Their acreage was small compared to their neighbors, and what they did have was rocky and arid because his folks couldn’t afford to improve it with better irrigation.

As the oldest of five kids, Rory knew his parents depended on him, not just as another pair of hands on the ranch, but to set the example for the younger ones. Part of being a good example meant not asking for things his parents couldn’t afford, and not to be envious of the Carrigan girls with their horses, or of the Sheenan boys with their cars and trucks. Part of being a good example meant focusing on the things that mattered—love, faith, family.

Rory tried to remember this when he saw Trey and Troy Sheenan tearing down the road in yet another new car. But every now and then the envy and frustration got the better of him, just as it had the summer before his junior year of high school when his parents explained they couldn’t afford to send him to college. They needed him home to work the ranch, and they hoped he’d understand.

He told them he did. And they’d hugged him, telling him what a good son he was, but underneath he was angry. So very, very angry.

Why couldn’t his parents manage their money? Once upon a time, the Douglas Ranch was profitable. Once upon a time, the Douglas Ranch was one of the biggest properties in Montana, taking up a sizable chunk of the valley. But that was before the Great Depression cut the Douglas Ranch into hamburger patty size.

Rory hated the financial struggle. It was why he’d decided early on to be smart about his money, and, from the beginning, he’d invested his winnings, putting aside ninety percent and living off the ten. It meant living frugally, but he didn’t mind. As an adult, he had few needs, and he liked being able to provide for his aunt Karen in Livingston, as well as set up college savings accounts for TJ and McKenna’s new baby, a little girl. No future Douglas should be denied the chance to get a higher education.

“Egg bacon bagel sandwich,” the tall, young man at the counter called.

Rory went to the counter to collect his egg sandwich and coffee. He shifted his cane as he took the plate and cup, and after thanking the teenager headed for a table. But instead of sitting down, he reached into his wallet and drew out a dozen crisp bills and returned to the counter.

“Did I mess up your order?” the teenager asked.

“No. I’d just like to make a donation to cover those ornaments on that giving tree. Are you collecting the money here?”

“Which ornaments?”

“All of them.”

The teenager stared at Rory, dumbfounded. “You want to cover all the wishes?”

“Hopefully this will cover them,” Rory answered, handing over the ten one-hundred-dollar bills. “But if it doesn’t, I want you to let me know, okay?”

“How do I find you?”

“You know McKenna Sheenan?” Rory asked.

The gangly teen nodded.

“I’m her brother, Rory. Just tell McKenna what I owe, and I’ll take care of it.” And then Rory went to his table and sat down with his sandwich and coffee. He could feel the teenager looking at him, but Rory kept his head down and focused on eating.

He hadn’t done anything all that remarkable. He just hated thinking of local kids struggling, suffering, especially at the holidays.

Rory chewed with effort. It wasn’t easy swallowing with a lump in his throat. It didn’t help he kept remembering his family, and Christmas on their ranch.

His mom and dad scrimped and scraped every year to provide the gifts for the stockings and under the tree. There weren’t lots of gifts for each of them, either. Instead, they each received one special gift, what his mother would call the ‘big gift’ and sometimes it was a big gift. Sometimes it was truly a surprise, and Rory remembered each of those ‘big gifts’ he’d gotten. One year it was the brand-new catcher’s mitt, the mitt he was certain he’d never get since it was practically the one professional catchers used. Three years later it was his first new bike, a black ten-speed that was slick but also completely impractical for ranch life. And there was the last Christmas gift, the car stereo his folks got for the old work truck, which had become his truck, a gift he’d appreciated every single day as he drove his brother and sister to school in Marietta, and then on the occasional date night.

He was driving that truck, stereo turned up loud, when he’d returned to the ranch after dropping McKenna off at a sleepover in town.