Page 46 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

L una is so gentle as she takes an apple slice from my palm. Then she patiently waits for me to reach into my pocket for another one.

Earlier, Enzo shooed me away from the knife block in the kitchen and insisted on cutting the apples up himself. Far be it from me to argue with the ranch’s high-strung chef.

“Sweet girl,” I murmur and run my palm over Luna’s sleek neck as she crunches on another apple slice.

“She’s the most mellow horse we’ve got,” Miguel agrees. He carefully sets down the saddle he was carrying and moves closer to watch me give the horse another apple slice.

“It’s been quiet around here,” I say. “Lately I never see more than one or two of the cowboys around and the stable is nearly empty.”

A smile appears beneath Miguel’s dark mustache and his eyes twinkle with good humor. “Summers are busy, ma’am. The herd is all spread out and a bunch of the boys are at the north camp. I’m going back there today. Before you know it, it’ll be time to round the whole herd up for branding.”

Luna lightly nudges my hand and I withdraw another apple slice for her.

“I guess I have a lot to learn,” I say. “Please tell me if I’m ever in anyone’s way.”

Miguel adjusts his mocha-colored cowboy hat. “You’re the lady of the house,” he says. “You couldn’t possibly be in anyone’s way. If you ever need anything, just ask.”

Luna gazes at me with patient affection.

I rub my hand over her neck again and she leans into my touch.

I’ve rediscovered the charming ego boost of being liked and trusted by an animal.

Louisa remains skittish but Luna always greets me as if we are the oldest and best of friends.

Since Julian left eight days ago, I’ve gotten into the habit of visiting her twice a day.

“I can saddle her up,” Miguel suggests. “I’ll take you on a slow walk around the corral myself.”

Immediately, I shake my head. “No thank you.”

As much as I love spending time with Luna, the thought of climbing into the saddle still makes me shudder.

Miguel’s weatherbeaten face is filled with kindness. “Say the word if you change your mind.”

I feed Luna the last apple slice in my pocket. “How long have you been here at the ranch, Miguel?”

“Twenty years this summer,” he says proudly.

“I was born and raised just outside El Paso. But my stepfather was a mean son of a bitch so I left the minute it was legal. I spent a couple years at some of the big ranches in Texas and then decided I wanted to see what the world looked like up north. Wound up here and broke my back near the end of the season. Cass kept me on while I was recuperating and by the next summer this place felt like home so I stayed.”

“How did you break your back?”

“Got thrown off by Omerta’s daddy,” he says with a laugh.

I glance toward the stall where the giant black stallion belonging to Cass Tempesta is usually kept. It’s empty right now.

“Were you afraid to ride again after that?” I ask.

He pulls at his mustache while mulling this over. “Maybe for a hot minute. But I still climbed back into the saddle the minute I was cleared by the doc. I might have been afraid that if I didn’t then I never would.”

He’s being honest. But I also have no doubt he’s aware of my backstory and he’s trying to send a message.

“Your husband was just a kid when I met him,” Miguel says. “Hadn’t even hit his teens. I remember thinking that I’d never seen a boy that age who was such a natural leader.”

I have a flashback to the first time I ever saw Julian. Only four years separated us but it felt like an entire generation. He was younger than Matthias and yet there was a solemn maturity about him that my older brother never had.

Thinking of Julian always unleashes a torrent of emotions.

On the surface, he’s a model husband. He calls every day.

He reassures me and says all the right things.

He sends me flowers. He arranges for a freaking pool to be installed as a surprise simply because I once mentioned that I enjoyed swimming.

Maybe it’s just the distance between us that’s planting doubts in my mind.

The days we spent together were too short.

I’m embarrassed by how much I miss him. Every night when I fall asleep in his bed I make a wish to wake up with his arms around me.

But every day since I kissed him goodbye I’ve awakened to find that I’m still alone.

The beat of pounding hooves shakes me out of my brooding. I don’t tense up at the sound the way I did when I first got here. Being on the ranch has forced me to feel comfortable around horses again, even if I’m still unwilling to ride one.

Miguel signals to the youngest staff member, a boy named Caleb who looks barely old enough to shave. Caleb takes a break from mucking out the stalls and trots outside. When he returns, he’s leading a saddled Omerta.

