Ivy always had been restless, never settling down at either one of her brother’s houses. Nevertheless, something in his gut told him she wouldn’t have run off to Flynn’s. Not at the start of their contest, not when she was desperate to earn money.

Jericho excused himself, saddled up, and started on his way to Flynn’s. Of course, Flynn had already tracked him down at the construction site and plied him for every iota of information he had about Dylan. Although Flynn’s interrogation had been more intense than Wyatt’s, in the end Flynn had extended the hand of friendship to him just like he always had.

Flynn’s place was only a mile or so to the north, and as Jericho rode the well-worn path, his gut churned with the memories that came to life the closer he drew. Memories of Nash. Memories of their last year together.

It had been a good year, better than the year spent up in the mining camps when they’d lived out of a tent and cooked their meals over an open campfire. When Flynn had gotten a telegram about Brody being in the hospital at the end of the war, he’d asked Nash to live in his house and take care of the place while he traveled east to be with Brody.

They’d given up on the gold mining, and the ranching job had been perfect for the interim. With the war over, Nash had been in contact with their dad and had been awaiting word on whether he wanted them to return to Chicago.

If only Dad had responded sooner and called them home before they’d taken over running Flynn’s ranch. Maybe then Nash would still be alive and working in Chicago for the Pinkerton Agency alongside him.

As it was, Nash had died a terrible death when they’d been out rounding up cattle in the Kenosha Range by Windy Peak. Nearly three years ago.

Jericho’s chest pinched as he visualized that day all too clearly. Rain had kept up a steady pace all morning, and in the higher elevations, it felt like ice pellets against his face. Dead, yellowed pine needles already made the way slippery, as did the few piles of leftover winter snow.

“Come on now,” Nash had said to his mare, leaning in and rubbing a gloved hand along her neck. The horse had been agitated throughout the morning, and Nash claimed it was because Hades was in the area. The tough old mustang and his band ran wild in the mountains and had before the settlers had come to the territory.