poured
from
his
lips
seemed
to
echo
in
the
wind.
“Because
Uncle
Corey
knows
the
moment
anyone
sets
foot
on
his
mountain.
He
may
not
know
it’s
us
who’s
coming
but
he
knows
that
somebody
is
on
his
property.”
And
as
if
to
prove
how
well
Stone
knew
his
uncle,
Madison
watched
as
the
front
door
of
the
huge
ranch
house
swung
open
and
a
bear
of
a
man—who
looked
to
stand
at
least
six-five—stepped
out
onto
the
wraparound
porch.
He
was
wearing
a
Stetson
on
his
head
and
peered
at
them
as
if
trying
to
make
out
the
identity
of
his
trespassers.
When
moments
passed
and
it
became
obvious
that
he’d
figured
out
that
at
least
one
of
them
was
his
nephew,
he
smiled,
tugged
at
the
brim
of
his
Stetson
and
stepped
off
the
porch
to
come
and
meet
them.
When
he
came
closer
the
first
thing
Madison
saw
was
that
he
was
definitely
a
Westmoreland.
Upon
first
meeting
Durango
she
had
immediately
known
that
he
and
Stone
were
related
and
the
same
held
true
for
Corey
Westmoreland.
He
had
the
same
dark
eyes,
the
same
forehead,
chin
and
full
lips.
The
next
thing
she
noticed
was
that,
at
fifty-four,
he
was
a
very
good-looking
man.
Like
his
two
nephews,
he
was
magnificent.
When
he
removed
his
hat
she
saw
that
his
dark
hair
had
streaks
of
gray
at
the
temple,
making
him
seem
distinguished,
as
well
as
handsome.
And
he
appeared
to
be
in
excellent
physical
shape.
This
was
| 