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vintage-typewriter · 1 year

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Keep The Wolves Away 1

AO3

~*~

She wanted to cry. Fuck, did she ever want to cry but it felt like she had used up all her tears in the last twelve hours and her tired red rimmed grey eyes could shed no more tears as the red and blue lights flashed silently in the rear view window.

Lana just wanted to cry.

Over ten hours she has been driving, ten hours almost non-stop with only one major break to full up the gas tank with what little cash she has on her all while ignoring the pitiful looks the young teenage girl was constantly shooting her as she rang up Lana's total.

She was less than ten minutes away from Bozeman, less than ten minutes away to where she could finally feel safe for the first time in a decade.

So close, so fucking close and yet her past had finally caught up to her.

Clenching her fist until her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel from the grip, Lana knew exactly why the cop in the extended cab truck behind her was taking as long as he was; he was running the Washington state plate on the back of her old beat up red Ford F-150 with its own extended cab. There were many things Lana was and stupid was not one of them and she knew that as soon as Mark had gotten home, saw she was gone and so was her truck - and it was her truck. She had bought and paid for this truck with her own hard earned cash. The only reason his name was the only one of the pink slip was because he convinced her it was better for the insurance if it even had insurance because she knew the tags had expired on it long ago. It didn't explain why he hid her keys to it on her but thankfully she never told him she had found them one day well cleaning, keeling that information to herself in case...well...just in case.

The only real question she had was how long did he wait to put the call in to say either someone had stolen his truck or his crazy girlfriend was off her meds and had stolen his truck.

She wasn't fucking crazy no matter how many times he would tell her she was or how many times he would take her to doctors and try to get her on meds Lana knew she didn't need.

Her eyes flicked to her left, to the driver's side view mirror, as she heard the crusher door finally open and gravel crunch under heavy foot steps. In the dark, she couldn't really make out what the officer looked like but the headlights coming from the truck illuminated the officers silhouette enough that Lana could see they had one hand on their standard issued glock as their free hand, the one not on the gun, came up to silently tap the back of her dirty truck.

Lana let out a quiet sigh, flinching as her throat grated in pain at the very action, before sinking back into her seat as her eyes slowly trailed away from the reflection in the side-view mirror to the passenger seat where a lone picture - one of only four things she had made sure to grab in her mad dash out of the house and into her truck that hadn't moved in months - stared up at her.

She couldn't even recognize herself in that image.

Ten years could really change a person.

How much had her family changed?

It was a picture from a happier time, a time where she could smile and laugh without worrying if she was being too loud, where she could dance in the kitchen with mix-match socks to music she liked and not have to worry about anyone judging her for her taste in old country songs, and a time where she didn't have constantly look over her shoulder. She was happy in the picture; a wide smile on her face even if she was sat profile in the picture, grey eyes shining, blonde hair glowing in the late day sun and even held up in a loose ponytail it still ended at the middle of her back, staring up at a blood bay horse trying to steal the ten cowboy hat from off her head.

That girl in the picture was gone, long gone, and she was willing to bet all the money she had left in her pockets that the horse had been sold not even twenty four hours after she left.

She loved that horse. She loved her old life. Both were now gone like snow in the summer.

There is a knock at her window pulling Lana from her memories, the cop nearly blinding her already sore eyes, and causing her headache that had just been simmering in the back of her head to come rushing forward, with the shine from his - and she could finally make out that it was an older male officer, slim build and with nearly a completely bald head - flashlight. It might have started to just turn light out, the sky turning from a deep black to a mix or purple and red hues, so the flashlight was not just there for show, it did still have some use in the situation besides blinding her.

"Ma'am, turn off the vehicle and step out of the truck please." His voice was muffled but Lana could still hear it in the deathly silent cab of her truck. The radio had died years ago, static being pretty much the only thing you could get out of the old sound system, and Mark had never let her take it in to be fixed, always claimed that why should they fix something they never used. Honestly, she was surprised he never sold her truck but maybe it was only because he could never find a poor fool to take it off his hands so it sat in their backyard under a tarp rusting away in the elements.

All the better for Lana anyway, him not being able to off load it into someone else's hands gave her a means of leaving Seattle.

Doing as the officer asked, but not before making sure to grab her wallet from the centre console and picture from the passenger seat, Lana slowly slid out of her truck with a wince of pain she couldn't try to smother away, crossing her arms over her chest to try and stave off the cool Montana breeze coming through so late at night while making sure to still have a good hold on all that she had left in the world.

She tried not to react as the officer - in this county he was really more of either a deputy or sheriff but she hadn’t been back in a deputy so she couldn’t say off the top of her head what his rank was - let out an audible 'Shit' as he took in the whole sight of her.

