with the land disputes."
"Sounds like it could get complicated," I said carefully.
"Could." Lee's jaw tightened. "Probably will. It's just... bad timing, you know? You just got home. Would be nice to have you around for more than a week."
The way he said it made something in my chest tighten. Lee was the responsible one, the steady one, but underneath that was a man who was tired and lonely and wished he had backup.
In the original timeline, he died wishing he'd spent more time with his brothers.
*Not this time*, I thought fiercely.
"Lee," I said, stopping walking. He turned to look at me, curious. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay?"
"I was planning to leave in a week, but..." I chose my words carefully. "I've got a feeling something's going to happen. Can't explain it, just... Ranger instincts. The kind that kept me alive in Syria."
Lee's expression sharpened. In ranch country, you respected instincts. They kept you alive around animals that outweighed you by a thousand pounds and weather that could kill you in hours.
"What kind of something?"
"The cattle situation with Broken Rock. It's going to escalate." I met his eyes. "And when it does, I want to be here. To help. So I'm thinking maybe I stay longer than a week. Maybe a month. Get things settled before I head to LA."
"You'd do that?" Lee looked surprised. "What about LAPD academy?"
"They have multiple academy classes. I can push my start date." That was true—I'd checked Jack's acceptance letter. He had flexibility on when to begin. "But I can't push being here for family when you might need me."
Lee studied me for a long moment, and I could see him processing—trying to figure out if this was pity or genuine concern or something else.
"This about Kayce?" he asked finally. "You trying to fix the family?"
"This is about all of us," I said honestly. "Lee, I left when I was seventeen because I felt trapped. But I learned something in seven years of service: family matters. The brothers you serve with matter. And I don't want to leave again without making sure things are... stable."
"Stable," Lee repeated, something like amusement in his voice. "We're Duttons. We don't do stable."
"Then I want to make sure we at least do *chaotic* together."
That got a genuine laugh out of him—surprised and warm. "Chaotic together. I like that."
We resumed walking, and I could feel the shift in tension. I'd bought time. Maybe enough time to prevent Lee's death. Maybe enough time to change the trajectory of everything that came after.
"So tell me," Lee said as we approached the main lodge. "What's the plan for this month? Besides preventing mysterious cattle disasters?"
"Thought I'd help around the ranch. Earn my keep. Maybe ride out with you when you check the herds." I paused. "And I want to see Kayce."
Lee's expression tightened. "Dad won't like that."
"Dad doesn't have to like it. Kayce is my brother. I've been gone seven years. I'm not wasting more time on family feuds that don't make sense."
"It makes sense to Dad."
"Dad's wrong." I said it flatly, using the certainty of someone who'd watched this family tear itself apart in a TV show and was determined to prevent it. "Kayce married Monica. They have a son. That's not betrayal—that's life. And Dad needs to accept it before he loses Kayce completely."
Lee was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You really have changed."
"Seven years will do that."
"No, I mean..." He struggled to articulate it. "You left angry and lost. You came back... certain. Like you know exactly who you are and what you stand for. That's rare."
I thought about Marcus Chen, who'd never been certain of anything except that he wanted to help people. Thought about ROB giving me this impossible second chance. Thought about having the skills of three fictional characters and the knowledge of a timeline I was determined to change.
"I died," I said quietly.
Lee stopped walking. "What?"
"In Syria. Technically. For about ninety seconds." That was a lie, but it was close enough to truth. Marcus Chen had died. Jack Dutton had been reborn. "IED blast. Shrapnel. I stopped breathing. Combat medic got me back. But for ninety seconds, I was dead."
I met Lee's eyes. "It changes you. Being dead. Coming back. Makes you realize what matters and what doesn't. Family matters, Lee. Everything else is just noise."
Lee looked at me like he was seeing someone entirely new. "Damn, Jack."
"Yeah."
We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was different now—weighted with the kind of understanding that came from shared truth.
As we reached the lodge, I saw movement in the kitchen window. Beth, probably starting coffee. She was an early riser too, though for different reasons—ambition and insomnia rather than military training.
"Lee," I said before we went inside. "About the cattle situation. When it comes up—and it will—let me ride with you. Please. I've got experience with tense situations. Diplomacy under pressure. I can help."
Lee studied me, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah. I could use backup that actually knows what they're doing in a crisis." He paused. "Though Dad might have opinions about you getting involved."
"Dad can have all the opinions he wants," I said. "Doesn't mean I have to follow them. I'm twenty-four, not seventeen. And I'm a decorated Ranger, not a kid."
Lee grinned—the first real, unguarded smile I'd seen from him. "Oh, Dad's going to love this new version of you."
