Page 23

It’s beautiful. Meadows open up on my left, and I slow when I see a pair of deer there, their ears perking up as I approach. After staring at me for a long beat, they merrily leap off into the trees, light as feathers on their feet. Hooves. Whatever.

Gnarled oaks and sycamores provide a canopy of much-needed shade overhead. I crest a big hill, a canyon yawning into view on my right. The breath leaves my lungs as I take in the vista: pastures, woods, the green glimmer of a distant river.

“Wow,” I breathe. I definitely don’t remember the ranch being this beautiful. Granted, I was a kid the last time I saw it. I don’t think I would’ve appreciated it then.

Now, though? It’s pretty enough to make me stop at the top of the canyon to gawk the vastness of the property. The unspoiled wildness of it all.

For a split second, I’m gripped by the image of a blue-eyed cowboy on horseback galloping across the meadow below. He’s in jeans and a hat, strong arms filling out the sleeves of his Western blue-and-white striped button-up. He moves gracefully with the horse, his big body undulating in time to her strides.

My pulse skips a beat.

I’m fantasizing about Cash.Jesus.

As if my stomach weren’t already in knots. I’m back on the ranch my estranged father left me for God knows what reason. I have no idea what—who—I’m going to find here or how long I’m going to have to stay. What if Mom’s lawyers don’t come through? What if I’m stuck here fortwelvemonths instead of one?

It doesn’t help that I’m fantasizing about how well asshole cowboys ride things. Cowboys who, in all likelihood, live right here on the ranch.

Cowboys whose help I’m going to need running this place.

Maybe Mom was right to freak out when I told her I was returning to the ranch. “Nothing good happens in Hartsville,” she’d said.

She begged me not to make the trip. But I’m out of options.

Shoving the image of Cash and his stupid hat aside, I continue down the road. About a mile or so in, my heart skips a beat when I see buildings come into view.

I remember the first house we lived in here on Lucky Ranch. It was small and simple—a white clapboard farmhouse my great-grandfather built. Then Dad struck oil, and he built Mom a modern stone mansion with huge windows and a metal roof.

We didn’t live there for long. Less than a year after construction wrapped up, my mom and I left Hartsville for Dallas. Little did I know then that I wouldn’t lay eyes on this land again for two decades.

I see the stone house first. It’s bigger than I remember. More beautiful too. I breathe a silent sigh of relief. At least I’ll be comfortable there.

Beyond the house, there’s a landscaped yard with a pool. Further back, I glimpse a pair of barns, a silo, and a corral.

My pulse skips another beat when I see cowboys on horseback by the corral, kicking up dust in the mid-morning heat.

There’s a lot of them. Way more than I’d anticipated. Ten cowboys? More?

I know nothing about ranching. Less than nothing about ranching onthisscale.

I slap my hand to my forehead, feeling sick. I want to fire Cash Rivers the second I see him. But I don’t see how I’m going to run this place without the help of Lucky Ranch’s foreman. A quick Google search told me that foremen are aranch’s go-to guys (and girls)—the people who oversee pretty much everything.

I glance at my rearview mirror. I can just see the road through the cloud of dust behind me. It’s not too late to turn back.

Maybe Mom’s lawyers are close to convincing a judge that Dad’s stipulation is stupid and ultimately unenforceable.

If not, I could always ask Mom for a loan against my inheritance? But she’s already made an investment in Bellamy Brooks, and again, she made it clear that’s the only investment she’ll make. Being the people-pleaser I am, I don’t want to overstep or stress her out. I know she’s working hard right now, trying to sell her client’s estate. I know she has lots of money tied up in other projects too. I don’t want to pile on to her problems.

So I park in front of the house and pray like hell my stay here is only temporary.

The front door opens, and Goody emerges onto the front step, waving at me as I climb out of my car.

“Mollie! You made it.”

I called her yesterday when I decided I’d be returning to Hartsville. She said she’d meet me at the ranch “to help smooth the transition.”

I didn’t tell her I have no intention of living here longer than I have to. Mom employs the best of the best when it comes to lawyers. Surely, they’ll have straightened out this whole mess by the end of the month.

“How was the drive?” Goody asks. Her bolo is taupe today. Same as her suit and matching boots.