Coming Home:The Cater Clan

Chapter 1

Austin

The leather yields under my swivel knife as I carve intricate vines and roses onto the dark hide. Sunlight pierces warehouse windows, revealing dust motes, and leather and beeswax scents permeate the air.

I glance at the 3D printer, whirring in the corner. "Try not to choke on that complex code you're working on, Declan."

Declan's brows furrow as his fingers fly over the keys. "Ensuring this machine prints the custom tree." He smirks. "Unless you want to reimburse Mrs. Uppington for a saddle failing Royal Dressage's standards."

I snort, returning to carving. "The tone of her emails makes me want to ride her like a bronco, not craft a six-thousand-dollar saddle."

The printer drones, layering heated polymer into the precise shape modeled after Mrs. Uppington's champion gelding. Declan's work table overflows with coding books, cables, and half-eaten energy bars—the organized chaos of our saddle-crafting world.

I smirk, recalling my initial skepticism when pitching this college venture. Who'd have thought a business project would spawn a thriving empire?

The printer's nozzle lays down layers, birthing the bespoke tree. This marvel maps a horse's back with exact precision.

I brush the hair from my face, leaving a streak of soap. This project culminates six months of attention to every leather inch and hardware piece—a masterpiece for the equestrian elite.

Warmth blooms in my chest. My passion is shaping rawhide into beauty and durability—an art form uniting equine and rider.

The office landline's shrill ring cuts through mallet-on-leather thumps.

"I'll handle the call!" Em's smoky voice drifts from the front office, carrying a hint of enthusiasm."Sitting Pretty Saddles, where amazing things happen daily."

I roll my eyes at her shameless flirting. The girl can't utter a sentence without layering innuendo. It's her wicked charm.

I inspect my stamped pattern, satisfied. Stretching out shoulder kinks, I catch snippets of the conversation.

"No updated ETA on the leather shipment..." She pauses. "Phil, sweetie, being coy about delays isn't a good reputation to have."

I snicker, imagining her arched eyebrow as she sweet-talks the supplier. That girl spins webs around anyone with that honeyed rasp.

"That's much better," her tone brightens, revealing a sense of satisfaction with the conversation's direction. "We'll expect delivery by Friday. Don't forget my usual... 'gratuity.'" The last word oozes debauchery.

Emberlynn strolls back into the room, her hips swaying with confidence, chin lifted high, and lips curved in a self-satisfied smirk. It's her lioness-cornering-prey face.

Before I can tease her, the landline rings again. Ember arches a brow as I sigh; so much for productivity.

"Sitting Pretty Saddles," I answer, tamping my annoyance.

A crisp, businesslike tone sets my instincts tingling. "Ms. Myers? Theodore Harding, attorney at law. I have difficult news about your grandfather, Harlan Mowery."

Dread washes over me. "Yes?"

"I regret to inform you your grandfather passed away three days ago." The lawyer's voice is composed and practiced in delivering gut-punches. "He suffered a massive stroke. The care home did everything, but the brain trauma proved too extensive."

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting tears as memories ricochet. Grandpa taught me to ride before I could walk. His booming laugh as we chased stock. His eyes crinkling with pride at my new skills.

Swallowing hard, I steady my voice. "I had no idea he was ill. We haven't spoken in years, not since..." My jaw clenches. "What are the arrangements? I need to pay respects."

"Your grandfather left explicit instructions. He's been cremated, with a simple wake for care home staff." The lawyer pauses. "However, there's his estate. As his only living relative, you've inherited all assets."

My brow furrows. "Assets? What specific assets are you referring to? I was under the impression that the ranch had been sold years ago after Mom and I departed from Wyoming."

"Not at all. The Double Rider Ranch remains intact, including a small quarter horse herd, primary residence, barn, and ranch lands."

My knees buckle under the weight of this unexpected news. "Are you saying I inherited the entire ranch? Every single part of it?"

"Indeed. Come to Casper as soon as possible. We must review holdings, retire debts, and secure your ownership." He pauses. "Only then can you decide how to proceed with your inheritance?"

