They’d named him Langford after a long-dead ancestor who’d been the first Hutchinson to settle in Shoshone, a little town in the Jackson Hole area of Wyoming. But that bit of history hadn’t carried any weight with their only son. Even at five he’d known that a name like Langford would get his ass kicked once he started school and he’d wanted to avoid that. Other than objecting to the unfortunate name choice, Hutch hadn’t quibbled much with his parents over the years. But as he stood behind the counter of the Shoshone Feed Store trying to make sense of the day’s receipts collected by his father, his frustration escalated into the red zone. No wonder his mother had handled all the transactions. But she’d been gone for more than a year, a year in which Hutch had put his career as a California-based videographer on hold. He’d come home to help his grief-stricken dad with the store. Truthfully he’d needed some time off to grieve, as well, so it had been a logical move, and his dad loved having him there.
