Bad Boy Rancher

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the woman who’d driven the van he’d hit two weeks ago. Brielle Thompson, a former army chaplain from Chicago, he’d learned. She’d been hired to run Carbondale’s new rehabilitation and mental health center, Fresh Start, and had been headed there when they’d collided.

Now she sat beside the county DA, ramrod straight, her strong jaw lifted, her face impassive. Varying shades of blond hair, from platinum to honey to a dark gold, smoothed over her head and twisted in a knot at the base of her neck. Although she hadn’t glanced his way since the hearing began, he recalled her light green eyes in the hall and the way they’d seemed to look not just at him, but through him.

He didn’t remember much about that night, except the image of her stricken face peering down at him. He’d even dreamed of it, a reprieve from his usual loop of Jesse calling for him, insisting this time he’d changed, and Justin angrily refusing to believe until it was too late...

“How does the defendant plead?” asked County Judge Charlotte James.

Her daughter, Amberley, who dated his brother Jared, had warned Justin not to expect leniency on his DUI charge. Judge James had lost her sister in a drunk driving accident and imposed the maximum sentence when hearing these cases. She leaned forward, her forearms extended atop the tall bench, a gavel beside her right hand. Her black robe billowed around her tall, thin frame and the narrow oval of her face creased in disapproval. Gray threaded through her shoulder-length brown hair.

Justin cast a quick glance back at his family. James glowered while Jared mouthed “good luck.” Jewel chewed on a nail while his mother’s eyes glistened. Her lips pushed together so hard the color leached out of them. Regret settled sour in Justin’s gut. He’d caused his family pain.

Again.

Jail would get him out of their hair for a while. Behind bars, he’d also escape their pitying, anxious looks...their useless attempts to pull him from his grief. He squared his shoulders beneath Jared’s borrowed suit jacket. “Guilty, Your Honor.”

An annoyed huff escaped his family’s attorney, Chuck Sloan. A portly man with a thick mane of white hair and a perfect set of teeth, he resembled a well-fed cat used to pampering, not scrapping. He’d insisted they plead not guilty to provide better leverage in a plea bargain, but Justin refused. He’d chugged the beer before hopping on the bike. No one had put a gun to his head—a preferable choice, in hindsight, to driving under the influence.

His mind drifted as Judge James called for the accident report, witness statements and the toxicology reports.

He could have hurt someone, an unforgivable, selfish act. Granted, he’d believed the remote road would be empty and his motorcycle little threat to a moving van, but he couldn’t excuse his reckless disregard for another’s life. Brielle Thompson, by all accounts, was an exemplary person, a woman of the church, practically a saint compared to a sinner like him.

Yet despite her brisk bearing and guarded expression today, he recalled the dark anguish in her eyes after the accident and her sudden fury just moments ago in the hall. She’d looked haunted, desperate, desolate—an expression he recognized. It often peered back at him in the mirror.

Was this godly woman possessed by demons, too?

After listening to the officer on scene’s testimony, as well as a brief statement from Brielle, Judge James steepled her fingers, her elbows planted atop her desk, deep in thought. The room descended into a tomb-like silence. A mother, failing to soothe her fussing baby, hustled up the central row of seats and out through the door.

“With a blood alcohol level of point oh nine—” Judge James waved the toxicology report a few minutes later “—your license is suspended for nine months.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Justin laced his fingers in front of him and rocked back on the heels of his boots, nodding. More than fair. Besides, he didn’t need a license to race dirt bikes or go mudding off-road. As for driving, he’d catch a ride with one of his siblings if he needed to go somewhere. Other than the pool hall and a weekly poker night, he rarely left the ranch anyway.

Since Jesse’s death, he found it hard to leave the place. Everywhere he looked, he saw Jesse. Walking away felt like he was abandoning his twin all over again. Besides, the wanderlust that’d once seized him had died alongside his twin. It’d be disloyal to explore the world without him. If Jesse couldn’t leave Carbondale, neither would Justin, no matter how many sunsets he watched...wondering what lay beyond the horizon.

“As for sentencing,” Judge James continued, “I’m prepared to offer two options for consideration before next week’s sentencing hearing. Six months in the county jail or...”