I drag in a steadying breath, caught between shock and responsibility. "Yes, of course. I'll fly out right away."

After jotting down the lawyer's details, I drop onto the sofa, reeling. My friends observe me with concern.

"That was... overwhelming," I admit with a shaky laugh. "My grandfather died, and I inherited the family ranch in Wyoming. The whole thing."

Emberlynn's eyebrows shoot up. "Damn, Aus. Condolences on your gramps. But holy hell, you're loaded now? Living the ranch life, swimming in cattle money."

I drill into her with a withering glance, but my lips twitch despite my grief. Trust Emberlynn to focus on potential dollars while glossing over pain.

Declan nods. "You've got to handle things. We'll handle the business."

Gratitude pierces my chest as I glance at my friends. Emberlynn runs the office while I haul horses to races... Declan overhauled the virus-corrupted website in three sleepless days... They've been my ride-or-die since we started this business venture. What would I do without them?

I nod while exhaling. "It looks like I'm heading back to Wyoming after all these years. There's simply no way to avoid it now."

I step away to call Mom, my stomach roiling. Wyoming hasn't been home for over a decade, not since Dad's cancer battle. After he passed, Momma and I fled those open spaces like they were barbed wire, memories too painful.

I fixate on the half-tooled piece while running my fingers through my hair. Leather and beeswax scents always calm me, but today, they stir ghosts—rain droplets, pepper warehouse windows.

Mom answers on the third ring, her voice tight with emotion. We exchange stilted condolences, hollow against our shared grief.

Mom cuts to the crux of the matter. "You need to go back to Wyoming, honey. At least to handle ranch affairs for a while."

"Could you clarify what you mean by 'a while'?" I hedge, calculating how fast I can sell off the entire place.The thought of being trapped there sends shivers down my spine.

"Austin Rae." The full name - I'm in trouble. "That ranch is your legacy, our family's legacy. You can't sell it off like some investment."

I snort. "Last I checked, we rejected the 'legacy' twelve years ago when we ran screaming from the place."

The words fall between us, an undeniable truth. Wyoming represents too much pain, too many crippling memories of Dad's decline. As much as this news rocks me, some buried part resonates with Mom's point. This land is my roots, my heritage, which I've spent a decade severing.

Mom's tone gentles. "Baby, go home for a bit. After seeing it, we'll discuss selling it if you hate it. But please, give it a fair chance. For me?"

I'm a sucker for Mom's pleading tone. I give in, gritting my teeth. "Okay, fine. I'll sort through Gramp's affairs and house. But that's it. No guarantees beyond that."

The lie tastes like sawdust, knowing I could never turn my back on something this huge, tangled in who I am. My chest hollows with soul-deep weariness. I'm returning to the place I swore I'd never return.

After hanging up, I run a hand through my hair and turn to see Emberlynn and Declan observing me with concern.

Emberlynn's eyebrows arch upward.

Declan shoots her a quelling stare before turning to me. "You've got your affairs to tend to. Give it a shot."

While scrubbing my face, I let out a sigh. "That appears to be the situation. Mom has already started laying on the guilt about our 'family legacy' and all those sentimental obligations."I make air quotes, bitterness edging my tone.

Emberlynn cuts to the core. "But you were ten when you left, right? How awful can it be?"

My laugh holds zero humor. "You've never been to small-town Wyoming, Em. It's a postage stamp hellscape of rodeo rejects and buck-toothed beauty queens."

I hold on to my workbench, and I force out, "I haven't been back to that town with only one stoplight since we left after Dad..."

Words stall in my throat, grief and anger grips my soul. Declan squeezes my shoulder with wordless empathy. He knows how ugly Dad's cancer battle got.

Emberlynn arches a brow. "So...you're going to cowgirl up and deal with this ranch s**t? Or tuck tail and run?"

I glare, but there's no heat. She's right, as usual. Running from my past has been my M.O. for a decade. It may be time to face my demons in the desolate wasteland.

I stand tall, with my chin raised. "You're right. I need to go home and sort through this mess. Maybe I'll even enter a race or two just for kicks."

