Page 36 of The Awakening (The Morton Family Saga #3)

Chapter One

“You have got to be kidding! Why on earth would you think I would agree to something this insane?”

“I have no choice. I’ve got too much debt and borrowed from the wrong person. He’s demanding payment.” My father stood before me with hunched shoulders. His usual commanding voice was shaky, hesitant, and quiet.

“And the only decision you could think of was for me to marry one of his sons?” I shouted.

Tears threatened to fall, but I willed them not to.

I looked toward my mother, who hid behind my father; she sighed quietly and flitted her gaze to the ground whenever I looked at her.

I had expected her to be arguing with me, or at least to appear angry, but she just stood there, holding on to my father’s arm, patting it when he needed moral support.

The sun beat down on the parched earth stretching between us.

I have welcomed shade, except there was not a cloud in the Texas sky.

This conversation was only making me hotter; my temperature had risen at least five degrees since my dad opened his traitorous mouth.

They’d both lost their damn minds. This couldn’t be happening.

My head was pounding and my brain felt like it was going to explode.

There was no way I was going to agree to do something like this. Debt or no debt, I wasn’t doing it.

“Brian Morton extended the option as a way out of my situation and to save our ranch. I don’t have the money to pay him back.”

“So you’re going to sacrifice me? Use me as a pawn in your little game just so you can save this place? When did this ranch become more important than your daughter?” My voice was just above a whisper as I narrowed my eyes, staring a hole through my father.

He looked toward the ground and scuffed his boot along the gravel.

“It’s not more important,” he disagrees, shaking his head, “but it’s our family legacy.

It’s all I have to leave you one day.” Tears filled his eyes, and he turned away from me so I wouldn’t see.

I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen my father cry.

He was the picture of a rancher: tan, weathered face from years of being out in the elements, bowed legs from living on the back of a horse, and his black Stetson only came off for a meal, church service, or bed.

Dad was always the level-headed one, the only man in a house full of women, so he learned early on how to solve arguments, heartache, and dodge hormones.

He kept his feelings close to his vest. More often than not, you would have thought he didn’t care, but that was just his way.

While I’d like to dismiss this crazy idea, I knew how much the ranch meant to him.

He was a cowboy through and through. He even wrestled steers in his youth, which is how he met my mom, a rodeo queen in her own right.

I worried that if he didn’t have the ranch, he would lose part of himself.

It was all he knew. Come to think of it, this was all I knew, and the thought of it not being here scared me.

I turned away from my parents and wrapped my arms around my waist, closed my eyes, and allowed a few tears to fall.

It hurt seeing him like this. It perplexed me how things had gotten this bad.

When I came home to help, I thought things had turned around.

Wiping my nose on my sleeve, I turned back around to face them.

“So if I do this, it takes care of all your debt?” The words came out far more confident than I felt. I knew if I agreed to this, I would be saving my father and losing myself.

My father nodded, closing his eyes in what I hoped was a silent prayer for my future.

My heart raced, and I began to pace in front of my parents. I fidgeted with my untucked shirt. I felt a wave of nausea hit me. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and waited for it to pass. I heard myself say, “Fine.” I let out a loud sigh. “So when am I supposed to get married?”

“A week and a half,” Mom whispered as she stepped out from behind my father and took a few steps towards me. She tucked her blond hair behind her ear and clasped her hands in front of her, clearly bracing for my outburst like she had for years.

My mouth fell open, and it felt like my eyes would pop right out of my head. I stared at my mother and furrowed my brow, “Wow, you’re sure not wasting any time getting rid of me.”

A week and a half? They were as nuts as I thought. I looked at them both, waiting for something. Anything. Gratefulness? Praise, thanks or elation - but saw nothing. I turned on my heel and stomped away from them.

“Katherine Jean,” my mom called after me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t need to hear any more of this twisted bargain. There was nothing they could say that would make me feel better.