Page 129 of Branded Betrayal

“Yeah, well, taking a break from the rodeo circuit gives me a chance to sleep at night.”

My lips lift into a half smirk. “And your groupies? They’re okay with that?”

He chuckles. “Eh. Maybe I want something more. It’s good to have this time to figure it out,” he says. “And what about you? I heard things didn’t go real well in Denver. I get that you didn’t want to talk about it last night.”

“Don’t really want to talk about it now,” I say, heaving a bag of feed over my shoulder before emptying it into the trough.

“That’s fair. She needs space and time. It makes sense after that shitstorm nearly swallowed her whole.”

“She may not come back,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

“Yep,” Wyatt says, bending over to fill a bucket of water. “And you’ve got a lot to do in the meantime. With our help. We’re here for ya, B.”

I take a look around at the cattle in the pastures, the reddish-orange sun peeking over the hazy purple horizon.

I’m building something here. Something amazing.

It may never be acknowledged by Savannah.

But maybe it’ll help keep me from completely falling apart.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Blaze

Four Months Later

Making a mental list of the things I need to pick up this morning, I pull into a parking spot in front of Anderson’s Feed and Supply. I’ve been working hard at the ranch, making space for livestock that will be transported to the property next week. The rental market has really taken off over the past few months, and since no other ranches in the immediate area are offering their land to lessees, they’re all coming to Red Rock to get their feet wet in the ranching business.

A pang assaults my heart, as it always does when I think about how far we’ve come with the restoration and rebuild of the ranch.

I think Savannah would love it. At least, I hope she would.

Nash speaks to her pretty often, but he doesn’t really share much with me. Maybe that’s at her request. Maybe he just doesn’t want me to spiral because she’s completely cut me out of her life.

I don’t ask questions. I just keep working. It’s the only thing that keeps my mind off what I let slip through my fingers.

I get out of my truck and look around. The town feels different now that the dust has settled. Everyone knows the truth about Dr. Burgess and Wilkerson. They know I testified at Wilkerson’s trial and helped put him away for life without parole.

But some still haven’t changed their minds about me. They hang on to my old reputation, eyeing me with distrust whenever I come into town. To them, old habits die hard, I guess.

And being a Hartman isn’t as great now as it used to be, back before anyone knew who and what my dad really was all about.

All of our skeletons have been exposed, and some folks just refuse to let go of their opinions. But I’ve learned my lessons the hard way, and I’m suffering over them. I feel like I’ve paid my debts. If they don’t agree, fuck them.

I walk toward the front entrance of the feed store. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Henderson standing next to a car with the hood up and the engine spitting steam.

My mind trips back to when I first got back to Whiskey Creek after leaving the military. I heard their snide comments, felt their harsh judgment every time I appeared in the same place as them. As I approach, Mrs. Patterson busies herself with staring down at the buttons on her sweater, while Mrs. Henderson raises her voice to whomever she’s talking to on the phone.

“No, I understand you’re busy. How long? Two hours?” she snaps.

She hangs up the phone and heaves a deep sigh.

“What did Jim say?” Mrs. Patterson asks.

“He’s on the Morrison ranch, doing a radiator repair. He won’t be back for two hours.” She frowns at the smoke billowing from under the hood. “But we have the church social in an hour. And all of the food is in the trunk. It will spoil.”

Mrs. Patterson continues to look in any direction but mine. I know what they think of me, Mrs. Henderson, Mrs. Patterson, and the rest of the church ladies. None of the gossips in this town bothered to give me the time of day when I came home. I could ignore them, give them more to talk about behind my back. But instead, I stop next to Mrs. Henderson.