Lana hadn't looked in a mirror before she left home, ten years of practice avoiding her own reflection made her an expert of avoiding her own image in mirrors, but she knew it wasn't good. Hell, it was probably the worst it had ever been which explained why it took ten years for her to finally take off as she did. There was not a part of her that wasn't screaming in pain, the fact she had even made it ten hours driving was a miracle in itself. She was half surprised her raging headache hadn't caused her to go speeding off a cliff.

Part of her wondered what would have happened had she stayed and waited for Mark to come back.

The officer motioned for her to walk towards the front of his vehicle and walk would have been an extremely generous term for what Lana was able to do. If she had to race against a turtle, she'd tell people to bet their money on the turtle. She made it though, made it to the front of the police cruiser where she was told to empty her pockets of everything she had - not much with just her wallet with no license because that had been one of the first things Mark had destroyed when they started living together in Seattle that he forbid her from ever replacing, keys, and picture. No cell phone, she had left that in the million pieces she had last seen it in on the floor of her home she shared with Mark.

Once shared with Mark, she wasn't going back, not when she was so close to where she had set her sights on.

"Do you know why I've stopped you tonight." Lana could tell that statement from the officer wasn't a question and all she could do was nod her head, eyes casted downward to not make any sort of eye contact with the officer and hands rubbing up and down her bruised and cut exposed arms to try to stay warm. When she ran out that front door, she hadn't even stopped to grab her sweater hanging on a hook just inside the house it was the last thing on her mind and she never even considered the idea that she might get pulled over in the middle of the night. Now, she wished she would have grabbed it just to stop shivering as she was.

Lana was silent for the pat down, suppressing her flinch as the officer hit a particularly sore part of her ribs that she thought was at least bruised if not entirely broken, didn't even make a peep of noise as her hands were placed behind her back and she was escorted to the back of the truck, and helped in with a hand on her head.

At least the officer had the heat going so she was no longer freezing in just her once midnight blue t-shirt stained with red spots and black shorts. She was dressed for a lovely night in, sitting on the couch and watching a movie after enjoying a home-cooked meal with the man she loved not driving for over ten hours constantly looking over her shoulder expecting another vehicle to magically appear out of thin air and force her off the road.

How she had even made it this far without getting stopped by police with some of the things she had done during her rush to get the Hell out of dodge was a mystery even to her.

He stood back from the still opened door, one hand just on the edge of the frame giving her an ample amount of distance as he began speaking, “We both know why I pulled you over tonight, surprised you got as far as you did.” It’s strange to hear that Montana twang again after so long, Mark would roll his eyes at her when Lana’s own twang came out. His friends in Seattle thought it was novel the way her mouth formed words, Mark didn’t after the first year. “But, I’m not a dumb man. I pull over a vehicle reported stolen out of Seattle and I find a woman in your condition driving it, doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together here. You been driving straight since Seattle?” She only nodded at his question, her whole body throbbing with pain now that she didn’t have to solely focus on driving.

The officer gave a deep sigh, looked down at the gravel beneath his boots and tapped his left toe into the ground as he continued on, “I need you to be honest with me now, do you need the hospital?”

She knew the answer he wanted, Hell she even wanted to give it to him. But a hospital meant questions, and questions meant a paper trail that could lead Mark right back to her and she did not drive all this way just to get pulled back to Seattle within twelve hours. “No.” Her voice was a rasp, the bruising on her neck not doing her any favours in trying to speak. “I just want to go home.” As raspy as her voice might have been, she still managed to choke out the words.

Home.

She hadn’t been home in so long.

Would her Dad even accept her back? God, she hoped so.

Home had been a place she cried about while locked in the spare bathroom back at her house in Seattle, locked away behind a false sense of security as Mark raged upstairs at her, yelling, screaming, breaking plates, shattering picture frames that once hung on the wall in the hallway before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Lana to pick up the pieces and act like nothing wrong had ever happened.

How often had she sat in the bathroom, wiping away tears and blood, hoping - praying - that one of her siblings would show up out of the blue, one of the ranch hands would show up out of the blood, her father would show up out of the blue and see just what she had been going through ever since that day she packed up a duffle bag full of clothes, jumped into her truck, and ran off with her boyfriend because he said he would give her the world.

He lied, he didn’t give her the world he only took everything she ever had away from her.

This, this running away, was her way of taking something back.

“And where is home for you?” Lana shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders back as far as she could go without pulling her already sore muscles before looking the deputy in the eye.

“Yellowstone Dutton Ranch.” She watched the way his face lost all colour, pale like fresh winter snow as she fixed him with a tired stare. “I’m Lana Dutton.”

John Dutton knew he was a politician, a rancher, a widower, and a father all in that order. A man does not become the owner of the largest cattle ranch in all of Montana without making a few sacrifices to get there, even if some of those sacrifices included his own children and grandchildren.

