Best Worst Mistake Read Online Free PDF Page A

looking on the bright side were those who still saw the light.
    These days, Archer had it pretty damn good. He ran Hidden Rock Ranch, lived in the big house with his pretty fiancée, Edie, and together they took care of Grandma Kane who struggled with mobility issues after breaking her hip mid-summer. In his own,more understated way, his other brother, Sawyer, appeared just as content. He served as Brightwater’s sheriff and settled into a comfortable life in his hand-built cabin with his old flame, Annie Carson, helping to raise her young son. Family life suited him and it was only a matter of time before either of the two guys tied the knot.
    Wilder didn’t begrudge his brothers a single ounce oftheir hard-won happiness. How could he when he single-handedly destroyed their childhood? Wilder swiped the snow from his face. Almost home.
    Home.
    He couldn’t restrain a snort. Returning to Brightwater had come with one non-negotiable condition: His brothers must let him live alone. They agreed with a caveat of their own, saying if that was the case, he needed to stick with physicaltherapy, get out and about. Figure out a plan. A new career.
    Easy for them to say with their loves and lives.
    All Wilder had was a cane and ghosts.
    A deer stumbled up the ravine wall, sending down a small cascade of snow and soil. It was going to be a hard winter. All the old-timer signs pointed to it; squirrels were busy, leaves fell late, halos kept appearing around the moon. Hecould pick up some cracked corn from Higsby Hardware to help supplement the deers’ diet, but it might not make a difference. The wind keened, seemed to carry his mother’s voice, her oft-repeated refrain, “No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.”
    His next step was a stumble.
    Forget about the deer. Focus on not face-planting.
    He purchased a small cabin near Castle Fallsfor a song. Even with property prices booming in the Brightwater Valley, the fastest growing real-estate market west of the Rockies, Castle Falls was steeped in long-time fear and superstition. Stories went around about the gulch, whispers suggested that the place was haunted. Cursed. People kept their distance.
    It was a perfect place to become a hermit.
    “Why, this old place does havea certain charm, what with these cobblestone walls and, look, the floorboards are genuine redwood planks.” Edie Banks, Archer’s fiancée, had announced during his move-in day. “They don’t build houses with this type of craftsmanship anymore.”
    Archer had managed to hold his tongue for once and Wilder knew why. Edie might look at the cabin through rose-colored glasses, but this faded hovelheld all the cheer of a mausoleum, and that’s exactly what it would be—a tomb for Wilder to bury away any future hope or ambitions. He’d kidded himself into thinking Montana would be a fresh start.
    Brightwater was his penance.
    The wind picked up in ferocity, tossing him forward. The stick, cane, or whatever, broke through a puddle. Thin frost sheened the surface, ice that hadn’t beenthere an hour ago. Sawyer had given him the simple hand-carved oak walking stick as a welcome-home gift, replacing the one better suited for a man three times his age. “A cane for a Kane,” he’d said, his mouth quirking even as his eyes stayed serious.
    All the Kanes shared the same bright green eyes, but Sawyer’s gaze searched out your soul. A useful skill in law enforcement.
    Too badWilder didn’t have one.
    He peered through the snow. Someone hunched in front of the mailbox at the end of his driveway. Maybe his latest book order had come in.
    No. He wiped his eyes clear. This wasn’t Fred, the local postman. The guy was middle-aged, dressed in a pair of grey and green camo pants and a tucked-in plaid shirt, the same kind a lumberjack might wear. Red and black, thickwool, but in this weather the guy must be freezing his ass off.
    What reason in hell did he have for poking around in his mailbox?
    “Can I help