"That's my girl!" Emberlynn crows, hugging me. "And if any cowboys need a good riding, you know who to call."

I snort, shoving her away. "Shut up, skank. Not all of us aspire to your... standards."

Declan shakes his head, mouth ticking up. "Go on then, Wild West Barbie. Git before we stage an intervention to cure your yeehaw-itis."

I give them both the middle finger, then begin mentally cataloging all the essential items I'll need for this unexpected, extended journey back to the middle of nowhere.

Oakleigh's caller ID flashes. I smirk, anticipating her brand of... counseling.

"Well, if it isn't the peddler of penile pleasures," I answer. "To what do I owe this X-rated interruption?"

"Can it, prude," she snarls, amused and annoyed. "I could hear your frigid aura through the phone. What's got your gigantic granny panties in a knot?"

As I flop onto the couch, I let out a huff. "Grandpa died, so I've got to head back to a crapshoot town to deal with his estate and... everything else."

A pause before she replies. "s**t, Aus. I'm sorry, babe. That's. .that's a horrible thing."

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "It is what it is. It means trading city life for fresh manure for a while."

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" she snaps. "Do yourself a favor and ride something more stimulating than a horse while playing cowgirl, mmkay?"

I snort. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Says the uptight b***h who needs to ride something without a mane and tail," she fires back.

Shaking my head, I let the silence stretch to irk her. "Don't you have some overcompensated divorcee's credit card to drain?"

"Oh please, like I'd sully my talents on a pathetic suburbanite's meager account. I only accept high net-worth individuals and corporate whales these days."

"My mistake, you're far too privileged for riffraff," I deadpan. "Well, this riffraff has bigger fish to fry. For instance, packing my entire life into my truck and hauling ass to the literal middle of nowhere."

"Just don't go full Brokeback out there, caliche?" she warns, concern bleeding through. "I need my bosom buddy b***h intact and orgasming often, even if it's via her hand."

"I promise to ride 'em hard and put 'em away wet," I wink audaciously.

"That's my girl. Now get your ass in gear and show those yokels how city slickers do it."

Ending the call laughing, I push off the couch and survey the life I've constructed—about to be packed away for an indeterminate future in the harsh terrain haunting my past.

No equine puns can camouflage the melancholy weighing on my chest as I square my shoulders and get to work. This is the longest ride of my life.

I stalk around my apartment, sorting belongings into piles - keep, donate, trash. Each item excavates memories I've long buried.

Well-worn running shoes whisk me back to sunrise gallops and afternoon hacks, savoring trail solitude and wind whipping through Vanna's mane. Longing clutches my chest as I realize how much I'll miss this place despite the imminent ranch inheritance.

Shoving the sneakers into a box, I hurl a decrepit hair straightener into the trash - cathartic release from rearview ghosts. Never again will I primp for vapid Tinder trysts or half-assed hookups. Those days are over.

My gaze lands on the chipped porcelain unicorn - a relic from my childhood that survived the harried move from Wyoming. Tender fingers trace contours as sun-bleached recollections bombard me - lazy summer afternoons and perpetual ranch dust clinging like a second skin.

"You're one lucky bastard, heading back to Wyoming's sweet nothingness," I murmur to the mythical creature. "No deadlines, no dudes, no drama - just you, me, and tons of equine entitlement."

Exhaling, I wrap the unicorn in a threadbare towel and tuck it into my duffel. If this journey is a trip down memory lane, I'll bring my trusty steeds with me.

With household items packed, I pivot to the jackpot - my saddle collection. Stories weave through buttery leather panels and hand-hammered silver accents. Memories of misspent nights and idle days rush back in technicolor as my fingers graze custom floral tooling.

Each piece is a masterwork of craftsmanship, seamlessly blending form and function. But they represent more than custom orders and balance sheets. These are my heart and soul, crafted with infinite tenderness.

Careful to blanket each for transport, I brush my lips against supple leather, promising, "Don't fret, darlings. This move is a hiatus - a palate cleanse before we level up and blow this town's mind."

