Which was probably true. “I didn’t read any of the reports,” Mitch admitted, wishing there was a casual way he could sit down and take the weight off his stump. It felt like it was on fire.

“What about the bank statements?” Arturo asked, sounding more curious than pissed.

“Once in a while.” He’d seen enough to know there was plenty of money. The ranch had grown even more profitable in the time he’d been away.

“The cattle industry is changing,” Arturo said. “Consumers want things different these days. They worry that their beef isn’t safe. They don’t want the antibiotics. They want clean poultry that isn’t raised in cages. This way we avoid all those problems. Certified, organic beef means…”

Arturo kept talking but Mitch wasn’t listening. A hundred years of tradition over in a heartbeat. Nothing was the way he thought it should be. Nothing was right.

He headed for the door. Every step sent pain shooting up his thigh to his hip. His back throbbed.

“You need to know about this,” Arturo told him.

“You handle it.”

“You’re the boss. This is all for you, Mitch. That’s why I did it. For you.”

Mitch turned slowly. He was sure the old man meant it. That his intentions had been good. “I don’t want it,” Mitch said slowly. “Any of it. Not the chickens or the organic beef. I want things back the way they were.”

What he meant was himself. He knew that. Arturo would know it, too. Nothing about his statement was subtle.

He stepped into the house and stumbled when his prosthesis caught on the threshold. Arturo grabbed him to keep him from going down.

Mitch shook off the help and walked as steadily as he could back to the room Fidela had converted into a bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, then sat on the bed.

His toes twitched, his ankle moved, his calf tensed. He could feel it. All of it. It was real, as was the pain…and the loss.

Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Everything was screwed up and broken. Even him. Especially him.