He’s a master manipulator, I thought, taking a bitter sip of coffee. Must be where I learned it.
But I wasn't panicking. Not yet. I had savings—a stash of cash I’d kept hidden for years. Poker winnings from college I’d never deposited, birthday checks from guilt-ridden relatives, emergency funds I’d pulled out before coming here because I was paranoid about digital trails. It was enough to float me for a few months if I lived lean. Enough to prove I didn't need his blood money.
Still, the words gnawed at me. Choose wisely. Like there was a correct answer that didn't involve ripping my heart out.
I shook it off, draining the mug. Winnie was coming back to train for regionals, and I’d promised Pops I’d handle the feed store run. We were low on grain and mineral blocks, and with the heat picking up, the cattle needed supplements.
I grabbed the keys to Winnie’s truck—her baby. The manual transmission that had nearly humiliated me my first week here now felt natural in my hand.
The drive into town was a meditation of gear shifts and open windows. The Oklahoma landscape stretched out in endless gold and green, wheat fields bowing under the sun. But my mind wasn't on the scenery. It was on the barn.
I thought about the way Winnie had grabbed me yesterday. The sheer, unadulterated confidence of her hand squeezing my ass. The memory tightened my jeans instantly. I’d had plenty of women—faceless, nameless nights in penthouse suites that left me feeling nothing but empty. But this?
I felt like a fumbling virgin, desperate and aching. I didn't just want to sleep with her. I wanted to ruin her. I wanted to strip her bare, pin her to the mattress, and drive into her until she forgot her own name. I wanted to brand myself onto her skin so deep that even when I wasn't there, she’d feel the ghost of my hands on her body. The possessiveness was ugly, primal, and terrifyingly real.
I pulled into the feed store lot, the gravel crunching under the tires. Earl Miller’s place was a local institution—faded red siding, the smell of sweet hay and dust hitting you the second you opened the door.
Earl, a man whose mustache was wider than my future, looked up from the counter.
"Well, if it ain't the city boy! Beau, right? You're lookin' more like a hand every time I see ya."
I chuckled, grabbing a heavy-duty cart. "Trying my best, Earl. Need the usual grain and mineral supplements for the herd."
"Good man. Heard Winnie broke her record the other day. Sixteen-nine. That girl's runnin' like she’s got wings." Earl moved to the back, tossing fifty-pound bags like they were pillows. "You two an item now? Whole town’s buzzin'."
My face heated, but I didn't dodge it. "Yeah. Something like that."
Item? We were a raw nerve ending waiting to spark.
"Good. She deserves someone who’ll stick. Last guy didn't know what he had." Earl loaded the dolly.
Tyler. The name soured my mood instantly. Boring, safe, reliable Tyler.
"That's four bags, two blocks. Anything else?"
I paused near the display by the counter. My eyes landed on a black Stetson. It was sleek, high quality—similar to the one I’d lost in the meadow weeks ago, which was currently serving as a luxury condo for field mice.
I picked it up. It felt right. "This too."
Earl rang it up, the archaic register dinging loudly. "That’ll be $347.82. Cash or card?"
I pulled out my wallet, fishing for the Sterling black card. The heavy metal rectangle that had opened doors in Paris, Tokyo, and New York. I handed it over without a thought.
Earl swiped it.
Beep.
DECLINED.
The red letters on the terminal screen felt like a slap in the face.
"Huh," Earl muttered, frowning. He swiped it again, slower.Beep. DECLINED.
"Machine’s acting up," Earl said kindly, though we both saw the screen. "Or maybe the bank flagged it for fraud. You got another one, son?"
"I..." My throat went dry.
It wasn't fraud. It was Dad.