My ringtone jolts me. "What's shaking, bacon?"

"It's go time, babe! The truck's gassed up, I hitched the trailer, and ponies are snug as bugs." Declan's gruff timbre crackles with gusto.

I spot the truck's silhouette in the alley below. "Throwing the last of my s**t in boxes, then hauling ass. Meet you in ten?"

"You know it. Don't keep us humble servants waiting, your royal ranchness." The call clicks off.

Descending to the alley, fresh leather and machine oil envelop me - more like home than this decrepit warehouse ever was.

"Well, if it isn't the dominatrix of dressage," Emberlynn drawls, quirking an eyebrow. "Finally ditching this sprawl to return to your roots, Cinderella?"

I flip her off before hauling a box into the truck. "As scintillating as rusted machinery rows and pigeon s**t drifts are, the novelty's worn thin. A girl can only hang so many dream catchers before craving sweeping open spaces again."

"Amen," Declan chimes in, fiddling with the undercarriage. "The sooner we get you back to growing animosity and chapping your ass on the back of your four-legged friends, the better."

"You're jealous I'll have acres of prime real estate to let the old'uns flap," I wink, grabbing another box.

Declan grins. "As if you'd have self-control. We know your calloused cheeks would drape over the first willing steed within a hundred miles."

Emberlynn intervenes, tsking. "Must you always take things to the gutter? Sometimes, a lady desires a smooth ride without incessant jackassery."

"Then it's good I excel at both," Declan counters.

Surrendering, I laugh at their escalating ridiculousness. "Okay, deviants. You've horrified me into leaving. I'm hitting the road before getting roped into further depravity."

After hugs and well-wishes, I'm soon eastbound on the open highway, the endless asphalt ribbon cutting toward my future - and past.

My horses' hooves thump in the trailer as we jostle down the road. Gratitude washes over me for Declan and Em's help loading them. The rich aroma of hay and leather evokes countless shared adventures. As we speed down the highway, I sense my steed's anticipation, mirroring my excitement.

The miles blur away, memories crashing over me like a rogue wave...

Windshield wipers drum with my pulse as childhood's rangy mesas and ruddy bluffs take shape through spattering rain.

Wyoming makes you feel small - a fleeting speck dwarfed by an immense landscape. But those vast, rugged vistas can crack open your soul and strip you bare... if you let them in.

As a girl, I'd race Jezebel, my chestnut mare, across endless plains, her mane unfurling like a freedom banner against the immense sky. Just me, thundering hooves and unspoken dreams carried aloft on the wind.

The openness, being swallowed by something more significant, changes you. It reveals a world waiting to be explored and conquered. Maybe that's why we didn’t stay after Dad died—the ranch became a hollow echo chamber, each room an aching reminder of loss.

A sharp pang lances through my chest as I spot the Carter property turnoff. Excitement and terror war within me at seeing Cadee again after so long. My chest constricts, recalling my childhood jealousy.

While I was an only child alone, she had a boisterous gang of brothers I'd envied. Their raucous laughter and roughhousing were a siren song to my lonely soul. I'd have given anything to join her chaotic cadre instead of suffocating in solitary silence.

Memories tighten my grip on the wheel as I steel myself for the approaching turn. Will Cadee still be around? And if so, will a decade of separation have altered her.. or me? A shaky breath escapes as I merge onto the gravel road, cutting through my family's land.

The first glimpse of the red barn and farmhouse transports me back to riding lessons with Dad, guiding me before letting me take the reins. The ache returns as I drink in the Teton Range's craggy peaks looming in the distance, an eternal sentry.

Wait... what the hell?

I nearly slam the brakes as an enormous timber-framed building sways into view, a top-of-the-line indoor riding arena. My jaw drops as I take in its sheer scale, dwarfing our quaint farmhouse.

Pulling up to the main house, I whistle in surprise. Gone is the cozy, lived-in appeal I remember. In its place, a slick, ultra-modern masterpiece of rustic-chic architecture with soaring ceilings and sun-drenched windows stands. Did Chip and Joanna Gaines do a cowboy-themed renovation?

