And then, one from last year. Rhett Calder. Permission to take over management duties and utilize the west pasture for his own horses.
I read them over and over, my eyes blurring. The dates are significant.
Eight years ago. I had just left. I was in Denver, drowning in grief, trying to figure out how to be a chef. My grandfather was here, signing over sections of his land to the ranch hand.
Six years ago. I was in law school, working myself to the bone to prove I could be something other than an Omega failure. My grandfather was here, giving Knox a home.
Last year. I was making partner at Hartman & Ellis, securing my future in a city that felt like a cage. My grandfather was here, handing over the reins of management to Rhett.
He never told me.
Not once. In all the phone calls, which were rare enough did he ever mention this. He never said,“Oh, by the way, I’ve let Boone build a house on the ridge.”Or“Knox is living here now.”
He made me feel guilty for leaving. He made me feel like I was abandoning him to a slow, lonely death.
All the while, he was building a new family. A pack.
He trusted them. He trusted them with his land. He trusted them with his legacy. He gave them the keys to the kingdom, piece by piece, year by year.
And me? I was just the disappointment. The Omega who ran away. The girl who couldn’t handle the ranch life.
He told me I couldn’t run this place. He told me I didn’t have the experience. He told me I would run it into the ground. He swore that no Omega would ever run Meadowlark Ranch with out an Alpha.
But he never taught me. He never gave me the chance. Instead, he taught them.
I look at the signatures.Boone Reyes.Knox Wilder.Rhett Calder.
Their names are right next to his. Connected. Bound by ink and paper.
I feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest that has nothing to do with the bruised ribs or the sprained wrist. It’s betrayal. Pure and simple.
He didn’t just leave me the ranch. He left me a mess that he created with them. He left me a situation where three Alphas have legal rights to live on my land, to use my resources, to be entrenched in a way that makes it impossible for me to just sell.
He tied my hands without even being in the room.
And they knew. They knew I didn’t know. Knox’s surprise when I showed up was genuine, but Boone... Boone knew I had no idea. Rhett knew. They’ve been living here, building their lives, secure in the knowledge that Anthony gave them this place, while I thought I was coming back to a dilapidated empty shell.
I slam my hand down on the table, making the papers jump. Wellsy lets out a startled yip.
“Fucking Alphas,” I spit out, the words tasting like poison.
It’s not just them. It’s the system. It’s the way the world works. Men like Jack Dalton think they can take what they want because of their designation. Men like my grandfather think they can dictate who is worthy and who is not.
He trusted them more than me. He trusted their Alpha strength, their perceived capability, over his own granddaughter. He saw them as the future of Meadowlark, and he saw me as the past.
I look at the cabin contracts again. They’re detailed. They’re legally binding. There’s no quick fix here. I can’t just evict them. They have rights. Rights my grandfather gave them.
I feel trapped. The walls of the house seem to close in on me. The silence is oppressive.
I gather the papers, shoving them back into the box with rough, jerky movements. I don’t want to look at them anymore. I don’t want to see his signature. I don’t want to see their names.
I carry the box to the hallway closet and shove it onto a shelf, burying it under a pile of old quilts. Out of sight. But I can’t bury the knowledge.
I walk back to the table and sink into the chair. I rest my head in my hands. The anger is still there, burning hot, but underneath it is a profound sadness. I mourn the relationship I never had with him. I mourn the trust that was never there.
And I mourn the illusion that coming back here would give me closure. It hasn’t. It’s just opened a new wound.
Wellsy nudges my hand with his wet nose, whining softly. I stroke his head, his soft fur grounding me.
