"Are you planning on sharing that with me or…"
"I know our fathers refuse to discuss each other, but I assumed yours mentioned our grandfather," I say, pausing to give him my full attention. "The reason Grandpa Hale stopped riding horses wasn't by choice. It was because he was injured while bull riding. On his last ride, a bull stepped on him, and he broke six ribs, suffered a punctured lung, and a spinal injury. He was lucky to walk after the spinal injury."
His eyes are wide, and I can tell this is his first time hearing of the story. "When my dad talked about his family, it was never about the family business. I guess that's because he walked away and chose a woman who ultimately didn't choose us back." He shrugs, the memory of our mother clearly no longer a source of pain. "I get why he doesn't like the idea now that I know about the accident. Perhaps you should try explaining that you don't plan on riding them."
"I could, but saying I'll never ride a bull again might be a lie. Plus, I want him to trust me. To trust my decisions. Sure, I could get hurt, but that can be said for any job. We take risks every day. The thing is, they're ours to take."
"I get that," he says, pushing off the wall. "I'm going to head up and get a shower. I'll ride over to the creek and take samples tomorrow. Soil samples won't take that long. If I ship them off tomorrow, we could have answers by next week," he says, his back to me as he disappears onto the gravel path that leads up to the house.
"Dallas," I call out before he gets out of earshot.
He stops and turns. "You ever going to stop calling me that?"
"I didn't know it bothered you." The nickname has always felt like a lifeline to me. Our way of surviving what we were handed all those years ago.
"It doesn't." His voice drops, goes serious. "But you're my brother, and I'm not hiding anymore."
The words hit harder than they should. All this time, I thought the nickname kept us close, but for him it was something else entirely.
"Thanks for helping me with this...London." I test his real name out.
Something passes between us, years of unspoken understanding condensed into a single look. He nods once then turns and walks out.
I stand there a beat longer than necessary before heading toward the tack room to pull up the images.
The room smells like old leather and saddle oil. I drop into my father's desk chair and wake up the computer. The chair creaks as I lean back and click the mouse, simultaneously sending a binder and documents to the floor.
"Shit." I crouch down, gathering them up. Most of it is what I'd expect: tax documents, breeding records, some oldphotographs of horses I don't recognize. But one paper stops me cold.
It's a lease agreement. The document is old. Old enough that it has yellowed with age, the date across the top decades before I was born. And sprawled across the bottom, in fading ink, is my grandfather's signature. My eyes quickly scan the document. Then again, slower this time, because my brain won't accept what I'm reading.
Parcel 2847-B. Eastern section, 60 acres.
Lessee: Astor Fairfield...
Fairfield. As in our neighbors. The competition, ourenemies,the man who has been making every auction a battlefield for as long as I can remember.
If this document is real, it rewrites everything. The land isn't theirs. It'sours.
My grandfather leased it to them…to Astor Fairfield, Warrick's father. It's a sixty-year lease, a year for every acre. I scan the document one more time. There's not much here; it's clear and concise, leaving no room for misunderstanding the terms. When I reach the bottom, I see it. The expiration period. In less than a year, the property will revert to us.
I sit back on my heels, the paper still firmly in my grip as I rub my hand over the stubble on my jaw. This has to be why he's been underselling us, Warrick's planning on moving. That must be why Asha hasn't been home. He doesn't want her getting attached to the land her mother loved…land she can't keep. Land he can't buy her.
I flip the lease over aimlessly in my hand. Warrick can't offer to buy the land; I already know that. I've known practically mywhole life that Hale land can't be sold. As long as there are living heirs to claim the land, it stays in the family.
It’s true, after the last time I saw Asha, I forced myself to let her go. Had to. Letting go meant letting go of a past that didn't work. You can't live there and still have a future. I buried it so deep I almost convinced myself it was just rivalry, just competition. Nothing more. For a while, I almost believed my own lie, but staring at this piece of paper, another realization is taking form.
This was always going to happen. It’s always going to come back to her—back to us. Because she’s mine. She was always meant to be mine.
For the first time in years, I have a date. There's no way her father will get away with moving off that land without her finding out, without her coming home to see it one more time, and you better believe I'll be there too, making myself unavoidable. I'll be standing between her and everything she's ever wanted, holding the deed to her dreams, and there won't be a damn thing she can do but deal with me. Face me. This time, I have something Asha Fairfield wants. Running is no longer an option, and I'm the only road home.
CHAPTER ONE
THE PROPOSAL
ASHA
The bartender slides two tequilas across the polished mahogany just as his laugh cuts through the reception chatter. Deep. Smug. Unmistakable. I don't look.