"Well, I'll be... Gramps has been one busy buckaroo."

Before I can process the changes, whinnies and eager stomping hooves shatter my reverie. My lips curve upward as I reach the trailer to greet my oldest friends.

"Easy there, y'all," I laugh as the horses jostle, craning their necks. "We're here."

I quickly unload each one, smiling in soothing tones and appreciating the new digs.

Vanna, my headstrong dunn mare, comes out first. She shakes her proud head, relishing the chance to stretch after the long haul from Ohio.

Next, Ritchie, my gentle chestnut gelding, nuzzles my shoulder before ambling off to graze. My rangy paint mare, Kodi, follows, tossing her mane like an unruly teenager.

Last, I unload my pride and joy - Tinman, my bay stallion. From the moment this gorgeous hunk of flesh entered the world, I knew we were destined for barrel racing greatness. He prances about in robust strides and head tosses, putting on a celebratory show.

"That's right, Tinman," I murmur, patting his muscular neck. "I'm back where it all started."

With the critters settled, I grab my bags from the truck bed, steeling myself for the next phase - exploring the mysterious new digs inside. I hoist the bags over my shoulder and head for the front door, boots crunching across immaculate gravel.

I step through the threshold, and I'm gobsmacked. This place belongs in a magazine spread on modern ranch homes. The once cozy, outdated living space is a sprawling, open-concept great room with rustic beams, sleek hardwood floors, and a magnificent double-sided stone fireplace centerpiece.

"Hot damn, Gramps...you've been holding out on me."

My gaze drifts to the adjacent kitchen, eliciting a gasp. The sunny, spacious culinary oasis is a foodie's dream - gleaming stone countertops, high-end stainless appliances, and a gigantic center island that could accommodate an NFL offensive line. Making oatmeal here would be a culinary crime.

"Wouldn't family dinners have been something in this kickass kitchen?" I muse.

I picture Dad whipping up his famous Dutch oven peach cobbler, Mom setting the table, and Gramps holding court with rambling tales...

A ferocious growl from my midsection snaps me back to reality. Guess all my driving worked up an appetite. I swing my bags onto the breakfast nook bench and rummage through cabinets, listing essentials needed until I can stock up at the local market.

Arms laden with mismatched mugs, chipped plates, and trusty cast iron skillets, I wiped surfaces and cleared dust bunnies, transforming this slick kitchen into something homey and functional.

The countertops gleam under fresh lemon-scented cleaner, and a strong black coffee aroma fills the air. I switch on Gramps' vintage radio, letting crackling country wash over me. This home embraces me again as I sip my brew and munch on a granola bar from my travel stash.

With the kitchen sorted, I flop onto the overstuffed leather couch in the living room, groaning tiredly. Fancy updates aside, the furniture remains uncomfortable. My eyelids droop as I survey the vaulted space, struggling to absorb its grandeur.

The inviting rustic tan walls replace drab olive, and gleaming new windows let evening sunlight pour in. Humongous exposed beams stretch overhead, creating a warm, lodge-like ambiance—a stunning stone fireplace stands, surrounded by split logs awaiting ignition.

"Not too shabby, Gramps," I murmur as I peel myself off the couch.

I wander down the hall, peeking into bedrooms. Mom's old room sports flowery bedding and frilly window treatments - more her style than its former bland aesthetic. The guest room is simple but comfortable in soothing earth tones.

The master suite elicits a low whistle. It's an oasis, with a plush king-sized bed under a beautiful timbered vaulted ceiling. The en-suite bathroom is a personal spa retreat, boasting a luxurious clawfoot tub and a walk-in shower large enough to host a party.

Flopping onto the sumptuous down comforter, I sink into its warm embrace. There's no way I'll keep my eyes open much longer. My leaden eyelids slide shut as my head hits the pillows, and I'm out cold before setting an alarm.

Tomorrow's another day to take stock and determine the next steps. For now, I'd rather be nowhere but this cozy slice of heaven... drifting off to distant coyote howls serenading the night, dreaming of long-lost ranch days.