He searches my face for a few seconds, words at the tip of his tongue, but ultimately he says nothing as he reaches for his keys in his pocket and widens an arm for me to lead the way. At the truck, he opens the door for me, helping me into it before he slams it closed and rounds the hood. For an older model, the truck is well looked after, the leather seats oiled, the cab clean. And even though the engine has that rattle older cars tend to have, it moves smoothly and cleanly as Knox puts it in reverse to back away from the spot in front of the house and turns around, heading around the building rather than to the main drive that I assume leaves the property. I wouldn’t know since I came here on foot through the fields and woods, but it’s an obvious choice.
“Isn’t the exit that way?” I point behind us.
“Taking the scenic route, darlin’,” A half grin touches his mouth, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the open window as a breeze sweeps in and he picks up speed, kicking up gravel and dirt behind us.
Something painful thuds inside my chest, tightens and squeezes, and I look away, toward the trees that now surround us and the familiar dirt road that winds through them.
Just breathe.His voice is an echo inside myhead.Listen.
He’s made me want things I didn’t think possible. All I grew up to believe in is the power owed to me, the power I was trained to take.
It was alliances, bonds and marriages formed to strengthen rather than love. It was expected of me to find a man from another ruling family to add power to my name, but now…
Now, it all changes.
And it starts with him.
CHAPTER 27
Knox drops the speed as we pull into the main street of Sierra Valley, the town stuck somewhere in the past with its decaying signage and uneven roads. Despite the worn-down look, it’s vibrant in a way that modern cities lack. There’s character etched into every storefront, pots of flowers in front of windows, little bistro tables set up outside of bustling cafes. There are more people here than I thought there would be, especially after so much time on the ranch where I’ve seen the same few faces day in and day out.
He pulls up to a building next to the town square, where an old clock sits on an island in the center of a fountain, its stone basin worn smooth. Benches encircle it, looking either toward the mountain range or the park, which I’m sure wasonce lush and green when money could be spent on its upkeep. Now the grass is brown, burnt from the sun, with patches and overgrown hedges at the borders. A lone dog walker throws a ball for their pet, and I watch as the black and white dog sprints off to catch it.
“It wasn’t like this,” Knox says, his arm resting on top of the steering wheel. “From April to September, there wasn’t a spot spare to stand in.”
“I can picture it,” I agree.
I don’t need to ask what happened.
The Rossis, funded by the De Lucas.
Guilt weighs down my gut, but I mask it, keeping it hidden.
Turning away from the neglected park, I look at the building Knox is parked in front of. The simple signage shows it to be the town post office, and from what Knox already told me, he has to collect his mail twice a week since they have no workers able to make it to the ranch to deliver it.
“Wait here.” He glances at me, and I nod, watching him climb from the cab and fix his hat onto his head. He looks good in his dark wash Levi’s, his shirt tucked in, the oversized belt buckle something I always thought would look ridiculous but on him… fuck. From the open window, I hear the heel of his boots clip against the ground, his body filling out those clothes to perfection.
He greets an older couple walkingtoward the fountain and then dips into the building, disappearing from view.
With him gone, I sink down into my chair, making sure the rim of the hat is fixed in a way that it covers most of my face, and watch the sidewalks. No one looks my way; there are no shady men in suits, no watchful eyes. It justis.Everyone is comfortable here, smiling, laughing, drinking their coffees on those wrought iron bistro tables. There are several stores with boarded windows, gone out of business, and others with repairs needed to broken glass and wonky doors. There’s a mix of stores, a boutique, a hardware store, some cafes and diners and a single grocery store. A woman sells hand-cut flowers from a wagon, and a younger couple walk hand in hand toward the cafe.
So simple.
So normal.
The mountains add a dramatic backdrop to this little town time forgot.
Knox steps out of the building with a pile of mail in his hands, flipping through each envelope before he separates one from the stack. The envelope is thicker, whiter and more luxurious against the thin paper of the bills and debts I’m sure are in the other hand.
At the car, he climbs in behind the wheel and hands it over to me, the scrawl across the front both familiar and unknown at the same time.
I lay it on my lap, both desperate to see what’sinside and nervous.
“You’re not going to open it?” Knox pries.
“Not right now.”
There must be something on my face, something in my expression, because he doesn’t press it further as he tucks his stack of letters into the compartment on his door and backs out of the spot.
