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Despite the obvious prevalence of bodily injury in their family, I was so jealous of those kids. As an only child, all I wanted was a house full of siblings, and here were the Rivers with oodles of them. I distinctly remember seeing Mrs. Rivers in the passenger seat, her hand on her pregnant belly.

Their family owns the ranch next to Dad’s property. I remember seeing the boys at the tractor-supply store here in town and at the rodeo out in Lubbock once. Not often enough to be friends—their mom homeschooled them on their ranch, so they weren’t around a lot—but often enough to know who they were.

Unable to withstand Cash’s gaze another second, I look down at his boots. They’re square-toed, dark brown. The leather is creased with age, but obviously well cared for, the color gleaming from a recent coat of conditioner.

The whisper of vague recognition I felt earlier returns.

Thanks to my job, I know cowboy boots better than anyone. This is a pair of Lucchese: expertly made, expensive, and classic. They’re the kind of cowboy boots you pass down from generation to generation.

Dad wore Lucchese. I don’t know how I remember this, but the certainty of it sits in my gut like a brick.

“Mollie, allow me to introduce Cash Rivers.” Goody extends her arm. “He’s been the foreman at your family’s ranch for, goodness, has it been?—”

“Twelve years.” Cash’s clipped reply makes me think he really is annoyed. With me? But why?

And he’s working on our property now? What happened to his family’s ranch? I’m confused.

That does explain why he’d be at the reading of Dad’s will, though. As the foreman, maybe he’ll be giving me the literal lay of the land?

Not like it matters. The second Lucky Ranch is in my name, I’m putting it up for sale. I have absolutely no interest in running a Hill Country cattle ranch. I’ve always been more of an indoor girl, and my whole life is in Dallas anyway—my friends, my family. Bellamy Brooks, the cowboy boot company I started with Wheeler, is also based in the area. Business is finally taking off, and the inheritance I’m about to get will definitely bring us to the next level.

“Cash. Wow. I remember you.” I extend my hand.

He glances at it, his mouth a hard line. An awkward beat passes before he wordlessly envelops my hand in the warm mitt of his. My pulse skips at the firmness of his handshake. How his heavily calloused palm presses against mine, dry but somehow thrillingly alive at the same time.

I give him a firm handshake back, making a point to look him in the eye again.

“Been a minute,” he says at last.

A scent rises off him. Simple soap, cut with something sexier. Aftershave? Whatever it is, it smells fresh and herbal, and it’s delicious enough to make my pulse skip a second time.

“Good to see you again,” I manage.

I wait for Cash to reply. What kind of name is Cash, anyway? His real name? A nickname?

He doesn’t say a word.

“Well, now that we’re all here”—Goody grabs a file and a small zippered pouch Zach holds out to her—“we can get started. Just follow me to the conference room.”

She heads down a hallway. I glance at Cash, who lifts his hat a half inch off his chest. “After you.”

I wonder if he’s a man of few words or if he’s just an asshole.

I want to be back in Dallas so bad, my stomach hurts. Then again, my stomach always hurts, so that’s nothing new.

I follow Goody down the hallway, Cash’s heavy footfalls behind me.

One hour. Two, max. Then I’ll have the money I need to make my dreams come true.

Well, one dream at least.

And maybe using Dad’s money to fund Bellamy Brooks will finally make me feel less angry about—well, everything.

Goody takes a seat at the head of the long, shiny conference table. I grab the chair to her right and watch Cash foldhis large body into the chair to Goody’s left. He sets his hat on the table upside down so that the crown is facing up. What’s that about? A way to protect the hat’s shape or something?

Then he reaches up and runs his blunt fingers through his hair, drawing his shirt taut across the well-muscled expanse of his chest.

Looking away, I busy myself pulling my planner out of my bag. I have no idea why I’d need it, but I have to do something with my hands. I’m suddenly nervous.