"Dad can cope."
We headed inside to find Beth already holding a cup of coffee and looking at us with sharp, evaluating eyes.
"Morning bonding?" she asked. "How sweet. Are you two going to braid each other's hair next?"
"Beth," Lee said, heading for the coffee pot. "It's not even 0600. Can you at least wait until after breakfast to be terrifying?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
I poured myself coffee—black, the way both Jack and Marcus had taken it—and settled at the kitchen table. Through the window, I could see the ranch coming to life. Ranch hands heading to the barns. Cattle moving toward grazing areas. The timeless rhythm of working land.
In the original timeline, this family would be torn apart by violence, betrayal, and pride. Lee would die. Kayce would kill Robert Long in revenge. The spiral would continue.
But I was here now. With knowledge of what was coming and the skills to maybe, *just maybe*, change it.
I had saved a little girl named Emily in my past life. She'd go on to save 463 people as a trauma surgeon.
Maybe I could save my brother. Save my family.
Save this timeline from its worst impulses.
"Jack?" Beth's voice cut through my thoughts. "You okay? You look intense."
"Just thinking," I said.
"About?"
"About staying longer than a week. Making sure things are settled before I head to LA."
Beth and Lee exchanged looks.
"Define 'settled,'" Beth said carefully.
"Define 'things,'" Lee added.
I looked at my siblings—Beth, fierce and broken and loyal; Lee, tired and dutiful and desperately trying to be enough.
In another timeline, another version of this story, they'd lose each other piece by piece.
Not this time.
"Family," I said simply. "I want to make sure our family is settled. All of us. Including Kayce."
The kitchen fell silent except for the coffee pot percolating and the distant sounds of the ranch.
Finally, Beth smiled—small but genuine. "Well then. Looks like you're staying for a while, baby brother."
"Looks like," I agreed.
Outside, the sun continued its rise over the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch, painting everything gold.
A new day.
A new chance.
A new timeline.
I just had to make sure I didn't screw it up.
—
Beth's smile turned calculating in that way that made grown men nervous in boardrooms. "So. Now that we've established you're staying longer than a week..."
"Here we go," Lee muttered into his coffee.
"Shut up, Lee. I'm being sisterly." Beth turned her full attention on me, and I felt like a bug under a microscope. "Are you going to see Sydney Miller?"
The name hit me like a freight train.
Jack's memories surged—blonde hair that caught sunlight like spun gold, blue eyes that saw through all his teenage bravado, a smile that made his seventeen-year-old heart forget how to beat properly. Sydney Miller, who'd been his girlfriend for two years. Who'd understood him in ways his family didn't. Who'd been his first everything that mattered.
Who he'd left behind without a real goodbye when he ran away to join the Rangers.
"Sydney," I heard myself say, and even I could hear the complicated emotions in that single word.
"Yes, Sydney," Beth said, watching me like a hawk. "You remember her? Blonde, gorgeous, had terrible taste in boyfriends because she dated you? You two were inseparable senior year."
"I remember." How could I not? Jack's memories were vivid—stolen kisses behind the barn, late nights talking about dreams and futures, losing their virginity to each other in the back of his truck under Montana stars while "Wanted Dead or Alive" played on the radio because they were both hopeless romantics with terrible taste in music.
"She's still around," Beth continued, casual in a way that meant she was anything but. "Works at the Old Trail Saloon in town. Bartending."
Lee shifted uncomfortably. "Beth, maybe leave the kid alone—"
"He's not a kid anymore, Lee. Look at him." Beth gestured at me with her coffee mug. "He's a six-foot-five wall of muscle who just got home after seven years. Sydney deserves to know he's back."
"Sydney deserves not to be ambushed by the guy who left her without a proper goodbye," I countered, though my chest felt tight. "I was a coward about that. Wrote her a letter because I couldn't face her. That's not something you just... show up and fix."
"No," Beth agreed, and her voice softened slightly—rare for her. "But it's something you could apologize for. If you wanted to."
I took a long drink of coffee, buying time to process. Marcus Chen had never had a serious relationship—his heart condition and early death had prevented that. But Jack's memories of Sydney were intense and bittersweet. First love. Real love. The kind that burned bright and left scars when you ran from it.
"What's she doing bartending?" I asked finally. "Sydney was brilliant. She wanted to be a vet."
"She is going to be a vet," Beth said, and I heard approval in her voice. "She got accepted to a veterinary residency program in LA. One of the best in the country, actually. She's just bartending to save money before she moves this fall."
LA.
Of course Sydney was going to LA.
