Behind Harrison, the younger man cleared his throat. “Hey, Rawley.” His voice was softer, the accent less pronounced. “It’s been a while.”
Rawley didn’t look away from Harrison. “Barrett.”
The second man smiled, relieved to be acknowledged, but still wary.
I felt like an insect pinned to a board. Every word, every gesture, was catalogued and dissected by Harrison’s cold gaze.
Rawley put an arm around my shoulder. “What do you want?” he asked.
Harrison smiled, thin and practiced. “We’re here to bring you home, son. Before you make a bigger mess than you already have.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I watched Rawley squeeze my arm and say, “This is my home now.”
Harrison let the words hang, then looked me over again. “We’ll see about that.”
I realized, then, that the battle lines had shifted. The threat wasn’t the land or the water rights or even the Hargrove bastard across the valley. The real enemy was standing right in front of me, wearing a suit and a smile and Rawley’s own goddamn eyes.
I didn’t say a word. I just held the laundry basket tighter, and waited for the next round.
Chapter Seventeen
~ Rawley ~
They say a house remembers every footstep. If that was true, the old Steele homestead was about to file a whole new set of charges against us.
The living room, never a paragon of homey comfort, was now a pressure chamber. Fading sunlight bled out behind the mountains, slicing the place into gold and shadow, and somewhere between the grandfather clock and the leather wingback, a century and a half of bad blood took on physical weight.
At the center of it: me and Harrison Steele, neither one willing to blink.
He hadn’t aged in the ways you’d want your father to age. His hair was still the same hard silver, his frame as upright and commanding as a suit of armor on parade. The only real change was the cold around his eyes—he wore it now like a badge, daring the world to try and melt it.
Barrett, my brother, hovered just behind him, arms folded, mouth pinched in that anxious little twist he’d had since childhood. He’d always been the peacemaker, but now he just looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
I squared up, feet planted. “You drove all the way out here to what, give me a lecture?”
Harrison’s jaw flexed. “I came because it’s my duty, as head of this family, to ensure the legacy remains intact. And you’re making a goddamn circus out of it.”
I heard the intake of breath behind me—Jojo, peeking around the kitchen archway, but I kept my focus front and center. Harrison never entered a room to observe. He entered to own.
“I’m not here to debate,” he went on, pacing a line between the fireplace and the leather chair as if he had a script. “I’m here to offer you a way out before you embarrass the Steele name any further.”
“You mean before I embarrass you,” I said.
He stopped, hand braced on the back of the chair. “Don’t play games. You know damn well that what you do reflects on all of us. You think the board wants to see a Steele playing house with—” he waved a hand toward the kitchen, then dropped it, as if Jojo’s existence was a medical condition he’d rather not describe aloud.
My blood went sharp and electric, the kind of anger that’s less heat and more a tightening, as if my skin was two sizes too small. I waited a half beat before answering.
“I’m not ‘playing house,’” I said. “I’m building one. On my terms.”
Barrett, ever the tactician, tried to slide in sideways. “Maybe we could all just… sit? Talk this through?”
Harrison shut him up with a glance. “You’re not part of this, Barrett. This is about succession rights, and respect, and the fact that the world is watching.”
I barked a short laugh. “Nobody cares, old man. There isn’t a single soul out here who gives a shit about board seats and bloodlines.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Harrison’s voice was rising. “You’re not a rancher. You’re not even a real businessman. You’re a disgrace, and you’re taking this whole operation down with you.”
“That’s rich,” I said, “coming from a man who only knows how to build things with other people’s money. You think this land means anything to you? You didn’t even want it until Granddad skipped your name on the will.”