Getty follows, looking all sweaty and wild after his ride. He stops short at the sight of me and rips his gloves off. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Visiting my horse,” I fire back with just as much attitude. “Although I think that should be obvious to anyone with eyes.”

He sticks his gloves in his back pocket and glowers. “Where’s Tye? Why isn’t he with you?”

“I don’t keep tabs on your brother. As far as I know, he’s behind closed doors with your dad. You should join them instead of sharing your sparkling disposition with me.”

He stares and then snorts out a dark chuckle. Sometimes there’s no telling whether he’s furious or amused.

“Follow me,” Getty says and turns his back. “We’re going for a fucking walk.”

“Thanks for that warm invitation but I’ll pass.”

Slowly, he turns around. He releases a sigh of resignation. “I need to show you something, Cecilia.”

I cross my arms and remain planted in the same spot. Miguel tries to stifle his laughter and fails.

Getty rolls his eyes. Mutters a few curses. “Please,” he finally says, dragging out the word as if the taste of it might kill him.

I look at Miguel. He shrugs as if to say he’s equally clueless about Getty’s intentions.

“Send out a search party if I’m not back in an hour,” I say and give Luna’s neck one final soft pat before following Julian’s least likeable brother outside.

Getty doesn’t look back and takes long strides past the fenced corral. He’s heading for the grassy meadow that ends at a shallow hill.

A warm breeze toys with my hair and quivers the high branches of the cottonwood trees beyond the hill. My skirt flutters around my calves and the heel of my boot catches in a divot in the grass, wrenching my bad knee. I bite my lip and gingerly flex the joint before taking another step.

“I’m not exactly dressed for hiking!” I yell, unsure if Getty can even hear me now that he’s about twenty paces ahead.

He stops and appraises me with indifference. “You never are,” he says but he waits for me to catch up.

The main reason I keep going is curiosity.

Since Julian left, Getty hasn’t gone out of his way to make my life miserable, but I also wouldn’t call him pleasant.

He obviously resents the fact that he’s been ordered to stay close to home for my sake.

When Julian finally gets back I’ll let him know that his brother should be released from whatever bodyguard duties he was assigned.

Getty comes to an abrupt halt and I nearly crash into his back. He points to the right.

“Wildflowers,” he says and goes tramping in that direction.

This field trip is becoming more mystifying by the second. But all questions aside, I’m delighted by the patches of color stretching their necks out of the grass.

“What are these called?” I kneel beside a clump of light purple flowers with brilliant green leaves. Each flower contains dozens of wispy, narrow petals. I bend down and inhale a fragrance that’s familiar.

“Bergamot,” says Getty. To my shock, he’s carefully collecting an assortment of vivid blue flowers. “These are larkspur.”

When he’s assembled a pile of flowers, he uses his knife to strip a long stem and uses it to tie together the bouquet. If someone told me when I woke up this morning that I’d be picking flowers with Getty Tempesta in the afternoon I would have wondered which Twilight Zone portal I’d fallen into.

While I’m grappling with the surreal nature of this scene, I take stock of my surroundings.

I’ve never been to this part of the property before.

There’s no road here, no path indicating a trail is nearby.

To my left, the softly sloping hill that I’ve only seen from a distance hides whatever waits on the other side.

Finally, I realize exactly where we’re going.

“She’s buried on the ranch. A quarter of a mile beyond that hill there’s a cluster of cottonwood trees. The rest of us visit but my father doesn’t.”

I’ve never seen Teresa Tempesta’s gravesite. Her boys are highly protective of her memory and I sensed the topic was a touchy one. Outsiders, I figured, might not be welcome and I didn’t push.

The cremated remains of my own parents are locked in a mausoleum that I’ve visited twice. Each experience was cold and gloomy and left me feeling even more desolate than I did when I walked in.

Getty waits until I’ve successfully gathered a handful of wildflowers. Mine aren’t tied as neatly as his but my offering looks respectable.

The hill, small as it is, will be a chore to scale with my skirt, boots and stiff knee. I’m grateful when Getty chooses to take the long way, circling around the base of the hill and doubling back on flat ground.