The universe—or ROB—apparently had a sense of humor about these things.
"So she's leaving Montana," I said.
"Just like you did." Beth's eyes were sharp. "Only difference is, she's coming back. Her plan is to do the residency, get her credentials, then come back and open a large animal practice here. Because unlike some people, she never wanted to leave for good."
That landed like a punch. Fair, but painful.
"Beth," Lee said, his voice carrying warning. "Ease up."
"I'm not attacking him." Beth's gaze didn't leave my face. "I'm giving him information. What he does with it is his choice. But Jack, you should know—Sydney never married. Never even got serious with anyone else. And I know for a fact she asks about you every time someone from the ranch comes to town."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I go to that bar specifically to keep tabs on her for you." Beth said it matter-of-factly, like stalking your brother's ex-girlfriend was normal sisterly behavior. "She's good people, Jack. She was good for you. And you destroyed her when you left."
"Jesus, Beth," Lee muttered.
"What? He did." Beth turned to Lee. "You remember what she was like after he left. She showed up at the ranch three times looking for him before she accepted he was actually gone. She cried in the barn for an hour. I found her."
I felt Jack's guilt mix with Marcus's empathy and something tightened in my chest. "I was seventeen and stupid."
"You were seventeen and scared," Beth corrected, her voice losing some of its edge. "Scared of being trapped, scared of disappointing everyone, scared of living your whole life feeling weak. I get it. But you still hurt her."
She paused, then added more softly: "She told me once that she understood why you left. That she even understood why you didn't say goodbye in person—because you couldn't have gotten on that bus if you'd looked her in the eye. But understanding something doesn't make it hurt less."
The kitchen fell quiet except for the coffee pot and the sounds of the ranch outside.
Patrick Jane's ability to read people showed me that Beth wasn't being cruel—she was being protective. Of me and of Sydney. She wanted us to have closure, or a second chance, or whatever was possible after seven years and a teenage boy's cowardice.
"What does she look like now?" I asked quietly.
Beth's expression softened completely—a rare sight. "Like someone who grew up and grew into herself. She's beautiful, Jack. Always was, but now it's different. More confident. She carries herself like someone who knows exactly who she is and what she wants."
Lee cleared his throat. "She's also, uh... she's basically Sydney Sweeney."
I blinked. "What?"
"You know, the actress?" Lee looked uncomfortable discussing this. "From that show Beth watches. *Euphoria* or whatever. Sydney looks like her. Same hair, same eyes, same... everything. It's actually kind of uncanny."
Beth rolled her eyes. "Lee watches *The White Lotus*, thank you very much. But he's not wrong. If you need a visual reference for what your high school girlfriend looks like now, imagine Sydney Sweeney in cowboy boots and flannel."
My brain tried to process that information and nearly short-circuited. Jack's memories of Sydney at seventeen—pretty, sweet, with a smile that lit up rooms—combined with the mental image of Sydney Sweeney's face and I suddenly understood why Beth thought I should probably deal with this situation.
"So," Beth continued, merciless. "Are you going to see her? Or are you going to avoid the Old Trail Saloon like a coward for however long you're staying?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "What would I even say? 'Hey, sorry I abandoned you seven years ago, but I'm really jacked now and also I'm going to the same city as you, want to grab coffee?'"
"That's terrible," Lee said.
"Agreed," Beth added. "But it's a start."
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling overwhelmed. Between preventing Lee's death, reconciling with Kayce, managing John's stubbornness, and now potentially facing Sydney Miller—who apparently looked like a movie star and was still single after seven years—I was beginning to understand why Jack Dutton had run away at seventeen.
This family made everything complicated.
"Tell me about her," I said finally. "Not what she looks like. Who she is now. What's she like?"
Beth settled back in her chair, cradling her coffee, and her expression went thoughtful. "She's tough. Has to be, bartending at the Saloon—ranchers and oil workers aren't exactly gentle customers. But she's good at reading people, knows when to joke and when to cut someone off. She's passionate about animals, still volunteers at the rescue shelter every weekend. She's loyal—still friends with the same people from high school. And she's smart, Jack. Really smart. Got accepted to three different residency programs and chose UCLA because it had the best large animal specialization."
"She sounds incredible," I said quietly.
"She is." Beth met my eyes. "And she deserves better than wondering what happened to the boy she loved. Even if all you do is apologize and give her closure, she deserves that."
Lee nodded slowly. "Beth's right. Which kills me to say, but she is. You don't have to get back together or whatever. But you owe her a conversation."
They were right. I knew they were right.
