Page 20 of The Lilac River

He smirked. “Helps with the chicks.”

I snorted. “You’re messed up.”

“Says the guy talking to the horses every night like they’re therapists.”

One of the mares stomped, shaking her mane as if on cue.

“Sometimes,” I muttered, “I think animals have it figured out better than we ever will.”

Wilder clapped me on the back. “You’ve got Bertie. You’ve got this place. You’ve got us.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I do.”

We stood there in silence until I said, “Gotta finish some paperwork before Bertie's bath time. You?”

“Got a lady to see about one or two things,” he said with a wicked grin.

“One or two things?” I snorted. “Let me guess, your dick and her?—”

He roared laughing, waved over his shoulder, and wandered off.

Shaking my head, I turned back toward the house.

That’s when I heard a car approaching.

My stomach dropped.

Anyone I wanted to see was already here.

Which meant it was him.

“Fucking Dad,” I muttered.

Sure enough, his sleek Mercedes rolled up, kicking dust into the late afternoon air. He flashed the headlights like I was supposed to come running.

I didn’t move.

He honked once. I stayed where I was, arms crossed.

Eventually, he climbed out, a scowl carved into his face like he’d practiced it.

“I don’t have time for this, Nash,” he barked.

“Then don’t waste it,” I drawled. “Feel free to turn around.”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?” I asked, keeping my voice flat. “Unless you’re here to explain the slimeball realtor sniffing around.”

He stiffened.

“It’s my ranch. I can do what I damn well please.”

“And your sons? Your granddaughter? Where do we go when you’re done cashing out?”

“You’re grown. You’ll figure it out.”

Rage flared, white-hot and fast, but I held my ground.