Macon broke the tension, his voice a low rumble. “We can set up a secure line if you want. No tracking, no call logs.”
Barrett’s lips twitched. “You teach your security team that, or do they teach you?”
Macon’s mouth twitched back. “I was Navy.”
Barrett absorbed that, then gave a single nod. “I figured you were special forces. Carter never dated anyone who wasn’t a challenge.”
I almost choked on my tea.
Marge arrived with a notepad, poised for the order. Barrett didn’t miss a beat. “Two breakfast specials, both with rye toast, one with sausage, one with bacon. Omelet for him,”—a flick of the pen at me—“no cheese, extra peppers. And another round of coffee.”
She jotted it down, not even pretending to care about the rest of us, then vanished again.
When she left, Macon leaned in, voice pitched for our booth alone. “You said you wanted to talk about the properties.”
Barrett’s attention snapped to him, then back to me. “Yeah. The vacation houses. You liquidated the assets and funneled them into a shell. That’s why Dad’s losing it.”
I swallowed. “I needed cash flow. For the buyout.”
Barrett waited. He had all the time in the world.
I glanced at Macon, then back to my brother. “I bought the Hargrove property. The whole thing. It’s in my name now.”
Barrett’s eyebrow shot up. “You bought a failed ranch?”
I bristled, but before I could fire back, Macon said, “It’s not failed. It was just run by an asshole who didn’t know ranching from a hole in his head. Carter’s going to fix that.”
Barrett digested that, then nodded. “It’s smart. Rural land is one of the few things Dad can’t touch without a court order. And if you hold it for five years, the trust can’t call it back.”
I felt a weird surge of pride. “I did my homework,” I said, and Barrett smiled, just a little.
He sipped his coffee, then set the mug down with exaggerated care. “What’s your plan, Carter? For the property. For yourself.”
I hesitated. For months, the only plan was survive, stay out of sight, and don’t let the family machine grind me into paste. But sitting here, with Macon’s hand steady on my thigh and my brother watching me like the answer actually mattered, I let myself imagine it out loud.
“I want to build something,” I said. “Something that’s mine. I want to run goats. Maybe sheep, too, but mostly goats. There’s a big market for milk and cheese, and I’ve already started working with the extension office for grant programs. I want to make it sustainable. Get off grid, if possible. And I want—” The words clogged up, stuck in my throat. I powered through. “I want to raise a family there. With him. And with the baby.”
Barrett listened, head cocked, expression softening by degrees. “That’s ambitious.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
He looked at Macon, and the two of them had a brief, silent exchange. Macon nodded, once, and that seemed to seal something between them.
Barrett leaned back. “Dad’s going to hate all of this.”
I shrugged. “He’s hated me for years. I’m used to it.”
Barrett shook his head, not quite denying it. “He’s not going to stop. If anything, this will just double down his resolve.”
I felt Macon’s hand move, fingers brushing my wrist. “Let him try,” Macon said, not even a trace of bravado—just cold fact.
Barrett looked at both of us. “You have a plan for when he comes up here again?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hadn’t thought past this, past the town and the baby and the day-to-day rhythm of making it work.
But Macon had.
“We’ll be ready,” Macon said. “And if you want, we can keep you updated. Just in case.”