Marcus Chen had died saving a little girl because it was the right thing to do, even though it cost him everything. Facing Sydney Miller and apologizing for teenage cowardice was significantly less heroic, but it was still the right thing.
"Okay," I said. "I'll go see her. But not today. I need..." I gestured vaguely. "Time. To figure out what to say."
"You've got time," Beth said. "You're staying a month, remember?"
"Right. A month." I took another drink of coffee. "Plenty of time to prevent disasters, reconcile with estranged brothers, and face the girl I abandoned. No pressure."
"Welcome home, baby brother," Beth said with a grin that was both terrifying and affectionate. "Montana missed you."
The kitchen door opened and John walked in, already dressed for work, looking tired but determined despite the fresh stitches in his forehead.
"You're all up early," he observed, heading for the coffee.
"Jack was out running at 0500," Lee supplied. "Ran into him on my morning ride."
John turned to look at me, something like approval in his expression. "Still on Ranger time?"
"Habit," I confirmed. "Hard to break."
"Don't break it," John said, pouring coffee. "Early mornings are when real work gets done. Before the world starts making noise." He took a drink, then added: "Lee, we need to talk about the Broken Rock situation. Cattle keep drifting onto their land."
I saw Lee tense slightly. "Yeah. I was going to ride out today and check the fence lines."
"Take Jack with you," John said, surprising everyone.
Lee and I exchanged glances. Beth raised her eyebrows.
"Dad?" I said carefully. "You sure?"
"You wanted to help around the ranch, right? Well, this is ranch work. Besides, Lee could use backup that knows how to handle tense situations." John looked at me directly. "Rangers taught you diplomacy along with combat, I assume?"
"Yes, sir. De-escalation, cultural sensitivity, negotiation under pressure. All part of the training."
"Good. Because this situation with Broken Rock has been simmering for months. Rather not have it boil over." He paused. "And Jack? If you see Kayce out there—he lives on the reservation now—don't start any family drama. Just focus on the cattle."
It was the closest John would come to acknowledging that maybe, possibly, his estrangement from Kayce was counterproductive.
"Yes, sir," I said.
John nodded, satisfied, and headed out to start his day.
Once he was gone, Beth let out a low whistle. "Did Dad just give you permission to see Kayce?"
"I think he gave me permission to not actively avoid Kayce while doing ranch work," I corrected. "There's a difference."
"For John Dutton, that's practically a warm embrace," Lee said dryly. "Take the win."
I grinned. "Taking the win."
Beth stood, draining her coffee. "Well, I've got to get to work. Some of us have banks to terrorize and energy companies to crush." She paused at the door, turned back. "Jack? About Sydney. Whatever you decide, just... don't run away again, okay? From her or from us. We just got you back."
"I'm not running," I promised. "Not this time."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Good."
After Beth left, Lee and I sat in comfortable silence, watching the ranch wake up through the kitchen windows.
"You really going to stay a month?" Lee asked finally.
"Yeah. I am."
"And you're going to see Kayce."
"Yeah."
"And Sydney."
"Eventually."
Lee was quiet for a moment, then: "You know, when you left, I thought we'd lost you. Not just physically, but... I thought you'd become someone different. Someone who didn't want to be a Dutton anymore."
"I did become someone different," I said honestly. "But that doesn't mean I stopped being a Dutton. Just means I figured out who Jack Dutton actually is, versus who everyone expected him to be."
"And who is Jack Dutton?"
I thought about Marcus Chen dying in the rain. About ROB and impossible second chances. About having the skills of three fictional characters and the knowledge to change a timeline.
"Someone who protects people," I said finally. "Family, strangers, doesn't matter. Someone who does the right thing even when it's hard. That's who I am. That's who I've always been. The Rangers just gave me the tools to do it better."
Lee smiled—genuine and warm. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like you. The kid who cried when we had to put down his first horse. Who got in a fight because someone was bullying a kid half their size. Who always wanted to fix things."
"Some things you can't fix," I said quietly, thinking about Lee's death in the original timeline.
"No," Lee agreed. "But that doesn't mean you stop trying."
We sat there as the sun climbed higher, two brothers separated by seven years and brought back together by chance and choice.
Tomorrow, we'd ride out to check fences and probably run into Kayce.
Tomorrow, I'd start changing the timeline.
But today, I was just Jack Dutton, home with his family, drinking coffee in his childhood kitchen.
And somewhere in town, Sydney Miller was probably getting ready for another shift at the Old Trail Saloon, not knowing that the boy who'd broken her heart seven years ago had come home looking like a superhero and feeling like a fraud.
I'd face that soon enough.
First, I had to save my brother's life.
One crisis at a time.
---
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