Page 16 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

I refuse to wear Tye’s hat. It gets left in an empty wall niche across the hall. He can come find it himself.

There’s not much time to deliberate on a wardrobe choice. With no clue how long I’ll be here (A week? A month? FOREVER??) I didn’t pack lightly.

I feel like it would be rude not to wear the boots I was given and I’m about to slide on a pair of jeans but then I spot the tiered skirt I once wore to visit a Renaissance fair with Alice.

The skirt is a muted rose color and reaches mid-calf.

When paired with the boots, it looks appropriately country.

A vintage white top with a square neck and puff sleeves completes the look.

My hair is hopeless after being left to air dry and the best I can do is pull it into a loose ponytail.

Too much makeup bothers my skin so I always apply it lightly.

Today the natural flush in my cheeks is deeper than usual.

My glasses are exchanged for contacts and the lone piece of jewelry I’m wearing is a sentimental charm on a gold chain.

Pleased with my reflection but increasingly nervous about what awaits downstairs, I grab a cardigan sweater on my way out. Remembering Tye’s advice, I reluctantly leave my phone behind.

I’ve lived alone for the past two years, ever since Alice moved to the west valley, and I’m used to having my privacy. I’d lock the door if I had a key. Maybe Mel will be willing to give me one.

Now’s not the time to find out. I have two minutes to get downstairs and find Cass Tempesta’s study. While I’m not exactly frightened of Tye, I’m also not excited to be introduced to his ‘bad mood’.

Fort hasn’t returned so I’m guessing he hasn’t yet found Louisa. I need to get this meeting or whatever it is over with so I can go look for her myself.

If I had to name the theme of this house, I’d call it Cowboy Noir.

Everything is dark. Dark paint on the walls.

Dark hardwood flooring that creaks under my feet.

Dark, sturdy furniture. Dark wood accents everywhere from the window frames to the doors.

Corridors leading to unknown places beckon from every direction.

An imposing three stories high with peaks and cupolas and even a Victorian turret, the undefined architecture style is somewhere between a Vanderbilt mansion and Wuthering Heights.

There are some pops of color here and there.

The floor runner extending the length of the hallway is a rich wine hue and embellished with gold scrollwork.

The velvet cushions atop a low bench are a deep hunter green.

Beside the bench is a round accent table with a framed photo of four little boys wearing cowboy hats and silhouetted in the twilight.

Their faces are obscured but I’m sure that the tallest boy, the one second from the left, is Julian.

Any of these rooms might belong to him. I was not given a tour of the house so I have no clue where anyone else sleeps. Last night I was allowed to retreat to my guest suite after dinner and I stayed there.

Right now there’s enough natural daylight filtering in to erase any shadowy mysteries but I wouldn’t be eager to wander around after dark. The lighting is inadequate. The glass wall sconces contain bulbs that offer only a dim glow, no more substantial than candlelight.

Big houses are nothing new to me. I grew up in one. And after my parents were killed, I was relocated to another one until my grandfather decided boarding school was a better plan.

This house is larger than either of those. I’m not bothered by its size but the heavy quality that hangs in the air is more difficult to describe.

The top of the staircase is now in sight.

One of the wall lights on my left flickers.

Without thinking, I take a closer look and see there’s a small black object attached to the wrought iron base of the sconce.

A circle of glass in the center leaves no doubt that I’m looking into the lens of a camera.

My grandfather became exceedingly unreasonable after the wedding massacre. He installed dozens of cameras like this throughout his home at the vineyard. I shouldn’t be surprised at all. The reason why walking through this house gives me the creeps is because I feel like I’m being watched.

Duh. I AM being watched.

Instead of pulling an Alice and flipping the camera off, I withdraw and walk away. For all I know, they are watching me right now. I need these people to help my brother. Getting on their bad side isn’t an option.

Silence reigns as I descend the stairs. As I reach the final step I hear the muffled clink of glass, likely coming from the distant kitchen.

Yesterday I was a bit too dazed to notice details.

For the first time I see an enormous animal skull mounted above the wide front door.

Huge horns curve from either side of its head.

The dead animal’s wide leer seems to follow me as I leave the vast foyer and make a left, just as Tye instructed.

