Leaning on the edge of the bathroom sink, I look at myself in the mirror. I have to figure something out. I have to find a loophole in the inheritance terms, a way to keep Huck out from what we all know damn well doesn’t belong to him. Maybe someone in town knows a good lawyer and would be willing to help us . . .
I heard somebody’s in need of a wife?
I squeeze my eyes shut as another wave of anxiety builds. The memory of Ava Jones walking through the doors of Wild Coyote plays on a near constant loop during my waking hours, the sound of her cool and confident voice as she narrowed those sapphire eyes on me.
Turning out of the bathroom, I head down the hall toward the front door, pushing it open so I can get some fresh air. The sky is a blanket of stars twinkling down over the ranch, the moon only a sliver above the distant tree line. Even in the dark I can see an incoming burst of clouds. The humidity in the air is thick, but cool enough that goosebumps swell across my shoulders and chest. I don’t mind it one bit, the way it reminds me that I’m of this planet too.
I sit down on the top step of the porch, eyes trailing the worn path below that leads to the main house and other cabins, listening to the song of crickets who have long since awoken. Soon the sun will peek out from over the eastern horizon, and the horses will whinny from their stalls. My brothers will wake if they’re not already up, probably brew some strong coffee and pull on their boots for the work ahead.
And we’ll spend the day doing what we love: cowboying. Caring for these horses, ensuring they have the opportunity to find good homes with good people. We’ll ride the ones who don’t want to be ridden and convince them that we’re trying to help, and we’ll do our best to keep this way of life alive because it’s important.
I lean forward, resting my elbows against my knees, and take it all in: our legacy. The purpose of our family name. Breathing in lungfuls of fresh air so crisp it feels like it’s right off the Gulf, I find the courage to keep going.
And then I do.
CHAPTER TWO
KASEY
Ice-cold beer floods my throat as I chug from the bottle I’ve just pulled out of the fridge. It’s not even noon yet, but after last night’s bullshit medley of nightmares, I fucking need it. The carbonation burns all the way down to my stomach, and I revel in the heat of it, in the discomfort. The reminder that I’m awake, that I’m standing here breathing.
I’ve been working all morning, my sweat-soaked shirt proof of every stall mucked and horse fed. Rhett got started with breaking the first of three new horses at first light, and after helping me in the main barn, Wells began tinkering under the hood of our old tractor to see if he could get it running again. I almost told him not to waste his time with it, but I know he’s eager to help make a difference wherever he can. Plus, if it means we don’t have to keep dragging the corrals by hand anymore, I’ll be fucking glad for it.
Even Sawyer came out this morning, face still swollen with sleep. He’s never enjoyed cowboying like the rest of us, but he's also a damn good brother and knows we need the help. I found myself watching in awe as the most timid and reserved of us all spent the morning hours installing a whole new irrigation system in the pasture. We usually get enough rain to keep thingsgreen for the mustangs we have out there, but we’ve lost a few good trees of late and there are large patches of yellowing grass, so the added water will be a huge help.
It’s only lunchtime and the day has been packed with so much forward movement that it’s hard not to feel wisps of hope. Like maybe if we just keep working hard and doing our best, the universe will help to balance out some of this crazy.
A knock sounds at the door, and I frown. I was just with my brothers—everyone except Brooks, anyway—and they don’t usually make a habit of coming to my cabin during our self-imposed lunch breaks. If my mom needed something she’d just call my cell from the house phone in her kitchen. I glance toward the door, wondering who could be on the other side. Maybe something’s wrong, or . . .
Fuck, what if it’s the cops?
Anxiety plummets through me, and I feel my stomach nearly fall out my ass. I look around my kitchen at the unwashed dishes in the sink and the crumbs on the counter from the buttered toast I made when I woke up this morning. Should I try to tidy up a little in case they’re about to arrest me? It’s not like I’d get out any time soon for murdering a man, and I’d hate for someone else to have to clean up after me here.
Relax, some deep part of my mind tugs.It’s probably nothing.
I sigh, gazing at the front door, hating that I don’t know who’s on the other side. Maybe it’s just Brooks . . . I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, not after he asked everyone for space. I don’t blame him—the family’s been all over him and the boys these last few weeks, and I’m sure it feels like too much sometimes. I know he’s okay because I see his truck roll down the long drive in the mornings when he takes Liam and Noah to school, but he hasn’t really come out of his cabin otherwise.
I’m trying like hell to respect what he asked for, but it’s not easy. I know Mom’s checking on him, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm him and make anything worse. He should be able to grieve the loss of his wife with their children however feels best without all our meddling. Still, it gnaws at me that I can’t do anything to help ease the pain of what he’s going through. It’s not like there’s a playbook on any of this shit.
I set my beer down on the counter and head for the door, but instead of finding my older brother on the other side—or the cops—there’s a frazzled and very wet Ava framed in the doorway. Looks like the sky finally opened up to let down some rain.
I close my eyes as a small groan escapes me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She narrows her sharp blue eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Oh good, so you already know I’m not interested.” I shoot her an artificial smile before stepping back to push the door closed—I don’t have the capacity to handle this shit right now. But the door thuds against something, and I look down to find a pointy toe in its path, leading to a sharp heel. “Those things aren’t going to help you in this rain,” I say.
“No shit—I’m practically a drowned rat out here. Can you let me in, please? We need to talk.”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Kasey—”
“What is there for us to possibly talk about?”
Her eyes narrow further. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that your family is about to lose this place?”
Irritation lances into me. “We’re not losing anything.”
