My gaze meets his over my shoulder, and I spin to face him. “You’d really do that, wouldn’t you? After all these years, you’d dig that up just to keep me under your control. Do you know what? I don’t care. Tell themwhatever you want. And while you’re talking to the cops, maybe you should get a few of your own sins off your chest. We both know I’m not the only one with secrets. I bet the cops would be interested to find out what really happened to the sheriff who started looking into the dead cattle. And I bet Eden would love to know what really happened to that boyfriend she planned to run away with. I lived here more than half my life, Dad. I know whereallthe bodies are buried. I hope you enjoy rotting beside them.”
At that, I walk away, leaving the weight of the last decade behind me in the dirt.
For the first time in years, my heart is lighter. Regret isn’t weighing it down. I’m moving forward.
It’s a long walk back to Ironside Ridge, and even farther to the cabin I’m staying at with Dean. By the time it’s within view, the sun is setting. There’s no sign of Dean’s bike, which hopefully means the lawyer has ideas about how to save this land.
Reds and oranges paint the sky, washing away the clear blue day. A gentle spring breeze whips my hair around my shoulders as I walk up to the cabin.
When Dean was a teenager, he’d throw parties in this cabin when no one was staying here. I still remember the beer bottles lining the front railing. The spot where they stoked a fire still has no vegetation, and the piece of railing that broke when Dean got into a fight with a kid messing with his brother is still broken.
I tried my first beer on this porch, and even spending all those years with Kincaid, I avoided this part of the property because it reminded me of Dean.
The old wooden steps creak as I climb them. But I pause at the top when I notice the door is cracked.
“Dean?” I push the door open an inch.
Silence comes from inside. Every creak of the floorboards has me on edge. Maybe I didn’t latch the door like I thought I did, and an animal found its way in. The wood is warped and not well cared for. Kincaid really let this building go. He’s let so much of the ranch go.
I freeze just inside the door, considering leaving. But it’s a long walk back to the barn or the house.
Something shuffles outside, and I slip inside, closing the door behind me. The muted sound of footsteps circles the cabin, telling me someone is definitely out there, sneaking around.
I shuffle back a step, trying to put some distance between me and the door in case they barge through. But with how rickety and worn the floorboards are, every step feels like alarm bells ringing. Thankfully, the breeze sways the squeaky porch swing, masking some of the noise I’m making.
The footsteps continue to circle the cabin, drawing closer. So I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone, dialing Dean.
It goes straight to voicemail.
“Answer your phone,” I whisper to myself as I press the button again, but it goes to voicemail again.
Tucking my phone away, I listen as the footsteps start to draw closer. Until the porch creaks under the weight of boots. I shouldn’t have closed the door because all it does is tell them where I am when they left it open.
The cabin is small, with one bedroom at the back and a bathroom off to the side of the kitchen. If I can get to the bathroom, maybe I can climb out the window as they come through the front.
A shadow creeps under the door as the person nears it. They pause, shifting on their feet outside. I take one step backward, then another, hoping the creaks are disguised by the breeze.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I hold my breath.
Could my father have sent someone so quickly?
Is Kincaid angry about last night?
Maybe someone followed us here from Vegas.
What does it say about the situation I’ve put myself in when there are that many options for who might be after me? It should probably make me reconsider my choices, but strangely, I find peace in knowing that, if this is the end, I chose Dean.
The door handle starts to turn, and I shuffle backward, running into a wall as the front door swings open. A shadowed figure bursts through, and all I see is the glint of a gun before the shot rings out.
Pain blooms in my stomach as I stumble and fall to my knees. Blood pours down the front of my shirt as they take another step toward me. But instead of firing again, they pause in the shadows.
The faint hum of a motorcycle sounds at a distance.
Dean is coming.
He’s almost here.
The person bolts from the house, and I crumble against the wall, holding my stomach as my vision gets blurry.