None of his kids could understand why he did the things he did, and he didn’t expect them or want them to understand for many more years until they were standing in his exact position planning for the future of the ranch that had been in the family for over one hundred and thirty years and he hoped that it would stay in the family for at least another one hundred and thirty more.

He rested against the fence to one of the round pens, just watching the sun crest the mountains on the horizon as the farm hands woke up to start doing morning chores. He had fond memories himself of working alongside his own father when he was a much younger man, and even fonder memories of working the farm with all his kids when all five were still living on the farm with him.

“Morin’, sir.” John barely cast a glance over his shoulder as, arguably, his most loyal ranch hand and wrangler came up on his right side and handed one of the two mugs of coffee the stocky and dark haired man was holding. Some days, John couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the man the once stocky and filled with more hate than smarts boy had become. He once asked his own father how he knew which ones to give the second chance to, he had just said it was a feeling that came with experience. John hadn’t known what he meant until he was watching a young Rip Wheeler scarf down a sandwich like it was the best thing he had ever eaten.

“Rip.” He greeted with a quick head nod, taking the offered mug and holding it in both hands. There was a slight chill in the early morning air, nothing wrapping bare hands around a warm cup of coffee couldn’t fix. “Beautiful morning.” As if to punctate his words there was a sound of hooves hitting solid wood from beyond the open barn doors behind them followed by a ‘Son of a bitch’ and a ‘Fuck you, Ares’ from his eldest son. Didn’t take a genius for him to figure out what had happened there.

Rip let out a dry cough of a laugh, “Never a dull mornin’ with Ares in the barn.”

“You can say that again.” John let out his own small chuckle of a laugh, turning with Rip to watch his oldest come storming out of the white and black lined horse barn behind them, cursing up a storm, hitting his tan well worn cowboy hat against his leg in anger. “He get you son?” John called out to his eldest Lee as the young man in question took notice of himself and Rip standing out by the pens.

Some days, John could swear it was like looking in a mirror to a time when he was a much younger man any time her looked at his sons Lee and Kayce, they both took after him so much it was hard to see any of their mother and his late wife whereas his two daughters were the exact opposite to their brothers; so much of their mother and not enough of him.

Lee held up his left arm, showing the rip in the sleeve of his shirt, “Nothin’ a needle and thread can’t fix.” He came up to stand just a few feet away from John, all three of them standing in the silence of the morning only broken up by the noises of the ranch waking up and the odd addition of hooves hitting a stall door. “When’s the farrier supposed to get here?”

“Tomorrow.” John took a sip of his coffee, still hot thankfully, as he addressed his son. He would take a walk through with Rip and Lee at the end of the day and make do a final count of who was getting their feet trimmed tomorrow, he already had a dozen horses lined up including Ares - much to everyone’s dismay of having to deal with the temperamental stallion - and it wouldn’t hurt to add more to the list if for any reason then to just make sure everyone was good for the next two months or so.

His own father would have gotten rid of the stud long ago, if the stallion was in a mood no one could get close to him - as Lee’s shirt sleeve was evidence of - and he always seemed to be in a mood these days. He wasn’t making the farm any money, hadn’t in years since no one could get close to him to bring him in and get a collection for a covering, and pretty much lived in a roughly five acre fenced in area of cattle pasture until there was a big snow storm coming or the farrier was coming down, then it would take a day to go out, catch the stallion, and bring him in for however long they needed.

“At least he didn’t lose his blanket this time.” Lee joked with them and they all shared a laugh at that painful memory. Just bringing in the stallion took at least three people and could last the better part of a day, trying to get blankets on and off the stud was an all hands on deck job.

Quiet moments like these, before the sun was high in the sky, while the wranglers were just getting the day started, was what made all the pain and frustration of the day to come worthwhile. Sure, there was cattle to move, fences to check, calves to brand, bills to pay, and fires to put out but they could be worries for him to deal with after her morning coffee.

Lee’s face pinched with eyes narrowed, “Sheriff comin’ up the drive.” His chin jutted out quickly in the direction of the house and, sure enough, John could just make out the yellow gold lettering for Park County Sheriff Department on the side of the black truck that was coming up the driveway and stopping at the front door of the main house. “Early start for him,” Donnie Haskell was easily identifiable to John from just his bald head, not that John was doing much better in the hair department. “What do you think the chances of this have something to do with Kayce?”

“Watch it.” He chastised lightly, tipping back his mug to finish off his mug of coffee, “He’s still your brother.” And that was a bridge he himself was trying to rebuild after burning it into nothing with his own hands. There were not many things he regretted in his life but driving his own son away to the point where he barely saw his first grandchild and grandson.

