Page 32 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Torn – Natalie Imbruglia

Nash

T he day was muggy and stifling, and everyone was suffering. The summer storm we’d been promised hadn’t arrived yet, but the sky hung heavy with it, thick and oppressive. Even the air felt too tired to move, like the whole world had been wrapped in wet wool.

According to the forecast, it was still on its way and honestly, we were all looking forward to it.

Sure, storms could create a whole host of problems for the ranch, but at least it would break this damned heat.

Right now, it felt like the whole valley was holding its breath, waiting for the clouds to split open and offer some kind of relief.

Adding to my day from hell was the fact that Bertie’s class would be arriving at the lavender farm any minute. I’d hoped to get myself miles away so I wouldn’t have to see Lily, but I'd been stuck inside, tangled up on a long call with the Water Authority.

The news hadn’t been good. The water was contaminated.

They were now testing both the Jenkins' and Taylors’ water to see how far upstream the pollution had spread.

If it reached both neighboring ranches, it was going to be catastrophic, not just for us, but for the whole valley.

And if the source couldn’t be found soon, the damage wouldn’t just be environmental, it would be personal.

The best we could hope for was that the dams we installed had been quick enough... and that we found the bastard responsible. That hope felt thinner than the air outside.

I’d told them what I thought the chemical was, but after that, all we could do was wait. And waiting when lives, livestock, land, maybe even legacies were on the line? That was its own kind of torture.

"You okay?" Wilder asked, sliding a mug of coffee onto my desk.

He looked like he'd already been sweating through fence work for hours.

"I heard you pacing around half the night," he added, perching on the edge of the ridiculous, green-leather-topped desk my dad had insisted on.

The damn thing still smelled faintly like tobacco and ambition.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" I grunted. Which was half apology, half deflection.

"Nah. I couldn’t sleep either. Been trying to remember where I’ve seen that pesticide name before, but it’s just not coming to me.

" He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. It meant something to him, too, this land, this fight. We didn’t always say it, but it was there in every early morning and late-night worry.

"That’s what’s been keeping me away, too," I said, only half-lying. A certain blonde had also been haunting my damn dreams. I didn’t say her name. Didn’t need to.

"I just want to find the son of a bitch who dumped that crap. Preferably so I can dump it somewhere real uncomfortable for them." The anger wasn’t surface-level, it had roots, deep ones.

Wilder chuckled, running a thumbnail along the gold embossed pattern on the desk. "Any ideas who it might be?"

"Brad Jenkins hires some questionable hands. The Dupree brothers, mainly." I didn’t want it to be them, but if it was, I’d sleep fine knowing they were dealt with.

"Yeah, they’re trouble," Wilder agreed. "But poisoning cattle? Seems reckless even for them."

Reckless, yeah. But not impossible.

"Someone did it," I muttered, staring out the window at the shimmering paddocks. The horses were barely moving, just shifting in the heat, their tails swiping in slow, annoyed arcs.

"Have you talked to Brad or Calvin yet?"

I blew out a breath, recalling the heated phone call with Brad Jenkins. "Brad wants compensation. Calvin’s more reasonable. He knows it wasn’t our fault." Not that Brad had ever needed an excuse to be a jackass.

"Brad always was a prick," Wilder muttered. We’d both known him too long to pretend otherwise.

"What are you doing back here, anyway?"

"My horse lost a shoe. Came back to switch rides. Thought I’d steal some coffee and make sure you were okay." He lifted his mug like he was making a toast.

I lifted mine, too, chinking it against my brother’s, grateful for him. "Much appreciated."

Out the window, one of our mares, Songbird, flicked her tails lazily under the oppressive sky. Even she looked bored with the weather.

"When’s the stud arriving for her?" I asked.

"Gunner’s handling it. Found a champion barrel racer he’s hyped about." Wilder grinned. "You know bloodlines are his love language." And he wasn't wrong. The man could wax poetic about a stallion's pedigree longer than most people could stay awake.

I snorted. "Bertie seems interested too. Found her studying horse breeding yesterday. Blew off playing Roblox with you, didn’t she?"

"Yeah. Broke my heart." He clutched at his chest dramatically, but there was warmth beneath the joke. He loved that kid.

