Tillie is taking Violet’s coat.
She gives me a nod. She’s been with me for the past year, running this house in a way I couldn’t. She helps keep mine and Evie’s little world together. Godsend doesn’t even cover it.
When Jeanine was alive, we had another housekeeper, but she left, saying she’d found other employment—more like she couldn’t handle how Jeanine could be meaner than a rattler in a rain barrel.
Seeing Sarah again plays tricks on me. Here I am, thinking more about her but also about Jeanine, whom I try never to think about.
They used to be friends, Sarah and Jeanine.
But the minute Sarah was out, Jeanine was trying to get into my pants.
She finally did when I was drunk one night—so damn drunk I didn’t suit up properly. Next thing I know, she’s pregnant.
I married her because that’s what you do. You take responsibility. The best thing that came out of that debacle is Evie.
Perfect, wonderful Evie, who gives me purpose.
“Cade.” Landon hugs me, and I squeeze his shoulder. I’m always happy to see him. He wears an easy smile, but there are shadows under his eyes, which tells me the campaign trail is wearing thin.
He’s just seven years ahead of me, yet life’s etched twice as many years on his face.
I work outdoors with my hands while he sits behind a desk. On the campaign trail, he doesn’t work out anddrinks too much, which is why he’s got a bit of a belly—something Violet complains about.
She’s sharp, fit, and the ideal politician’s wife. She knows what to say, when to say it, and who to butter up.
She goes on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. “How are you, Cade?”
Her blonde hair is smooth and coiffed into a bun. Her eyes flash green. She’s wearing a tailored suit that probably costs more than most folks in this county make in a month. Unlike my brother, she doesn’t look tired at all.
Energizer freaking bunny.
We settle in the living room, and Tillie doesn’t roll her eyes—even though she wants to—when Violet asks for sparkling water with a wedge of lemon (not lime) and a glass of champagne.
“I got a wedge of lemon but no sparkling water, and we have bourbon, no champagne,” Tillie says dryly.
Violet sighs dramatically. “Cade, you really need to stock the house properly. It’s half ours, you know?”
She likes to remind me every chance she gets that Landon still owns part of the ranch—less and less every year.
Our deal is simple: he takes half the profits, and in return for doing all the work that generates those profits, I receive five percent of his share each year. In ten years, Blue Rock will be mine outright, though I’ll still owe him half the profits for another ten.
Mac, my lawyer, told me it was a shitty deal. He isn’t wrong.
But Landon’s my brother.
“Vee, stop it,” Landon retorts mildly. “I’ll have a glass of the bourbon, Cade.”
I head back to my office and grab the bottle of whiskey Landon gifted me last Christmas, swapping it for the bourbon I was drinking so Violet won’t bitch. It’s some Japanese label—too fancy by half. Not the kind of thing a cowboy drinks.
I fill three glasses with the amber liquid, and with some drama, Violet picks hers up and even deigns to clink glasses with mine when we toast to Landon’s expected (hoped for?) election victory.
“It was hell getting out of Aspen,” he tells me as he relaxes on the couch. “The traffic’s worse every time we go.”
“How was the fundraiser?” I don’t want to make small talk with my brother, but he’s here, and I can’t kick him out.
I take a sip of whiskey and hide my grimace. It’s smooth, yes, but it’s not for me.
“It was an excellent fundraiser,” Violet chimes before he can answer. She sets the bourbon glass on the coffee table with a thud, her diamond bracelet rattling against it.
