Page 61 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

JULIAN

T he radio clipped to my belt crackles and Miguel’s voice rumbles through the static with an update that the whole herd has been moved to the bottom of the coulee. The weakest animals have already been relocated to the big barn to wait out tomorrow’s storm.

I press the side button on the radio. “We’ve got this,” I assure the foreman. “You go ahead and catch your plane.”

From up here on higher ground, I spot Miguel below on horseback. He lifts a hand in acknowledgement. I wave back.

“I’d place bets that weather report is bullshit,” Getty grumbles while checking out the sky, which is still a brilliant blue without a cloud in sight.

This winter has gotten off to an unusually warm start. Here we are two days before Christmas and it’s not even cold enough to need gloves. But there’s no screwing with blizzard forecasts, especially with most of the staff taking off within the next few hours.

Since daybreak, every available man has been working on storm prep. If the most dire forecast for Christmas Eve comes true, the herd will be much better off here in the shelter of the coulee.

Fort and Tye have already headed back to the big barn to check supplies.

We watch as Miguel and the cowboys trot out of sight.

Usually it’s no big deal for the staff to leave for the holidays.

Most of them have people they like to visit now and then.

Even Mel is leaving today to go see her sister in New York.

“Let’s take one more lap around the area,” I say to Getty. “I just want to make sure we’re not leaving anything to chance.”

He blows out an annoyed breath but doesn’t argue.

The horse I’m riding is an easygoing mare named Trixie.

Since we’re scrambling to prepare for the blizzard, my father saddled up Omerta this morning to help.

Last I saw of him, he was riding alone on the far side of the coulee and then he disappeared behind a rock outcropping.

“When does our guest arrive?” Getty asks.

“A few hours,” I say, with little enthusiasm now that a new complication has been added. “Gabriel won’t be alone. Sonny gave me a heads up that Angelo has decided to tag along.”

A few days ago, Gabriel suddenly called his sister and said he wanted to visit her for Christmas. He never mentioned anything about Angelo joining the travel plans.

Getty snorts. “Figures. The Grimaldi boys never could take a hint when they’re not wanted.”

“Play nice,” I warn him. “We’ll keep an eye on Angelo in case there’s any hard feelings but he’s probably just scheming to see what he can get out of us. As for Gabriel, we all know what a useless weasel he is. Still, I’m hoping that having her twin around for Christmas will cheer Cecilia up.”

There’s more worry packed into this comment than I let on.

Cecilia has been quiet. Guarded. Over the last couple of months I can feel her retreating from me and I don’t understand why.

I know I’m gone a lot but I have good reasons.

Everything I do is for her, for the security of the family we’re building.

She stays on my mind constantly. I worry that the pregnancy is taking a toll on her but all the reports I get from her doctor indicate she’s in great health.

Whatever is wrong, I’ll fix it. All she has to do is tell me what she wants. I’ll give it to her.

When Getty doesn’t respond with a typical wisecrack, I swivel around to see what his problem is.

He has stopped his horse and stares at the tree line with a strangely tense expression.

“Do you have something to say?” I ask. It’s not completely far-fetched that he might have some insight. After all, he’s here at home a lot more often than I am.

He shakes his head. “There’s plenty of shit you can’t control, Julian. You never seem to learn that.”

“When you become some oracle of wisdom?”

He looks at me. A sudden gust of wind is significantly colder, a precursor to the impending weather.

“Let’s get back,” he says. “If it’s your wife you’re worried about, she’s not out here.”

A flash of irritation hits. Instead of reacting, I push it aside. Getty isn’t exactly known for his keen insight but it’s true that Cecilia is waiting back at the house. I left to help with storm prep this morning before she even woke up.

Three days ago, I arrived home and Cecilia greeted me cautiously, asking whether I planned to stay for Christmas. I’ve told her all along I’d be home for Christmas and New Year’s. Why would she think I’d abandon my own promise?

Only young Caleb is left in the stable. His family still lives on the outskirts of Vigilance but he’s asked to stay in the clubhouse over the holidays. I make a mental note to remember to invite him inside for dinner.

“Want me to take her?” Caleb asks, already reaching for the horse, eager to be useful, and I hand Trixie off to him.