Not that Lee was wrong, Kayce did seem to be his most trouble laden child. A bad penny that one was.

“I’ll go see what he wants.” It couldn’t have been good for Donnie to be here this early in the morning and John couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head that could immediately be traced back to his name or the farm. “Get chores done then take some boys up to the far fields and check fences." He didn't wait for Rip or Lee to respond to his orders knowing that they would follow without question as he started making his way up the path from the barns to the main house. It wasn't a long walk but it also wasn't a short one in the slightest.

Sure enough, it was Donnie standing and leaning against the front of his truck with brows furrowed and full of stress as he kicked at the gravel underneath his boots. "Sheriff." His voice was flat as he came up to stand a few feet from Donnie, eyes catching a quick glimpse of someone sitting in the back of the truck but not enough of that person to really make out noticeable features.

"John." There was stress in his voice and a hand running over his face did nothing to take away any of that stress. "Pulled over a truck this morning, reported stolen out of Seattle." If anyone was to ask John how this conversation with a man he once thought of as a friend was to start, it wasn't like this. "Probably gonna be too busy to get a tow out there until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. If it's not where I left it, east about ten minutes outside of Bozeman on the I-90 I'll just have to assume that someone stole it for parts." There was a look in Donnie's eyes as both men stared each other down and John knew that for all the blood between the both of them, Donnie was also trying to get a message through to the rancher without outright saying what that message was.

Stolen truck on the I-90, get rid of it for me.

"You get the driver?" John crossed his arms over his chest loosely, resting his weight back on his heels, his mug just held loosely in his hand by two fingers through the handle.

Donnie just nodded. That wasn't a good sign.

"What is-"

"It's not good, John." Donnie's voice was hard, as he cleared his throat roughly. "It might be the worst I've seen in awhile. She didn't want to go to the hospital and I can't force her there.” John’s eyes dart from Donnie’s worried ones to try and get a look at the girl that must be sitting in the back of the truck but the tinted window makes it hard, he thinks her hair might be a light shade of blonde and cut short to her shoulders but that’s about it. “I know how this usually goes, she’s not gonna want to press charges so I can’t do anything but at least a hospital can document it all, keep a paper trail for when she does want to press them. But, you need to convince her to go because you might be the only one who could make her go.” He pushes himself off the front of his truck, his own arms dropping to hang at his side as he makes steps to open the back door of his truck. “After all, she is your daughter.” There is a look in Donnie’s eyes as he says it but John can’t put a name on what the look is.

Daughter? Beth was supposed to be in Salt Lake City, not anywhere close to Bozeman and sure as Hell not getting caught driving a stolen truck; that would kill her career in a heartbeat. And if it was Beth, why would she be in Seattle of all places?

He should have know it wasn’t Beth in the back of the truck, should have known from the black of screaming and thumping of heels kicking the divider between the front and back seats, should have known it couldn’t have been Beth that stolen a truck in Seattle because he had just talked to his eldest daughter a few days ago before and she was heading to New York for a merger.

That didn’t matter though because he knew the young woman, the girl, his daughter, that Donnie helped out of the back of his truck with both hands to keep her steady as she hopped out because her legs were like a newborn colt only minutes old and standing for the first with how much they shook.

John locked eyes with her, the last time he had seen those grey eyes had been ten years ago when they had been full of hate and rage, glaring with fire as he told his daughter under no certain terms was he going to allow her boyfriend to move onto the ranch and live in the main house with her nor was he going to let her move off the ranch to live with her boyfriend where John couldn’t watch their interactions. He couldn’t put it into words she would understand, for as good a politician as he could be words failed him at that moment, he couldn’t find the right words to tell her that he didn’t like her boyfriend because there was something about him that made him uneasy and it didn’t matter how much she claimed they were in love, John would never change his opinion.

She was only eighteen, a prime example of the old adage about young love, and John fully expected that she would come to her senses in a few months and realize this Mark boy was not the man for her but instead, after both of them storming off and going to their separate bedroom on opposite sides of the main house, John had woken up that morning to find her closest empty and her truck missing from the drive.

His frantic phone calls just went to voice mail, as did the calls from all his other kids and from the ranch hands who had her number.

Ten years of silence.

No phone calls. No letters. No emails. No texts.

Silence.

None of that mattered. Nothing mattered mattered in that moment, not even how his mug shattered into piece as it fell from his hand nor how the sound of the sheriff truck door shutting was like a gun shot so early in the morning, because his youngest child, his youngest daughter, was finally home.

“Hi Daddy.” Her half smile was watery, as if it pained her to even make a full one, as Donnie helped guide her closer with a hand on her elbow and a hand on her back.

He let out the breath he was holding, “Lana.”

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