“Me of a lot of faith that this is going to end in fireworks.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll call you later. And please don’t tell Miles about this.”
Our half brother already thinks I’m slightly unhinged. Every time we talk, he seems relieved that I’m not in jail and braces himself when I start to share a story as if it’s going to have an unfortunate ending. He’s lucky that I find his reactions amusing and don’t take them personally.
“I won’t tell him,” Markie says. “Love you.”
“Thanks! Love you, too. Bye.”
I press the gas—ignoring the distinct miss in the engine as it struggles for gasoline—and turn between the stone pillars capped with solar lights. The black iron sign bearing Blackbird Ranch’s name hangs proudly overhead.
My pulse races and thoughts trip over each other, tumbling around my head so continuously that it’s dizzying. I didn’t think this through. Not the purchase of the pig, not the instruction to take it to Hartley’s, and definitely not the speech I’ll perform to keep Hartley from being mad at me while still taking ownership of the cute little criminal.
WhatamI going to say?
The thought of talking to him, of seeing him for the first time in months, creates an ache beneath my ribs. It’s like I’m on a roller coaster and we’re nearly to the top of the climb. The anticipation of just how deep the drop is going to be is killer.This isn’t how I’d like our first interaction after all this time to be, but it’s too late for that now.
Hartley is the kind of man who blends into the scenery at first. He’s all quiet confidence and unshakable peace, not needing attention or approval. But then you see him, and it’s over.
Your eyes find him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re pulled to him because just existing in his bubble somehow makes you better. He’s so handsome that he’s beautiful, and so competent that it’s sexy.
He’s also my past. And there’s no way that he’ll ever be my present … or future.
“Maybe I should turn around and just let Oscar show up with the pig and hope he doesn’t mention me,” I mumble, darting around another pothole. “I might be able to float him an extra hundred to keep his mouth shut.”
Thick vegetation pokes around the slats of wooden fencing that border the long driveway to the main house. It’s been a long time since I was last here at the ranch. Two years, to be exact. It was a week after we buried my grandfather, and Lolly sent me over to return a tray that Hartley’s housekeeper, Cathy, sent to the house filled with pecan pie. My favorite. But despite the length of time since my last visit, nothing has changed out here. There’s something comforting about that.
My palms sweat against the leather steering wheel as I grow closer to Hartley’s.Maybe I should try to call him one more time …
I press his name and the ringing belts through the car’s speakers before I’m ready. But what I’mreallynot ready for is for him to answer.
“Hey,” he says, his thick, honeyed tone tinged with frustration.
My body recognizes his voice before it registers in my brain. It’s an instant shot of dopamine, a hit of serotonin that washes away my nerves.
“Well, hey to you,” I say, keeping my words as light as possible. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“I saw that.”
Oh.“So were you not answering me on purpose?”
“That depends on which call you’re talking about. The first … I don’t know, fifteen? No. The last six? Yes.”
That leaves me with several questions, but I don’t have time to ask them.
“I need to talk to you,” I say instead.
“I’m busy.”
“It’ll take five minutes.”
“Darlin’, I don’t have five minutes to spare you right now.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the way his nickname for me still melts me after all these years. “Then I’ll talk super fast.” The top of the farmhouse comes into view as I round the last small curve. “I’m almost at your house, actually. Will you meet me there? Or I can come out to the fields to see you. Just tell me where you are.”
“Gosh dammit,” he says, his voice growing more distant. “Cathy! Watch out!”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
