“Yeah,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I just... I don’t know what I was expecting to find. But this? This feels like a door we can’t shut again.”
She looks up at me, and in her eyes I see the storm starting. Not the wild, untamed kind that burns through the prairie. No, this one’s quieter. More dangerous. The kind that floods everything in its path.
“Then I guess we’d better figure out what he was hiding,” I say.
And I know, deep in my gut, that this won’t be the last secret this ranch coughs up.
Avery keeps staring at the desk like it might whisper back if she squints hard enough. I watch her fingers hover over an old tin box tucked behind a stack of ledgers. She opens it, slow and deliberate.
Inside are photographs, some faded to sepia, others curled at the edges. One shows her dad in a tailored suit, standing in front of a high-rise building I don’trecognize. Another has him shaking hands with a man in a sheriff’s uniform. Avery pulls that one closer.
“My dad hated politics,” she murmurs. “He used to groan every time the news came on.”
“Doesn’t look like he stayed out of it,” I say, studying the patch on the man’s arm. County Sheriff, late ‘90s. “They weren’t just friendly. This looks official.”
She flips the photo over. On the back, in her dad's messy scrawl, it reads:"Favor repaid. Keep this quiet."
Avery swallows. “What the hell, Dad?”
There’s more, a receipt for a private jet, a receipt for jewelry from a store in Austin, and a letter from someone named Marcus thanking my dad for his "continued discretion" and "upholding the arrangement." I don’t like the sound of that.
“This isn’t ranch business,” I say quietly. “This is something else.”
Avery folds the letter, her hands shaking now. “I thought I knew who he was.”
I shift closer, not touching her, but close enough that she can lean if she wants to. “You did. At least, the version he let everyone see. Doesn’t mean the rest of it wasn’t him too.”
She looks at me then, eyes red-rimmed but dry. “Do you think this changes how I should feel about him?”
I don’t answer right away. Because yeah, it might. But it also might explain everything.
“I think it changes how much you still have left to learn,” I say.
And she nods, because she knows I’m right.
"Sounds to me like my dad's friends meant a lot to him and he helped them no matter what kind of trouble it could get him into."
Avery stays crouched beside the desk, but she isn’t really looking at anything now. Her gaze is glassy, fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold all the answers she’s no longer sure she wants.
I crouch beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. Just breathes in quiet, shallow pulls like she’s trying to keep it together.
"You okay?" I ask softly.
She huffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?”
I nod. “Yeah. Guess it is.”
For a minute, we sit in the quiet. I’m not good with words, not the kind that matter. But I remember howhe talked about her, how proud he was even when she wasn’t looking. And I remember the times I saw her as a kid, tearing through the pastures like she owned the world, daring anyone to stop her.
“You know,” I say, my voice low, “he once told me you were the wildest thing to ever hit this ranch. Said the first time he saw you sneak out to ride your pony barefoot at sunrise, hair in tangles and face streaked with jam, he knew you’d never be tamed. That's when we were kids, racing across the pasture like the wind owed you something. You were ten, I think. And fearless. Said you had more fire in you than a sparkler.”
Her lips twitch, but it’s faint.
“He said you’d leave here, chase dreams he never had the guts to. And if you ever came back, it’d be because you chose to, not because anyone told you to.”
Avery turns her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine. “Then why’d he trap me in his will like this? If he trusted me that much, why force me to stay?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to protect you from whatever this,” I nod toward the documents, “was. Or maybe he knew you’d never slow down long enough to look back unless he gave you a damn good reason.”
