Only You Read Free Page A

chrissakes. At the moment, he didn’t know what he wanted to do, but this . . . hiding on his brother’s ranch wasn’t working for him anymore. No more horses. Lulu was the last one.
    JD turned his truck around and headed up the dirt road to his house. He’d planned to pave the road, but there hadn’t seemed to be any point to it if no one was living there. He could sell the house, of course. It was two miles from the ranch and wouldn’t affect anything there if he sold. But he hadn’t gotten to a place in his head where he could think about selling. Some dreams died hard, he supposed. He’d known this was coming. He’d felt restless more and more often lately. Maybe moving up here would be a good thing, push him out of the rut he was in. Make him think of the future instead of being stuck in the past.
    He intended to toss his bag inside the door and turn on the water pump, then leave, but as usual, the house called to him once he stepped inside. Seduced him, really. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.
    He ran his hand along the butcher’s block beside the propane stovetop. He was a good architect, had a feel for space and form. Before he’d quit, his house plans had been in high demand. He’d even gone out on his own and started a company. He’d thought maybe he could get a hold of the whole thing that way. Have more control over the hours he worked. Lydia had always complained about his long hours. She’d even accused him of having affairs, but that wasn’t true. He’d looked and had been tempted, but what he’d wanted most was a family. But people didn’t always get what they wanted, no matter how hard they tried.
    Lydia had been right all along. He’d worked too much.
    He turned and squinted up at the natural daylight spilling in through the row of windows high up on the wall. A nod to Frank Lloyd Wright. Funny how hard work was his saving grace now. Good hard physical labor: driving fence posts, herding cattle, riding hard. He liked it when his muscles ached at the end of the day, and he could look back and see how much he’d accomplished. He wasn’t as good a rancher as he’d been an architect, but he did okay.
    He turned on the water and watched it run for a minute, then opened the cupboard for a glass. Damn. He’d forgotten he didn’t have even a glass to drink out of, because he’d never lived here, and neither had anyone else.
    He’d have to go back to Ethan’s house and get a few things until . . . until he needed more. He couldn’t imagine really moving into this house. When he’d built it, all he could think about was living here. But by the time the house had been completed, he couldn’t bring himself to spend even one night.
    Three years. He didn’t expect he’d ever forgive himself for what had happened. But at least he’d stopped picking at the scabs that covered the wounds.
    And maybe now it was time to take another step. Try staying for a night or two. More like a week to give himself a chance. If it drove him crazy, he’d put the house on the market. Several people had already approached him about buying it. One way or another, maybe he could finally leave the past behind.
    He locked the side door he’d used to come in and went out the back door to the slate terrace. He’d planned to plant roses along the edge of the terrace but had never gotten around to it. It still needed something. The terrace was nice with the mountains climbing right up out of the backyard, but the space was too sparse. Nothing to soften all that rock. Maybe he could get Claire and her friends interested in planting a few bushes.
    He went back in and turned on the outside light in case he came back to the house late, then locked the door and pocketed the keys. He didn’t want to think about coming back to all this emptiness later. The house had been built for a large family, but he’d never have children. He’d be better off if he sold it, not to mention a helluva lot richer. But after