The floor is bare in this part of the house and my new boots click loudly on the hardwood. Tye said his father’s study would be down this hallway, first door on the right.

I pause in front of a wall mirror and confront my wide-eyed, nervous reflection.

“Cecilia,” booms a baritone voice. “In here.”

My fingers fly to the locket around my neck, rubbing the smooth shape for strength.

For Gabriel. I can do this.

Cassio Tempesta waits behind a mammoth desk along the back wall of his study.

He has already encouraged me to call him ‘Cass’ instead of ‘Mr. Tempesta’ but I’m having some difficulty.

He removed his black cowboy hat during dinner but otherwise it appears to be a wardrobe staple.

He beckons with impatience, urging me to come closer.

The aroma of perfumed smoke is dense in this room. A memory tickles the back of my brain. My father puffing on a cigar as my brothers and I toasted marshmallows in the backyard firepit. And my mother laughing at him to ‘throw those awful things away’.

“Good morning,” I say, keeping my head up and looking him in the eye. Something tells me this is a quality he values.

Cass plucks a toothpick out of his mouth. It lands with a plink in the metal ashtray on his desk.

“Good morning, Cecilia,” he finally says. “Take a seat and let’s talk.”

The nearest chair is parked directly in front of his desk, practically under his nose. Looking for an alternative will be seen as weakness. I don’t need to be told that weakness is not acceptable here.

Once I’m seated with my legs crossed at the ankle and my hands folded in my lap, I can take better stock of my surroundings.

This room possesses the same Dark Western concept as the rest of the house.

Heavy velvet drapes are pulled over the windows.

Tye winks at me from where he’s sprawled on a sofa the color of whiskey.

“Found your cat,” says Fort. He’s lounging in an overstuffed leather armchair and gestures to the far side of the room.

I turn my head and nearly fall down.

Getty is sitting in a chair that’s identical to Fort’s. He’s not alone.

Louisa, who disdains all human contact and hisses at anything that moves, is actually coiled up in his lap like she belongs there.

I’m speechless.

Ever since I brought her home, this cat feeds me a steady diet of withering glares. Then we come here and she immediately chooses the most unpleasant of the Tempesta brothers as her new BFF.

Seriously, what gives?

Has she been hypnotized? Did the air travel scramble her little cat brains?

Louisa tilts her head and eyeballs me with detached curiosity, as if we are complete strangers.

“Is she…purring?” I manage to sputter when I hear an odd rumble.

Getty smiles at my shock and scratches my cat behind her ears. He doesn’t answer, like he knows his silence is the response that will result in maximum discomfort.

Louisa kneads her paws on the arm of the chair. Her purring grows louder.

I’d be lying if I said the rejection didn’t sting just a little.

Meanwhile, I’m keenly aware that I’ve been scrutinized by Cass Tempesta’s cold eyes since I stepped into the room. It takes a lot of self-discipline not to fidget or rub my palm over my bad knee.

My grandfather used to yell sharply whenever he caught me squirming. If we happened to be at the dinner table, he’d smack my hand and order me to get out of his sight.

“What do you think of the ranch so far?” Cass asks. He tends to speak a few decibels louder than necessary, daring anyone in earshot to ignore him. Today is no different.

“You really do have a beautiful home,” I tell him. “I’d love a tour.”

The flattery isn’t completely empty. While the decorative scheme could use a significant makeover, the house is amazing and the surrounding view is awe inspiring.

I’m struck by the thought that I haven’t been in this kind of family setting in years. The Tempestas are daunting and unconventional but they are still a family.

Cass Tempesta has a way of studying people that feels invasive, as if he’s capable of probing the contents of your mind using willpower alone. Julian has the same trait, although it’s not quite as menacing coming from him.

But where is Julian?

I was sure I’d find him here. His absence in the room is both a relief and a disappointment. I need to remain alert and that’s difficult while grappling with a growing infatuation that could be dangerous, given the circumstances.

“Of course you can have a tour, Cecilia,” says Cass. “This is your home now.”

If he’d slapped me across the face, I’d feel less affected than I am by the casual finality of those words.

I picture my orderly little one bedroom apartment and feel a wave of despair that I might never again hear some college kid vomiting from the upper balcony after one too many tequila shots.

And what will happen to my furniture?