THE RIDE FROM DFW AIRPORT was damn near as uncomfortable as having four pieces of shrapnel cut out of his face. Granted, three of them had been tiny, but the fourth one had left an ugly gash near his right temple.

      He’d been called up for active duty just a few months before his military commitment was due to end. His service had been extended by a year of active duty, and while he was gone, his little brother had completely changed the ranch into some kind of organic, bizarre collection of everything he didn’t want: buffalo, dairy cows and free-range chickens. What self-respecting rancher raised those animals when he could have good old regular beef cattle grazing on his acres?

      He should never have given Troy the power of attorney that James Brody, their lawyer, had said they needed. That simple document had allowed his brother to do whatever he wanted with the Rocking C while Cal was away. And, dammit, he had. He and Cal had exchanged sometimes heated e-mails over the changes to the ranch and had talked a few times by phone, until Cal had become too frustrated to speak to Troy. Cal figured they didn’t have anything else to discuss until he actually saw the ranch.

      “You need to stop anywhere along the way?” Troy asked.

      “No. If I need anything, I’ll go into town later.” First, he wanted to get out of the desert fatigues and army-issue boots of Sergeant Calvin P. Crawford IV and into the comfortable, worn jeans, Western shirt and cowboy boots of Cal Crawford, rancher. Then, he looked forward to visiting Dewey’s Saloon and Steakhouse, seeing his neighbors and having a few beers with a nice, juicy T-bone. No more MREs or institutional trays of food that made school lunches seem appealing.

      “Raven has something planned, just so you know,” Troy said as they turned onto Highway 16 and headed north, avoiding the main street and its two stoplights.

      “Great.” There went his plans for the evening. Troy had mentioned that his fiancée was an organic farmer and weaver from New Hampshire. Cal knew she’d come to Texas due to a mix-up with a garden association and had stayed to “help” Troy make all those changes he’d decided were necessary. Cal had seen a picture of Raven in one of Troy’s e-mails—she looked like what their father would call a “hippie.” She’d probably serve some kind of vegetarian smorgasbord. Or did folks from New Hampshire have smorgasbords? Maybe not. Cal had lived all his life in Brody’s Crossing, Texas, except for basic training, two weeks’ service every summer and the deployment to Afghanistan. With any luck, he’d never leave here again.

      “Who’s invited?”

      “Just a few friends and some of our new business associates.”

      “Don’t even get me started on the changes to the ranch.”

      Troy sighed. “Look, Cal, why don’t you just admit that something had to be done? The ranch was failing. You were way too far into the bank for operational loans. You could never have recovered the cost of those Herefords from the market price. I know you liked to look out and see them grazing in the pasture, just like they’d always been there, but—”

      “Butt out, that’s what. You did what you did. I’m going to do what I have to do.”

      “You’re as stubborn as our old man.”

      “I think the word is loyal, not stubborn. Some of us value the past.” Cal didn’t understand why Troy was so dead set against the traditions of the Rocking C. Yeah, his life hadn’t been perfect, but whose had? Troy had been more of a mama’s boy, and when their mother had left the family when he was fourteen, he’d been hurt. Cal knew his brother also resented the fact that he’d been the younger son. Their dad had obviously groomed Cal to run the ranch, and that might chafe Troy a bit, but such was life. The oldest son usually took over the family’s responsibilities.

      Someday, when he had a son, Cal vowed that he’d groom him the same way. He’d need to be tough to run a ranch.

      Of course, first Cal needed to get the Rocking C back to the way it was.

      “Just don’t take your bad mood out on Raven. All the changes were mine, understood? Just because I chose not to be a rancher doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of the cattle industry. I was marketing a new cattle breed, you know.”

      “Yeah, I know that and I hear you loud and clear. I know just who to blame.”

      “Hell, Cal, I know you’ve had a rough time, but your attitude sucks. I’m sorry about Dad’s accident. I’m sorry I got to go away to college while you stayed to run the ranch. I’m sorry for the timing of your military service. But I’m glad I could take a leave from my job after my vacation ran out, and I’m glad I got a chance to help the ranch survive. If I hadn’t done something, including investing a stack of my own cash into the Rocking C, then you’d be coming back to a foreclosure, no stock and no place to live.”

      “So you say. I see it differently. And don’t talk about my bad attitude when I’ve been serving my country.”

      “Oh, please. As if you’re more patriotic than the rest of us. You only joined the reserves because Dad and Granddad and the rest of the men in our family served in the army.”

      “You’re so full of it.”

      “And you’re not? I’m your brother. I think I know you pretty well.”

      Cal snorted. His brother didn’t know him at all. He turned his head and looked out the window as they passed under the Rocking C sign. Troy must have repaired it and painted it black. Just the first of many changes. Fresh gravel crunched beneath Troy’s fancy SUV’s tires as they drove past repaired fences. Cal didn’t want to look into the pastures, where Herefords used to graze.

      He had a sick feeling in his stomach, along with a racing heartbeat and overreaching sense of dread. He was finally home, but whose home? Not the one he remembered, that was for sure.

      His little brother had taken over his life.

      Troy thought he knew so much about running a ranch, about life in Brody’s Crossing, about family heritage, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know Cal’s secret.

      And he never would. No one would.