But she doesn’t see that. She sees the land as an asset. A line item on a balance sheet. A way to fund a new life in a place where the air doesn’t smell like manure and freedom.
We reach the creek. The water is low, running clear and cold over the stones. The cattle rush forward, jostling for position. The sound of drinking is loud, a splashing, slurping chorus.
I sit on Midnight, keeping watch. Blue patrols the bank, making sure no strays wander off into the trees.
I look back toward the house. Smoke is still rising from the fire pit, a darker, thicker column now.
What is she burning?
I think about the papers Rhett gave her. The leases. I know what’s in there. I know Anthony gave us rights to this land. Maybe she read them. Maybe that’s why she’s so furious. Maybe she realizes she can’t just snap her fingers and make us disappear.
Or maybe she’s just angry because she realizes her grandfather trusted us. He trusted us to run this place when he couldn’t. He trusted us to keep it alive when she ran away.
That has to sting. To know the man she came back to mourn was building a life with three men he wasn’t even related to. Men who stayed when she left.
The cattle finish drinking and begin to wander back toward the trail, their bellies full. I turn Midnight, nudging him with my heels. The walk back is slower. The wind is picking up, whistling through the canyons.
The temperature has dropped at least ten degrees since we left. The sky to the west is black, bruised with heavy clouds. The storm is coming in fast.
We get the herd settled back in the pasture. I close the gate and twist the wire tight. I pat Blue on the head. “Good boy.”
I ride back to the barn. The light is almost gone now. As I round the side of the barn, I see the house again.
She has started a second fire.
This one is even bigger than the first. It’s in the fire pit, but she’s piled it high with debris. I can see the orange flames leaping ten, fifteen feet in the air. She’s standing there, feeding it something long and wooden. A beam? A fence post?
I dismount and lead Midnight into his stall. I unsaddle him quickly, my movements jerky with irritation. I give him a quick brush and dump his grain. He digs in happily, oblivious to my mood.
I walk back outside, heading toward the house. The wind whips at my hat, threatening to tear it off.
I stop a few feet away from the fire. The heat is intense, forcing me to step back. It feels like she’s trying to burn down the entire county.
“What is this?” I ask, the sound loud in the crackling of the flames.
She jumps, spinning around. She’s wearing that oversized coat and her boots are covered in soot. Her face is flushed,streaked with dirt. In her hands, she holds a broken picture frame. The glass is gone. The photo is blackened.
She throws it into the fire.
“Are you trying to signal Mars?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I think they can see you.”
She glares at me, the firelight reflecting in her green eyes. She looks feral. Beautiful and terrifying.
“I’m cleaning house,” she says. Her voice is raspy from the smoke.
“By incinerating it?” I gesture to the flames. “That’s good lumber, Saramaria. Anthony didn’t buy scrap.”
“It’s my lumber,” she snaps. “And I’ll do what I want with it.”
I look at the pile of wood stacked near the porch. It’s the winter supply. I spent two days cutting and stacking that wood last month. It’s supposed to last us through February.
“You might want to ease up,” I say, keeping my tone light, trying to defuse the bomb she seems to be becoming. “If you burn through all that, we’re going to be freezing our asses off when the temperature drops tonight. I need that wood for the fence repairs I’m doing tomorrow.”
She stiffens. Her jaw tightens. She looks at the woodpile, then back at me. There’s no humor in her expression. No softness.
“I think you’ll survive,” she says, her voice dripping with ice. “You Alphas are always so concerned with your own comfort.”
I blink. That came out of nowhere.
