CHAPTER 7
The wealth in this house feels obscene when I think about where Legion came from. Ten days of watching him move through these spaces has been like observing a wild animal in captivity—careful, alert, constantly assessing. When we first brought him in, I caught the flash of disgust across his face before he could hide it. The vaulted ceilings. The hand-carved staircase. The custom stone fireplace that took eight men three months to build.
I saw my home through his eyes for the first time. Not just nice, but oppressive.
By Montana standards, we are the elite of the elite. Most people in Drybone live on the edge of financial collapse, one bad season from bankruptcy. One medical bill from ruin. One drought from selling everything.
But the Ashbys never worry about drought.
I stand at my bedroom window, looking out over our summer pastures—green and lush while the neighboring ranches already show patches of brown. The difference isn't skill or luck.
It's water.
My great-great-great-grandfather bought this land specifically for what lies beneath it—a network of artesian wells that push water to the surface without pumping. While other ranchers drill deeper every year, we have six active wells that never run dry. The paperwork grandfather filed in 1962 secured "first-in-time" water rights that can't be challenged, no matter how desperate the county gets.
The wealth that comes with those rights isn't flashy. It's not diamond necklaces or sports cars. It's the security of knowing your cattle will always drink, your crops will always grow, and your neighbors will always need what you have. In a drought year, those rights are worth more than gold.
I slip a cotton sundress over my head, nothing fancy—just something that will let the summer breeze reach my skin. I've been craving that sensation, wanting to feel alive again after spending so many days in the stale, antiseptic air of Legion's makeshift hospital room.
"Savannah?" Mercy calls from down the hall. "Do you think I can ride Peanut by myself today?"
I smile at her excitement about the pony Cash bought her. I haven't told Legion yet, but Cash mentioned there's an opening at Rimrock Academy outside Glendive—my old day school. The perfect place for a bright kid like Mercy.
Legion will say no, of course. Just because it's Cash offering. But I've seen how Mercy's eyes light up when she talks about the art room and the science lab we toured last week. She'd thrive there.
I push the thought away. That's a battle for another day.
Today is about Legion and me finally getting some time alone. I had to have a careful conversation with Mercy about "grown-up time" yesterday. I've been going absolutely crazy knowing Legion is just downstairs and not up here in my bed. Hehasn't been well enough for us to fool around, but after ten days of antibiotics and rest, the color has returned to his face.
Each day has brought visible improvement. That first day, he could barely make it from the ambulance to the front door without pausing to catch his breath. By day three, he was eating full meals on the screened-in back porch, the warm air doing what medicine alone couldn't.
Our walks started as slow shuffles around the garden, then extended to the stables, and yesterday we made it all the way to the creek. His appetite returned first for food, then for conversation, and lately I've caught him watching me with that look that makes my skin feel too tight for my body.
Mercy is still talkin'. I never answered her about riding Peanut, but she doesn't care. That girl talks non-stop these days. She's always got somethin' to say to me. To everyone, really.
I'd never seen Mercy like this. Not that I knew her well, but I did stop by the old trailer on the regular while Legion was inside. She was feral over there.
Here, she's a little ranch princess with a bubbly personality that can't get enough of what the Ashby Ranch has to offer.
Legion hates it, I can tell.
But he doesn't say anything. Just lets her be.
I head downstairs with Mercy bouncing along in front of me. She's wearing a summer dress I swear could have come straight from my childhood closet, though I have no idea where it came from. The sight makes something twist in my chest—I've never had a little sister before, but I'm starting to understand the appeal.
Legion is already outside on the porch when we arrive, staring out at the mountains with that restless energy I recognize. He's been talking about going home more frequently. Yesterday he mentioned the new trailer twice.
I get it. Cash and Legion circle each other like wolves whenever they're in the same room. Wyatt has mostly kept his distance, staying in one of the guest houses near the river. But I like having Legion here. I want him to stay.
Mercy barely slows down as she passes us. "Hi, Legion! Bye, Legion! Madeline's waiting!"
Cash hired Madeline—my dressage instructor, a former Olympic equestrian—to teach Mercy basic riding. Now this nine-year-old who never had anything gets private lessons from one of the best riders in the world.
The moment Mercy disappears toward the barn, Legion's mouth is on mine. His kiss is hungry, desperate, and wanting, the heat of his body radiating through his clothes as he presses against me. I feel the unmistakable hardness of his arousal against my stomach, his desire for me evident in every taut line of his body.
The intensity of his need sends a shiver down my spine, his hands gripping my waist with a possessiveness that makes my breath catch.
After days of careful distance and restraint during his recovery, this raw, unfiltered passion feels like coming home—dangerous and perfect all at once.