Omerta’s stall is still empty but Cecilia’s horse pokes her head out, hoping for a treat. All I can find are some carrots and she daintily takes them from my hand one at a time.

Cecilia’s pregnancy is now too advanced for even mild horseback rides.

However, I’m told that she often leads the horse around the corral for some exercise.

Every time I think of the day I came home to the sight of her sitting proudly in the saddle, overcoming her fears and glowing with happiness, my chest gets tight.

That was the day she said she wanted to start a family. Though I was stunned by the fact it happened so quickly, I have no regrets. More than anything, I hope she doesn’t either.

Sometimes I feel like there are two animals, equally fierce, battling inside me for different causes.

One cannot stand being away from Cecilia and fights to never leave her side.

The other insists on hunting for any conceivable threats to my wife’s safety and cutting them to bloody pieces before they can even think about striking.

The second beast always wins. There can be no peace until I’m able to guarantee I’ll never have a reason to speak to a painting for the rest of my life.

Miguel and most of his boys have already cleared out and the temperature continues to drop. Everyone who plans to leave better get moving before nightfall. Once whiteout conditions hit, no one is going anywhere.

The ranch already feels like a ghost town as I walk at a brisk pace from the stable toward the house.

Sonny took two of his men to Laramie to retrieve the Grimaldi boys when their flight lands.

I’m not especially looking forward to their arrival but if Gabriel can bring a smile to my wife’s face then I’ll be grateful.

Pausing in my tracks, I take stock of the desolate ranch scene.

The corrals are all empty and there are no cowboys or Mafia soldiers loitering around.

The stately one story brick building where the cowboys live looks deserted.

From here I can only see the roof of the old ranch house where Sonny runs the security team.

But no matter how intently I squint at the trees in the distance, I can’t see any hint of the cabin by the creek where Cecilia and I spent our short honeymoon. There’s no limit to how many times a day I think back on those perfect days and wish I could relive them.

Just as I’m coming up the steps to the porch, I run into Mel as she emerges from the house. Tye is right behind, carrying her suitcase on his shoulder like it’s a duffel bag.

“Merry Christmas, Julian,” she says and I bend down so she can kiss my cheek.

“Have a safe trip,” I tell her.

She pats my arm and gazes up at me with wistful adoration. “Cecilia says the babies have been kicking nonstop today.” Laughter bubbles out of her. “Sounds like they’ll come out fighting. We can only hope they are willing to stay put for another couple of months.”

I look at the closed front door. “Speaking of Cecilia, have you seen her?”

“I just brought her some tea in her office,” Mel says. “Oh, and two of the guest suites are ready for the Grimaldi brothers. I put them all the way at the end of the second floor south hallway, like you requested.

Mel insists on tracking down Getty and Fort to say goodbye before she leaves. It occurs to me that I should have asked her if she’s noticed Cecilia’s somber mood. Too late for that now. I don’t want to hold her up. I’ll just go speak to Cecilia myself.

My fingers are finally starting to stiffen from cold exposure. I flex the circulation back into them as I peel off my coat and walk through the front door.

Every square foot of this house is as familiar to me as my face in the mirror.

But I can understand why a newcomer would find this place intimidating.

I should have had more sympathy for the challenging position Cecilia was in when she arrived.

Trying to win her over with flowers and cake and customized cowboy boots now strikes me as conceited. Superficial. Fucking inadequate.

The aroma of food is heavy in every room. Enzo cooked and baked like crazy over the past two days to ensure we’d have no shortage of meals while he spends the holiday week in Miami.

On the way to Cecilia’s office, I pass the glass doors leading to the pool.

My father yielded when I stubbornly demanded the pool installation for Cecilia’s physical therapy.

The contractors were under orders to spare no expense.

The enclosed heated room with floor to ceiling fortified glass windows, multiple lap lanes and a waterfall looks fit for an emperor.

My brothers are enjoying the newest luxury feature and I’ve been assured Cecilia uses it a couple of times a week but I have yet to set foot in there. I’m just not home often enough and whenever I’m here, there are more important chores on my list than floating around in chlorinated water.

The door to Cecilia’s office is cracked open and she sits at the desk, facing the window while steadily writing in her journal. Her cat is licking its paws on the sofa and pauses to regard me with a stare of suspicion before resuming.