I walk to the barn, close the door and put my head in my hands.
Not family. You don’t have a say.
The words burrow in and find the wound that’s always been there—the foundational crack in the bedrock of who I am, laid down by parents who didn’t want me and reinforced by every year of being the guest, the visitor, the girl who existed in someone else’s family by invitation rather than by right.
Rose was the one who made me feel like I belonged.
Rose is gone.
And without her, what am I?
Earl’s charity case?
Lee’s guilt?
A woman with strong hands and no home of her own?
Grace’s voice comes back to me.You’re part of this ranch now. Your problems are our problems.
Earl’s hand on mine.You are my family.
Lee’s voice on the phone at midnight.I’m on my way.
I lift my head, wipe my face and pick up my hammer.
Lockhart wants this ranch.
He wants Earl broken and me gone and the land signed over to a man whose family has been swallowing small ranches like a snake swallows eggs—whole, patient, inevitable.
He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
He sees a sick old man and a girl who isn’t family and a piece of land waiting to be taken.
He doesn’t see the Shotgun Saints.
But oh, he will.
CHAPTER NINE
Banshee
Bex isn’t here today.
Earl has a chemo appointment in San Antonio—the long kind, the all-day kind, the kind that hollows him out and leaves him gray and shaking in the passenger seat while Bex white-knuckles the wheel home.
She texted me this morning.
It was short. Matter-of-fact.
The text of a woman who’s handling everything and still finding room to keep me informed:
Earl’s chemo today. Won’t be at the compound. The paint mare’s left front needs checking.
I can still feel her.
That’s the thing I wasn’t prepared for.
Not the guilt—I expected the guilt, braced for it, knew it would come the way you know a storm is coming when the pressure drops.
