Page 20 of Dust Storm

Claire rolled her eyes. “Go wash up.”

“That’s Carson,” Christian said. “He’s the youngest. He’s the ranch’s cow boss. Oversees the ranch hands.”

I didn’t want to be a part of this family reunion. If this was the only place to eat, I would take my dinner to-go and get to work. The sooner I got the job done, the sooner I could get back to my life and away from whatever this nightmare was.

5

CHRISTIAN

Istudied Cassandra from across the table as she was peppered with questions. Her posture was proper, her lips were pursed as she chewed, and she answered with as little information as possible.

Bree and Gracie looked at her like she was a movie star, asking for every detail about her life in New York.

Guilt boiled up inside of me over the fact that I rarely took the girls outside our little town, much less Texas.

New York probably seemed like somewhere that only existed in the movies.

Becks was chipper as she reminisced over her days as a Manhattanite.

It was weird to think that my brother shared some of that history with her.

Up until her third trimester, Becks had continued to beRebecca Davis, foreign affairs correspondent. Nate traveled with her as her security detail after retiring from the military. Hearing her tell the girls about her days as the lead evening news anchor was wild. It was all taxi cabs, makeup artists, and high heels.

I saw the stars in Bree’s eyes.

Or maybe that was just the reflection of the diamond sitting on Cassandra’s finger.

CJ’s brow furrowed as he stabbed his pot roast. “So, Cassandra, how do you know Becks again?”

She paused and took a sip of water, composing herself. “We work for the same media conglomerate.”

“The network’s parent company also owns the PR company she works for,” Becks said.

A ruby-lipped smile curved at the corner of Cassandra’s mouth. “I have no desire to be in front of the camera. Just the puppeteer behind it.”

CJ’s eyes cut to our dad. “And why does the ranch need a publicist?” He washed down his bite with a sip of tea. “We raise cattle. Not like we’re the Kennedys with some Camelot shit or skeletons in the closet.”

“Language, Carson James,” Mom chided.

One would think that four boys raised on a generational cattle ranch would grow up to be carbon copies of each other, but we couldn’t have been more different if we tried.

Nathan was the stereotypical oldest child. He was a natural-born leader. A protector. None of us were surprised when he made it into West Point with visions of a career in the Army. He was driven and determined. It served him well during his twenty years in the military.

Then there was me.

Too sensitive for his own good. Chris needs to toughen up.Comments like that had always been written on my report cards as a child.

The ranch had always been my safe place. It was a haven. I loved the quiet. I treasured the lack of people for miles and miles.

I liked to think that I stayed soft, but life had toughened me up. With Nate doing back-to-back tours overseas, I married my high school sweetheart, had Bree and Gracie, and worked sun-up to sundown to learn everything I needed to know from my old man.

Then I lost Gretchen.

My world ended the day a cop pulled down the long dirt drive, stirring up a dust storm with his tires.

Gretchen had been on her way home from the grocery store. It was her weekly solo trip into town; leaving three-year-old Bree and one-year-old Gracie with my mom so she could have a few hours of peace to run errands.

Hit by a drunk driver.

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