Page 92 of Knox

“When are you coming home next?”

“I dunno. We have another four weeks in country, and then…I’ll try.” He glanced away, then back to the phone. “I gotta go, Ma. Love you guys.”

He hung up, and they sat in silence for a moment.

Then Ruby Jane turned to Wyatt. “Remember that shootout between you and Ford? He totally smoked you!”

Wyatt made a face.

“I think we have it on tape,” Tate said. “In Dad’s VCR collection.” He stood up.

Kelsey was still staring into the flames. Knox longed to go over, pry open her thoughts.What are you going to tell him?

But really, what did he expect from her? That she’d settle down here, on the ranch, and live happily ever after with him?

Maybe, yes. After all, he had.

And it hit him. He was happy here. Loved the smell of the land, the hard work, the bone-weariness at the end of the day. The sense that this family depended on him.You can count on me.

His words to Kelsey from a few nights ago, but now they burrowed deep.

Please, Kelsey, count on me.

Around him the hockey argument had stirred to flame, and suddenly Wyatt, Tate, Reuben, Gilly, and Ruby Jane were headed into the house.

Tate grabbed his shirt. “C’mon. We know you took over the den—we need to find Dad’s tape.”

Knox met Kelsey’s eyes a moment, and she gave him another enigmatic smile that only tightened his gut.

Fine. He would get the tape, then he was going to get her away and tell her…what? That he loved her? Maybe. Beg her to stay?

He drew in his breath, screwing up his courage to do exactly that as he followed Tate through the house.

His siblings were rooting through the built-in bookshelves and cupboard at the far end of the room. He moved RJ aside, bent, and found the old shoebox of Dad’s videos, tucked behind his saved newspapers from pivotal events in history and a couple oldNational Geographicmagazines.

“Where is the old VCR?” Tate asked, and of course, Knox pulled that out next. He handed it to Tate, who set it beside the television, unwinding the cords. Reuben pulled the television from the wall, and in moments they had the thing hooked up, the screen fuzzy as they changed inputs.

Reuben shoved in the tape, pressed Play, and in a moment the grainy image came up.

Not the Ford versus Wyatt after-game shootout, but the game itself—the Garnet County Wildcats against a Kalispell team. Wyatt, a senior, at goal, Ford, a sophomore playing defenseman. He’d wanted a glory position, but back then, he was bigger and tougher than the other guys his age, and the coach slotted him where they needed him.

The camera panned to Wyatt and Ford, bracing for a fast break, and when the puck pinged off Wyatt’s glove, bounced out, and Ford shot it back down the ice, a fist crossed the screen, ahooyahrising above the cheers.

Dad.

The camera flicked to him—probably their mother at the controls—and then the room went quiet as Dad glanced into the camera. “Way to go, boys!”

Dark hair, brown eyes, a smug smile. He wore such pride in his eyes, Knox’s throat simply tightened.

The air in the room seemed to empty, and in his periphery, he saw Ruby Jane wipe her eyes.

Tate took a deep breath.

Gilly put her arm around Reuben.

The camera turned back to the game, but no one spoke.

Shoot.Dad.