Wyatt held his youngest child—a boy named Ryder—on his knee and bounced him up and down. The infant slapped his hands on the table and grinned with glee, revealing a couple of tiny teeth. Jericho didn’t have enough experience with children to guess ages, but the baby had to be younger than two since Greta had given birth right before he and Dylan had left.

“Just until you find something steady,” Wyatt added. “Reckon you’ll be wanting a foreman position like before?”

“Actually, I’m considering getting my own ranch.” Jericho didn’t like having to lie, but he had no choice with the kind of criminals he hunted, especially his newest. Rodney James was too intelligent and always managed to stay one step ahead of the law. They’d only been able to trace him by linking his victims. He cut out their tongues the same way he’d done during the war. Jericho suspected he did it so that if anyone lived, they wouldn’t be able to talk about him.

Maybe now was the time to change the subject and update the family on Dylan. He’d sensed how eager they were to hear about their brother, and he was grateful they’d given him a chance to eat first.

Before Wyatt or Greta could ask him any more about his plans or his reasons for being in the high country, he pushed aside his plate. “Suppose you’d like to know how Dylan is doing.”

“Yep.” Wyatt stopped bouncing his baby. “Been praying for that kid a whole heap, and I’m hoping you’re bringing good news about him buckling down and getting back on the straight and narrow.”

Jericho could feel all eyes on him and suddenly noticed Ivy wasn’t in the room. Where had she gone off to? Just the thought of her competing in the riding and roping contests needled him with fresh guilt. Not only was he lying about himself, but now he was lying for her too.

He tucked away his guilt and said what he needed to. “Dylan’s got a job as a police constable in Chicago.”

“Police?” Wyatt and Greta asked the question at the same time.

“He’s doing real well for himself.” Except for the women and the drinking. Good thing Jericho was already an expert at rescuing and taking care of drunks. The Lord only knew how many times he’d had to step in and drag his dad home from saloons after his mom died.

“Why Chicago?” Wyatt persisted.

“I took him to my home—to my dad.” Even though Jericho had told himself he’d never return, he’d gone because he had every confidence Elijah Bliss would keep Dylan safe from Bat and his gang.