2
ROWAN
The morning hit crisp and bright, the kind of cold that made the air feel clean enough to cut. I stepped out onto the porch with a mug of steaming coffee and a headache I blamed on too little sleep and too many worries. I shouldn’t have gone out the night before, and yet I knew deep down it had to be done. I had needed to see for myself that the Kings were dealing with whatever mess they had gotten me and my land involved in.
I sat down on the bench on the porch, leaning forward as I watched a red-tailed swampy flying overhead. It didn’t matter that I had grown up on this land, or that I had seen thousands of sunrises and sunsets over these hills, I would always remain breathless and blessed when I saw sights like this. I knew I was luckier than most. But in the same breath, I was also unluckier than most. I had gained a ranch and lost my parents. In the time since, I had worked hard to maintain the land and keep on the staff. My parents had worked real hard to keep the Hale Ranch going, and I didn’t want it to all go to hell because of me. Though they had never wanted me working there at all, and had always sent me away for one reason or another—college, or lifeexperience, or whatever. It had nothing to do with love or a lack of it—I had never doubted their love for me—but once I was old enough, they had insisted that they wanted more for me than the ranch.
I never understood why, and it was the only good thing that came from their death—I could come home, finally.
My parents had loved me–of that I never doubted it, but for as far back as I could remember they had talked about me having a better life than them. They had shipped me off to school and to college, and sent me away for long summers travelling. I had experienced so much in my short life, and yet, despite all of that, all I ever wanted to do was come home and ride horses.
I stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, following the red-tailed swampy as it hovered for several beats before diving low and coming back up with something in its claws.
I took another swallow of coffee before taking the three steps down my porch and emptying the cooling liquid on the ground by some bushes. I cocked my head to one side, a frown pulling between my eyebrows.
The ranch was quiet—too quiet. Usually by sunrise the place hummed with life. Cattle lowing, wind rattling the barn doors, the old gelding pawing at the fence for breakfast. Today it all felt held back. Like the land itself was waiting for something. Or someone.
I hated that thought before it even finished forming.
I took a couple more steps forward, my gaze scanning the fence line before finding at least some of the issue. Another section of fence was down. It was the fourth time this month. At first I had put it down to bad luck. Then to weak posts. But after a large section was taken out and the door to the barn left open meaning my animals got out, I knew it was something more.
I stared down at the tracks, already noting that they weren’t from any animal. This had been another deliberate break.Someone had been out here,again, messing with my land, my livelihood, my home. I’d patched the last break myself, cursing the whole time, but this one was worse. The wire was cut clean, the posts kicked out of place.
This wasn’t random. It wasn’t kids playing around, and it wasn’t nature.
I set my jaw and headed for the barn to grab my tools. I’d fix it. I always fixed it. That’s what you did when you were the last Hale standing.
It was the end of the season and the ranch was quiet now, most staff having finished for the season, so it was a job for just me unless I called Lloyd. He’d been at the ranch since my parents had bought it all those years ago and he knew every inch of the land like the back of his own hand. He wasn’t due back for a couple of months at least, since he’d decided to take some time off to go see his daughter over in Utah.
I shook my head and grumbled to myself, deciding against calling him. I’d sort this mess out myself, like I always did.
I’d just reached the barn door when I heard it: the low, rumbling growl of a motorcycle coming up the long dirt drive. My stomach dropped before my brain caught up, because I didn’t need to see the bike to know who it was.
Kings of Anarchy.
I stared at him as he drove up the road toward the ranch. I recognized him from last night. I didn’t know his name, but I’d felt him the second he walked into the bar. Big, quiet, watchful. The kind of man who didn’t need to throw his weight around because he carried it in the way he stood, the way he looked at the room, the way he looked at me.
I’d dismissed him. On purpose, of course. But now he was here, riding up my drive like he belonged on it. I stepped out from the barn, arms crossed, and my chin high.
The bike slowed, then stopped a few feet from me. He swung off, his boots hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. He took off his helmet, and the morning light caught in his dark hair. His blue eyes found me instantly, sharp and observant.
“Rowan Hale?” he asked, voice low and rough like gravel warmed by the sun as he stalked slowly toward me.
I didn’t answer right away. I let my silence do the talking. Let him feel the weight of it, and me.
“Depends who’s asking.”
His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or apologize. “Name’s Tex.”
I rolled my eyes. “Real original, darlin’.”
Now he did laugh. Deep and low. The rumble echoing through the space between us like something physical I could grab and hold.
“Something funny?” I finally asked.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pushing one between his lips and lighting it. Then he looked up at me through his lashes, the cigarette still trapped between his lips.
“Never been called darlin’. That’s usually my job.”