His mother’s gasp halted the judge’s words. Her eyes brushed past Justin to his parent and softened momentarily. Was she dialing into his ma’s worries? Did she fear Justin would travel the same dark road as his brother, sure he’d break her heart? Joy had already lost one son, and now she was losing another...

Justin’s body ran hot and cold. Jail. Hearing it out loud, in an official setting, brought home the reality he’d be forced to leave the ranch, his family, Jesse...

He’d done the crime and now must do the time.

Cowboy up.

Judge James lifted a mug to her lips, her expression shuttered. A tea bag string dangled over its side. After a long sip, she lowered the cup then circled the rim with her index finger. “Carbondale is now fortunate to have a rehabilitation and mental health facility, Fresh Start.”

A low grumbling broke out in the back of the courtroom. He glimpsed Brielle’s chin lift a notch. The facility’s opening had stirred up some recent controversy. He’d heard James mention the townsfolk worried about the kinds of “elements” a place like Fresh Start would bring to their little corner of the world.

Judge James banged her gavel, scowling, and the room quieted. Justin yanked his starched collar and tie, more loans from his brothers, from his hot neck.

“As we now have a top-notch facility in our community—” The judge shot a fleeting smile at Brielle before continuing, “The defendant may admit himself to this facility for the next six weeks in lieu of incarceration. I trust that would be acceptable to you, Ms. Thompson?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Brielle said heavily after a moment’s hesitation.

Justin shot her a quick glance but failed to catch her eye. After their heated exchange in the hall, did she not want him as a resident at the facility?

If so, that went double for him.

He didn’t have a drinking problem, unless you considered knocking back a few to fall asleep an issue, which it wasn’t. How else would he escape his thoughts long enough to get a few hours of shut-eye?

As for his daytime drinking, he always waited until after work. Who didn’t want a few beers while watching the game? Harmless. Normal.

A twelve-pack a night isn’t normal, a voice inside him piped up.

He shook off the nagging thought. He didn’t go through that amount every day, mostly just on weekends, which lately also extended to Fridays...and Mondays... Because who could face Mondays sober? But still, he was not an addict.

That’d been Jesse’s label.

Not his.

Plus, Jesse had attended plenty of those kumbaya programs and they’d never done a darn thing except dash his mother’s fragile hopes. Justin glanced over at a stone-faced Brielle. She didn’t look like the type to sing folk songs and shake a tambourine. In fact, her militant bearing suggested she’d carry a gun easier. Interesting. He’d never met a woman who’d served in a war before.

And he wouldn’t meet her now, he vowed, no matter how much she intrigued him.

“Your Honor,” Justin said quickly, “I don’t need time to deliberate. I’d like to—”

“Consult with his attorney,” interrupted Mr. Sloan. He tapped his pencil on a piece of paper with the writing: Don’t act rashly.

Rash?

It was practically Justin’s credo. Better to act than think too hard, since thoughts cut deeper, bruised harder and never healed the way physical injuries did. He couldn’t imagine a worse place than a rehab program that’d force him to think too hard and feel too much.

“But I—” Justin began.

“Appreciate your generous offer,” Mr. Sloan cut in again. “My client will give this the serious consideration it deserves.”

He slid another sheet at Justin, the words Think of your mother scrawled on it.

Justin gritted his teeth. He was thinking of his family. By going to jail, they’d be free to lead their happy lives without him spoiling it. Behind bars, he couldn’t get into much trouble. No more barn brawl matchups, dirt bike races or the other kinds of hell-raising that gave his mother palpitations.

He swung around and met his ma’s watering eyes. James jabbed a finger at him while Jared’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Jewel tapped her teeth with her nail, eyeing him the way she sized up runaway heifers. He bet she’d like to truss him up right now.

They didn’t know how much happier they’d be without him. His gaze drifted to Sofia. She smoothed a hand over her belly and shot him an encouraging smile.

“I appreciate your advocacy for your client, Mr. Sloan,” Judge James said. “However, I’d like to hear from Mr. Cade.”

Ma clasped her hands together and mouthed “please” while James’s eyes said something less polite and a lot more threatening. Big brother asserting himself. Justin bristled. Clearly, they wanted him to wait on a decision. He let out a breath and unclenched his hands. Fine. He hated delaying the inevitable, but if they needed more time to adjust to the idea of him going to jail, then so be it.

“I’ll give my answer at next week’s hearing.”