“Let’s get you a drink,” Cole muttered, steering me toward the kitchen with a firm hand on my lower back.
I tried not to lean into his touch as we navigated through the crowd. The pressure of his palm felt like a brand through my shirt, reminding me of how those same hands had gripped my hips just hours earlier when he buried himself deep inside me. That sounded so much better than this New Year’s Eve party.
The kitchen was packed with people clustered around a makeshift bar. Cole nodded at the bartender, some local guy I vaguely remembered from high school. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew, even back then, that he’d always be a local.
“Two beers,” Cole said, then shot me a warning look. “And that’s your limit.”
“Yes,daddy,” I whispered, just low enough for only him to hear.
His jaw clenched, eyes darkening for a split second before he recovered. “Behave yourself.”
“Or what?” I asked, accepting my beer from the bartender.
Before Cole could respond, a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Peterson, one of the largest ranchers in the county, grinned broadly at us.
“Cole! Damn good to see you, son. And Jesse Harris, back from the big city.” His smile tightened slightly when he turned to me. “Heard you boys are doing some fancy internet business with the ranch.”
“That’s right,” Cole replied, slipping effortlessly into his public persona. “Jesse here set up a website. We’re shipping direct to customers all over the country now.”
Peterson’s bushy eyebrows rose. “That right? And how’s that working out for you?”
I felt their eyes on me, waiting. This was my chance to prove myself.
“It’s been successful beyond our projections,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional. “We’ve had to increase production twice already to keep up with demand.”
“Huh.” Peterson looked genuinely surprised. “Well, I’ll be damned. Jack always said you had a good head for business. Guess he was right.”
The mention of my stepfather made my throat tighten, but I forced a smile. “He taught me a lot.”
“Not enough to keep you around when things got tough,” came a voice from behind us.
I turned to find Mack Hollister, one my stepfather’s oldest friends. His weathered face was set in lines of disapproval.
“Mack,” Cole greeted him with a nod, subtly shifting to stand slightly in front of me. “How’s business?”
“Can’t complain,” Mack replied, his eyes never leaving my face. “Though I imagine it’d be better if folks weren’t spending all their money on fancy mail-order beef.”
I felt heat creep up my neck. “Our customers aren’t local,” I clarified. “Mostly urban markets that?—”
“Wasn’t talking to you, boy,” Mack interrupted.
The kitchen fell silent. I could feel everyone watching, waiting to see what the prodigal son would do. Cole stiffened beside me, his posture shifting into something more defensive.
“This is a party, Mack,” Cole said evenly. “Not the place for old grievances.”
“Some things need to be said,” Mack insisted, his gaze still boring into me. “Your daddy isn’t here to say them, so I will.”
I took a deep breath, feeling every eye in the kitchen on me. This was exactly what I’d been dreading. The confrontation. The judgment. The past I couldn’t outrun no matter how successful our business became.
“You’re right,” I said, surprising even myself with how steady my voice sounded. “I left when things got tough. I was young and angry, and I made a mistake. I can’t change that.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed, clearly not expecting me to agree with him.
“But I’m here now,” I continued. “Trying to keep the ranch going. Trying to honor Jack’s legacy in the only way I know how.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Peterson cleared his throat, and Cole’s hand found the small of my back again, a subtle show of support that warmed me more than it should have.
“Well,” Mack finally said, “trying ain’t the same as doing.”
