It’s a beautiful feeling.

I like her dependence on me for comfort.

I really like the fact she didn’t go running after I told her I loved her last night.

Granted, she didn’t say it back, but I could tell by the way her arms wrapped around me and she squeezed me so gently to her, that she was touched by my words. I know she was touched, and probably intrigued, maybe still a bit scared, but honestly… she’s open to it. I know this because she fell asleep wrapped in my embrace, and that’s how I found her this morning. Still glued to me… and it chased a little of my sadness away.

We make it through the process of deplaning and walking through the small, rustic airport to the baggage claim. After a short wait, our bags arrive… a large one that holds both of our clothes and a smaller one that holds Casey’s toiletries. I grab the big suitcase while she takes the smaller one, and lead her out the door, where I know Woolf will be waiting.

I immediately see him… leaning up against the side of a silver pickup truck with the Double J Ranch logo on the side. He’s dressed exactly as I would be if I were working the ranch. Plaid western shirt, pair of worn jeans, dusty cowboy boots, and his brown-colored Stetson pulled low over his face, the ends of his dark hair curling out from the bottom against his neck. Even with the hat pulled low, his light blue eyes, the exact duplicate of mine, shine brightly.

I step off the curb to the rear of the truck and heft the large suitcase over the back and into the bed. Woolf pushes off from the truck and walks up to me, his eyes sad with grief and the same guilt that I know is reflected in mine.

My arms open up naturally to him, and we give each other a short hug with hard slaps on the back. When I release him, he nudges the front of his hat back on his head so I can see his face more clearly. “Can’t fucking believe it, bro,” he mutters. “Fucking talking to him one minute, the next he’s on the ground and Lucky is giving him CPR.”

I wince over that grim description, hating that Woolf even had to witness our dad’s death. I’d seen a lot of death when I served in Afghanistan, but I suppose it’s quite different when you watch a family member die before your eyes.

“Sorry you had to see that, man. Wish I’d been here with you,” I say quietly… absolutely lying through my teeth. No one would want to see that.

“Fucking liar,” Woolf says with a pained grin on his face, and I can’t help give him a return smile that’s more sheepish than anything.

Turning to Casey, I reach my arm out and beckon her forward. She comes to me with sure steps, looking at Woolf with a sympathetic smile.

I introduce her simply, so there’s no question as to her status in my life. “This is my girlfriend, Casey.”

Slipping an arm around her waist to pull her in toward me, I tell her, “Goldie… this is my brother, Woolf.”

Casey sticks her hand out and Woolf shakes it, surprise on his face. I didn’t tell him I was bringing anyone because I didn’t feel like making explanations. I also didn’t feel like listening to Woolf try to talk me out of bringing someone, so it’s another reason why I kept my lips zipped about her.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Woolf says guardedly as he shakes her hand. “But welcome, Casey.”

“I’m so sorry about your father,” she says, her eyes warm and soft as she regards my little brother.

Woolf gives her an accommodating smile, continuing to look at her with a slight degree of suspicion, but at least his tone is friendly when he says, “Well… let’s get you two out to the ranch.”

After I put Casey’s carry-on into the back of the truck, I lead her to the passenger door where I climb into the back of the extended cab and offer her the front seat so she can get a better view of my old world. I may not want a place in my family’s ranching history but there is absolutely no denying… this area of Wyoming is the most beautiful place in the world. Casey’s world is gorgeous with soft, pale sand and blue-green waters that sparkle with the sun, but it just can’t compare to this area with the majestic Teton mountain range with snowcapped peaks even in the summer, wide valleys filled with fragrant sagebrush, and sparkling rivers that wind through filled with cutthroat trout. While I certainly believe I can come to love living on the coast of North Carolina, there is nothing that will ever replace my love of this part of the country.

The ranch is a good forty-five minute drive from the airport. Wyoming is land rich and people poor. You can drive over half an hour before seeing your closest neighbor, so if you are an overly social person, this isn’t necessarily the place for you.

Casey stares with her face practically pressed against the passenger window, making small noises of wonder in the back of her throat as she watches the miles melt away and yet the Teton Mountains never seem to end. She asks a few questions but for the most part, the ride is silent, filled with an awkward tension since Woolf wasn’t expecting company on this ride and no one wants to talk about how my father died.

When we get to the main entrance to the Double J, my shoulders start to stiffen. I haven’t told Casey any more details about my family and the ranch. She has no clue what she’s walking in to, and while I’d like to say that I simply didn’t have the time to bring her up to speed, the fact of the matter is I just didn’t feel up to it. I have no clue how she’s going to react, but I figure it will be one of two ways. She’ll either be pissed or she won’t, and I figured that was going to happen whether I filled her in before or filled her in now.

The road that turns off the main highway is nondescript, paved with black asphalt for at least the first half mile. But it soon turns into a well-maintained dirt and gravel road that is fairly wide and lined on both sides by wildflowers. Another quarter mile down the road and the actual entrance to the ranch is revealed with a huge, red-stained sign that hangs over the road with carved and burned lettering that says “Double J Ranch” in large, chunky letters and below that “Teton Division”.

Woolf drives under the arched entrance and casually asks Casey, “Have you ever been to Wyoming before?”

“No,” she says, her voice almost reverent as she continues to look out at the amazing scenery. “But you can damn well rest assured I’ll be coming back. This may be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

Woolf chuckles, and I know that scored major points with him. He loves his home with a passion.

As we get closer to the main house, my insides start clenching with apprehension. In just a few minutes, Casey is going to understand that my family’s ranch is a bit more than just a small-time operation.

The curving road finally straightens, crosses over a small bridge that traverses the Gros Ventre River, and then breaks free of a copse of cottonwood trees to reveal my family home sitting atop a butte.

Casey gasps audibly and I wince, lowering my gaze to my hands clenched on my lap.

“That’s your house?” Casey asks Woolf in disbelief as she looks at the low, sprawling home that seems to cover the entire top of the hill.

“It is,” he says matter-of-factly, and he cuts his eyes in the rearview mirror to me. I can see his question clearly, “Doesn’t she know anything at all about you?”

The Jennings homestead is a little ostentatious, and Casey can’t even see the entire house from this vantage point. While my great-grandfather, Jared Jennings, started out in a modest three-bedroom log cabin when he started the ranch, my grandfather, Louis Jennings, decided that it didn’t necessarily convey the right message to the other cattle ranchers. He wanted to be the largest, most powerful cattleman, not only in the state of Wyoming, but also in the entire United States. Fueled on—no pun intended—by rich oil wells on our vast property, he built a home that rivaled that of the Vanderbilts.