one
Billie
I huddleon my bedroom floor, hugging my knees to my chest while my parents argue in stressed out whispers on the other side of the door. They think I’m sleeping and don’t want to wake me up, but my mother had an extra tumbler of whiskey tonight, so she’s not as quiet as she thinks, her sobs cutting into me through the wood at my back.
“What are we going to do, Porter?” asks my mother. “That fancy horse trainer came into the town and stole half of our business. His cattle are more in demand, and heck, we lost sixteen cows to bloat in the fall. We’re behind six months on the mortgage. I just…I don’t see a way out of this debt without declaring bankruptcy.”
“I told you, I’m not doing that,” my father whispers, the pain clear in his voice.
Pain that razes my insides.
Bankruptcy.
I’ve heard the word whispered before. I’m eighteen and I paid attention in school all the way up to graduation day. Especially in economics class, because my plan was always totake over the ranch someday. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. I know what it means to declare oneself financially ruined—and I know my father’s pride will never survive that. His standing in town, respect from his fellow ranchers, his sense of self. He values those things so highly and he would be sacrificing them all.
“Maybe you could take a trip up the mountain and speak to Knox Morgan?”
My entire body tenses at the mention ofhisname. The mysterious man who swooped in and purchased our land, as well as thousands of other Montana acres that surround us. We payhimthe mortgage now. Dozens of our neighbors call him landlord, as well. He lives up on the mountain overlooking everything he owns.
I’ve never met him in person, but I’ve been terrified of him for years.
My father sighs at my mother’s suggestion that he go pay Knox Morgan a visit. “The man doesn’t take kindly to visitors, and there is no way in hell he would forgive our debt, woman. He’d throw me out of his house and shoot me in the ass for good measure.” I shiver at my father’s hushed words. “I met him one single time at a town hall meeting. Trust me, he’s made of pure ice. The most hateful human being I’ve ever encountered in my lifetime. There is no help to be given from that corner, trust me.”
Hmm.
Is that so?
My toxic trait is that when a task is labeled impossible, I feel personally challenged to prove that it’s not impossible forme.Many horses have come through our ranch that were calledwild. Orunable to be trained.My stubborn determination to break wild horses has caused several trips to the hospital and three broken arms in as many years.
My mother says I’m responsible for her gray hair.
And I hate upsetting either one of my parents, but I am who I am.
I look fear in the eye and dare it to take a bite out of me.
Maybe I can do the same with Knox Morgan.
I stand up as quietly as possible, sidestepping the creaky floorboards that I know as well as the back of my hand. I stop in front of the mirror affixed to my bureau and examine my reflection. My deep brown hair is long and tangled from a day of ranch work, but my face is scrubbed clean for bedtime. Freckles spill across the bridge of my nose, my cheeks. My ice blue eyes are clear, inquisitive.Too inquisitive, my mother would say.
They travel lower now, cataloguing my body.
My breasts aren’t ample by any stretch, but they’re decent sized and firm.
I test the shape of my hips with the palms of my hands, the rasp of skin against my white cotton nightgown filling the bedroom. I turn around and pull the material tight against my butt, shrugging over the shape of it. What is a nice ass supposed to look like? I should go ask one of the more looks-conscious girls in town. The ones I went to school with who knew exactly which clothes would accentuate their bodies. Or which makeup to use to highlight their cheekbones. I don’t understand any of that.
However.
I’ve noticed the ranch hands looking at me.
I hear their conversations about me when they don’t think I’m within earshot.
Is it my turn for a beat-off break? Been watching Billie bounce around in the saddle for hours and I’ve got more wood than a forest full of trees.
The girl is fearless. Bet she’d be dynamite in the sack.
I’d give my life savings to pop that girl’s cherry.
Their muttered comments have gotten harder to ignore. But maybe it’s a good thing I’m aware that men find me appealing. Because maybe…my cherry is worth something?
