Page 12 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

"I see trouble," he whispers. "I see a woman who’s going to make me do something stupid."

"Maybe stupid is exactly what you need. You've been stuck in this barn for three years, Cag. Whittling birds that can't fly. Maybe it's time you finished something."

His jaw tightens. I’ve hit a nerve. Whatever I touched is there in the tension of his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw.

Before he can respond, another truck roars into the yard. This one is new, black, and looks out of place among the dust-covered ranch vehicles.

Cag’s hand drops. He spins around, his entire body coiling like a spring.

A man in a crisp suit steps out of the black truck. He’s holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the barn with a clinical, predatory coldness. He doesn't look like a rancher. He looks like an auditor. Or a reaper.

"Can I help you?" Cag’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble.

"Cag Kramer?" the man asks, not looking up from his papers. "I'm with Black Aspen Holdings. We’re here to discuss the water rights on the western quarter."

My blood turns to ice. Black Aspen. My father’s shadow.

"There’s nothing to discuss," Cag says, stepping out of the barn. "The rights are ours. Have been for a hundred years."

"Black Aspen filed on the upstream rights this morning," the man says, finally looking up. "We bought the parcel six months back. The flow will be diverted under the new filing unless Pine Ridge establishes a superior claim."

He looks past Cag, his gaze landing on me. A slow, oily smile spreads across his face.

"Ah. Conrad Marchand’s daughter. Head office will be interested to know where you landed."

Cag is moving before I can blink. He has the man by the lapels, slamming him against the truck.

"You tell your bosses that if they come for her, they’d better bring a shovel. They’re going to need it."

"Cag!" I scream, running forward.

The man is gasping for air, his face turning a mottled purple. "You’re making a mistake, Kramer. This ranch won't last a month without that water. The cattle will die. The wells will run dry. Is she worth the death of your family’s legacy?"

Cag leans in, his voice a lethal whisper that carries even to where I’m standing. "She’s worth more than the dirt you’re standing on. Now get off my land before I stop being polite."

He shoves the man away. The surveyor stumbles, straightening his tie with trembling hands. He glares at Cag, then at me, before climbing back into the truck and peeling away, leaving a cloud of acrid dust in his wake.

Cag stands in the middle of the yard, his chest heaving. He looks like a titan who’s just declared war on the gods.

Andy is on the porch. He saw all of it. He doesn’t say a word, but I watch him take out his phone and start typing, and I understand that a man in a suit with a bruised throat is worth more to Black Aspen than the water is.

I walk up to him, my own hands shaking. "Cag... the water. If they shut it off..."

"They won't," he says, but his eyes tell a different story.

"He said my father... he called me an investment. He thinks you're holding me for ransom."

Cag turns to me, his expression fierce. "I care about the water. I care about what this could do to Pine Ridge. But I’m not handing you over to solve it."

He grabs my arms, his grip firm but not painful. "You aren't a transaction, Juliette. You aren't a piece of land. You're a woman who needs a place to stand. And as long as I’m breathing, this is it."

The intensity in his gaze is terrifying. It’s the kind of look that demands everything and promises even more. For the first time in my life, someone is fighting for me, not for what I represent, but for who I am.

But the cost... I look around at the ranch. I see the horses in the paddocks, the hay in the loft, the history carved into every beam. If my father is connected to this, Pine Ridge could pay for the choice I made. The thought of the creek drying and the cattle losing water turns my stomach.

"I can't let you do this," I whisper. "I can't be the reason you lose Pine Ridge."

"You aren't the reason," Cag says, his thumb brushing my cheek. "I left the cabin unfinished. I kept carving and putting the wood down before anything came whole. Then you climbed into my truck, and for the first time in three years, walking away felt worse than staying."