Settling back in my chair, I look out toward the narrow river that runs behind the pond and then touch the brim of my hat with my gloved finger to push it back and let a little bit of the heat out. “I’ll be here.”
My great-great-great-grandfather built the first phase of the house on this small, rolling hill that overlooks the river which runs through the property. Over the years, with each generation, the house has grown considerably and could rival any luxury B&B that people pay big money to vacation in.
The legacy of this land is bigger than any price tag they could attach to it.
My grandfathers used the hundreds of acres to the west and north of us for cattle, but my dad’s dad preferred to focus on horses and the cattle slowly went away. Dad never showed any interest in bringing cattle back, but Gray and I have talked it over a few times and the possibility is still on the table.
The west side of the property between the house and the river, where Marley’s stables and paddocks are, is mostly field with a few mature trees dotted here and there. Around back to the north of the house where the barn, stables, and housing for farmhands are, the treeline moves a little closer where the river curves away.
To the east is where my brothers and I would play whenwe could get away as kids. There used to be several tree houses in the vast, rocky woods on that side of the house, if we didn’t want to be found, there wasn’t a soul in this world who could find us.
Gray takes another lazy sip of his coffee and then nods his head before he gets up to go back into the house. Taking a deep breath, I’m already tired and it’s not even breakfast time yet. This ranch is who we are, it’s more than just a home, it’s in our bones.
Letting my thoughts go back to when I was a kid, I remember my grandparents living in the house with us. My father was their only boy, his three sisters moved on and started families of their own, but my father was true to this land and, until the day they died, my grandparents did their part to help things run.
My grandfather only carried a quarter of the Cherokee blood through his veins, but his devotion to the land, his respect for every living thing, and his love for his family were passed on to all of us kids through him and my father. Nothing is wasted, we understand the cycles of this world, life, and land, and we always, always show up for family.
***
That letter has been at the forefront of my mind all day long, as soon as dinner was over, I stepped outside and called Callum.
He answers the phone by saying, “How’s your dad?”
“He’s just as cranky and combative as always, so I think he’s gonna be fine.”
Callum huffs a laugh, “That’s good news, how’s the fam?”
“Good, they’re good, but I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
The next few minutes are spent telling him about the letters and how Gray thinks they could have been a factor in Dad’s heart attack. “Do you think we can look into thecompany? I’d like to know what we are dealing with when they reach out again.”
“Sure, I’ll get Spits to look them up, just send me the info and I’ll get back to you.”
Spits is our computer hacker/genius and can find damn near anything. We call him Spits because he eats his weight in the dill pickle-flavored sunflower seeds of the same name.
We wrap up the call and I go back in the house. As I pass the family room I spot boxes stacked up next to the couch and Marley is moving the chairs away from the corner by the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I help her push one of the heavy, plush, leather chairs.
She smiles and rests her hands on her hips, “Getting ready for the tree trimming party I’m throwing tomorrow night.” When my eyebrow cocks up, she smirks and says, “So get ready to go get a tree tomorrow.”
Great. She knows I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas since it was mom’s favorite time of year, when she was alive the holidays were a big deal and decorations were all over the house. Those traditions died with her until Marley got older and we found out she has the same passion for the holidays Mom did.
Letting my head fall forward, I hang my hands on my hips and look at her through my eyebrows, “Fine, what time?”
She shrugs a shoulder with a smirk, giving my attitude back to me, “It shouldn’t matter, but sometime after breakfast.”
A loud thud in another part of the house has me looking in that direction and I look at my sister in question.
She points in that direction before she takes a box off the top of the stack and reads the list of things inside, “That would be Sloane in the attic, will you check on her?”
Another thud jolts me into action and I take the steps twoat a time, I stop at the door to the attic and see Sloane at the top of the stairs scooting a box on the floor. I jog up the stairs and she looks over her shoulder when she hears me, making her back go stiff.
“It’s okay, I just knocked something over when I got this box down. I didn’t break anything.”
Keeping her back to me is not having the dismissive effect that she is trying to pull off, instead, I’ve got a view of her perfect ass in her snug jeans as she bends over to scoot the box again. My thoughts go back to her on her knees on the bed at the hotel while I held her hips in my hands.
