Her words hit harder than they should. I’d been in and out of the foster system a few times when I was younger, but then my mother got smart. She registered me as being homeschooled and paid a friend of hers to fill out the necessary paperwork. From sixth grade through high school, I became responsible for my own education, submitting proof of completion. It was hard at first, but the library offered enough resources, and when I was old enough to get a job, I bought more complex material
“That settles it.” He takes a sip of his coffee. When his eyes meet mine, his gaze softens slightly, his voice slightly hoarse. “Sutton will take you to town for a new wardrobe.”
I purse my lips slightly to keep the swell of emotion at bay. “Thank you.”
John gives me a sharp nod before turning to Lee to discuss the day’s agenda.
An hour later and I am riding in the backseat of a large SUV the President of the United States would be jealous of. It even comes complete with two of John’s ranch hands. Odd thing for a rancher’s wife to be riding around in.
“They’re here in case we find ourselves in any trouble,” Sutton says dismissively when I ask why we are being sent with an escort.
“What kinds of trouble does a ranch wife find herself in?” Disbelief colors my words. “I thought we were clothes shopping. Not stalking dark alleyways looking to take down drug dealers.”
One of the men in the front snorts but casually covers it with a cough, thinking I might not notice. Suttons chuckles.
“Colorful choice of words,” she drawls. “Black Diamond and your father are very powerful, and there are a lot of people who want to see his power dimmed.”
There is something no one is telling me. I did my due diligence before arriving at the ranch, making sure to google everything I could about him and Black Diamond. Sure, they’re powerful in the world of horseracing and livestock, but not much else. Hudson Shaw is a billionaire ranch owner and a single father.
Nothing dark. Nothing deep.
The same for John. Ranch owner, works for Black Diamond, widowed single father before he married Sutton a little over a year ago. It’s all I could find. No private social media or scandals in the headlines. They are almost cleaner than Keanu Reeves, and that man is a saint.
Which is a huge red flag.
No one is sparkly clean.
Except Keanu Reeves.
The SUV hums down the long stretch of country road, the windows slightly cracked to let in the crisp morning air. I shift in my seat, pulling the seatbelt away from my neck, and glance at the two ranch hands in the front. One of them taps a finger idly against the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon like we’re heading into a war zone instead of the local shops.
I lean closer to Sutton. “Be honest with me. Do we really need an escort to go buy jeans?”
Sutton smirks without looking up from her phone. “Merely a precaution.”
“Precaution,” I repeat under my breath, watching the landscape blur by. “Right.”
Something prickles at the base of my neck. A sensation I know too well. One that’s kept me alive more times than I care to count. The math isn’t adding up.
The careful anonymity of John Denver’s online presence. The low-level threat woven into the escort’s casual appearance. The way people around here glance over their shoulders a little too often.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” I ask, voice quieter now, more measured.
Sutton finally looks over. Her expression softens a little, but there’s a flicker of hesitation and calculation before she speaks. “It’s not my place to give you details. Just know… sometimes, power makes enemies. John’s been doing this long enough to know a soft target gets hit first.”
“Soft target,” I echo, letting the words settle like dust in my chest. “You mean me.”
Sutton doesn’t deny it.
The SUV slows as we approach the edge of the small town. It’s quaint, charming, the type of place where everyone probably knows everyone else’s blood type. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe the postcard version of this life. But I do know better. And I’ve learned the prettier the surface, the uglier the secret underneath.
“Give it time,” Sutton says softly, like she can sense the spiral I’m heading down. “I know this isn’t easy. I know how… overwhelming it can feel when everything shifts from under your feet.”
I look out the window, watching as we pass a diner, a feed store, an old church with peeling white paint. “I’m not sure time’s going to fix whatever this is.”
“It won’t,” she says, with a small, wry smile. “But it helps.”
We pull into a parking lot outside what looks like a boutique straight out of one of those lifestyle influencer videos. It hasrustic wood beams, flower boxes, overpriced denim in the window. Sutton gives the ranch hands a brief nod as they step out first, scanning the lot like we’re being hunted by something more dangerous than a clearance sale.
