Honestly, I’m not entirely sure he reads them. I hope so. Or maybe I don’t.
At least he hasn’t figured out who I am. I’ll finish up my letter to him tonight and slip it into the mail tomorrow. I always imagine he smiles when he gets a new letter, but I don’t think I’ll ever find out if I’m right.
CHAPTER 3
FORD
“Boss,” Bo calls out from the other side of the barn while I’m brushing my horse, Peaches. “That was Rosalie. Mrs. Conners and Miss Crystal are up at the house. They’re asking to see you.”
I want to groan and then I want to ignore the man. But I know I can’t. It certainly won’t make the problem go away.
“Thanks, Bo. Tell her I’m on my way.” Once he hangs up, I nod toward Peaches. “Can you make sure she’s taken care of?”
He strides my way and takes the brush out of my hands. “No problem, Boss.”
After tipping my hat in his direction in acknowledgement, I don’t even try to keep the frustration out of my voice, “We’ll go out and check out the fences you found later, since we’ve been interrupted.”
As I stride out of the barn, I take a deep breath and try to find some semblance of peace. I know it’s not going to help at all. Nothing is going to help.
Not with the two women I have waiting for me. I’m surprised they decided to make the trip. I made some phone calls to find an interior designer to work on Mom’s house project.
What more could she want? I didn’t argue with her about her plan to go to New York and shop with Crystal. I might dread getting the bill, but we can afford it. I can’t imagine spending money the way she does, and being able to afford it doesn’t make it right to me, but I gave up trying to reason with the woman a long time ago.
I just hope she’s not here with some scheme to redecorate this house. Not when she hasn’t lived here in years.
Damn it. Maybe it’s time I change things up around here.
I’m not sure if putting it off is working anymore, not when she could sweep in at any minute and pretend like she cares about Sagebrush.
Everything—the land, the business, the house—was given to me when Dad passed. Mom doesn’t know and thinks she has a stake in it all. The vacation home in Lake Tahoe is hers, which is why I never discouraged her from moving there.
If she were to find out she doesn’t own the house? I certainly don’t want to witness the tantrum that would follow.
Hell, I don’t even want to deal with her attitude if I were to point out that she showed up without any warning and interrupted my day. Hopefully, I can keep my mouth in check.
It’s not easy when I don’t recognize the woman anymore, and don’t like the example she’s setting for my sister at all. Crystal used to love the ranch.
She’d get on a horse and inspect the fields and the fences right along with me and Dad. He never dismissed her interest or involvement because she’s a girl. He certainly wouldn’t have been the first rancher to do it if he had. But he didn’t.
I think when he died, Crystal felt like she didn’t have any choice but to attach herself to mom and start to model her bad behavior. One of the only regrets I have in life is not being there for her when she needed me the most. Maybe, if I would have made the time, things would have turned out differently.
Or maybe not.
I’ll never know now, but I have to wonder if maybe I’ll get my sister back one day. The sister who lived in her worn boots and was able to connect with the wildest of horses. She loved being one of the first people to greet the calves after being born while hating that they’d end up at the slaughterhouse before too long.
But it’s the life and Dad never sugarcoated any of it.
I step inside the back door and straight into the kitchen. When Rosalie glances my way, she looks relieved and annoyed. I don’t blame her. It’s not like Mom and Crystal are her problem.
No, they’re mine. My head starts to pound right behind my eyes.
She has tea and a few pastries ready to be served. While I appreciate the effort, I’m sure it’ll be wasted on the two ladies waiting for me.
I hold the door open to the kitchen for Rosalie and murmur softly, “I’m sorry. I would have warned you if I had known myself.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Ford,” she assures me. “I can handle the two of them.”
I think she mutters something else under her breath about ungrateful women, but she doesn’t repeat herself and I don’t ask her to.