He pushed off the desk. "Better get back to it. The guys need help with fencing. You coming?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but then I heard it. The low rumble of a school bus pulling up.

Fuck.

Wilder’s grin stretched even wider. "Sounds like our little munchkin’s here."

"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "Shane’s handling the tour."

"You’re not going over there? Introduce yourself to the pretty teacher?" he teased. He was a damn asshole.

"Fuck off, Wilder."

He was still laughing when he sauntered toward the door. "Just saying, Nash. Life’s a rodeo. You get thrown, you get stomped, but you can still get back in the saddle."

"Go to work before I fire your sorry ass," I barked.

"You can’t. Equal shareholder of nothing, remember?" He winked. "Later, big brother."

When he disappeared, leaving the door wide open, I turned back to the computer. Tried to focus. But it was useless.

I couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t stop glancing toward the window, even though you couldn’t see the lavender farm from here. I was like a damn teenager hoping to catch a glimpse of a girl.

Pathetic.

"Fuck it," I muttered, shoving my chair back.

Five minutes later, I was wandering into the little store at the lavender farm, forcing my hands into my pockets to keep from fidgeting. The air inside was cool and filled with the scent of dried herbs, soap, and sun-warmed wood. It smelled like summer in a jar.

Felicia was behind the counter, arranging a display of soaps.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, her smile warm and welcoming.

"Hey, Felicia. How’s it going?"

"I see Bertie’s fighting fit again," she said, glancing toward the window.

I moved to look out too. Shane was standing in front of a gaggle of kids, animatedly talking about lavender. Most of the kids were listening, except for two girls whispering together. Lily crouched down, speaking to them gently. One girl moved to the front, next to Bertie.

Bertie crossed her arms and scooted a step away, her posture pure sass.

I couldn’t help but snicker.

"She doesn’t stay down long," I said proudly.

Felicia laughed. "No, she doesn’t. Oh, and there are the centerpieces and wreaths I told you about. I finished them yesterday."

I turned to look at the display and whistled low. "They’re incredible. You’ve outdone yourself."

Felicia preened a little, clearly pleased.

When laughter drifted in from outside, we both turned again. Lily’s face was lit with a smile as she watched the kids. She looked right. Like she belonged there, bathed in sunlight, surrounded by laughter.

"She’s looking prettier than ever," Felicia said softly, catching me off guard.

"Bertie?" I asked, pretending ignorance.

Felicia just smiled patiently. "You know who I mean."

I swallowed hard. "It’s complicated."

"It always is," she said. "But sweetheart, you loved that girl once. Maybe you still do."

"I can’t just forget what happened."

"No one’s asking you to." She stepped closer, laying a hand over my heart. "But sometimes pain needs love to heal. Not walls. Not anger."

"What if I’m too broken?"

Felicia smiled sadly. "You’re not. You’re bruised, Nash. Not broken."

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. "I hide it well."

"No, you don't," she said, her voice full of quiet affection. "Not from people who love you."

Stepping back behind the counter, she nodded toward the window. "Now, go out there. Hug your little girl. Maybe even talk to your big girl."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Leaving me standing there, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Felicia was right.

As I stepped out of the store, the sticky heat hit me like a wall, but it didn’t matter.

I spotted Bertie immediately—her dark hair, the exact same shade as mine, bobbing as she listened intently to Shane, nodding at everything he said.

She was all big brown eyes and serious concentration, clutching a sprig of lavender like it was a treasure.

And next to her, crouching down to tie the loose shoelace of one of Bertie’s classmates, was Lily.

I watched her from the edge of the porch, completely still.

She smiled at the little girl she was helping, soft, patient, radiant and when she looked up, she caught Bertie watching her. Something passed between them, something so pure it made my chest ache.

Bertie grinned, shy and adoring, and Lily laughed, ruffling my daughter’s hair in a way that made Bertie preen with pride.

God help me.

I didn’t even realize I was moving until I was halfway across the yard. Every part of me was pulled toward her, drawn to that light she carried like a flame. The years, the hurt, the stubbornness, all of it faded in the face of this simple, perfect moment.

Maybe Felicia was right.

Maybe pain could be salved with love.

Maybe it already was.

Bertie spotted me first. "Daddy!" she yelled, waving both hands in the air like she was trying to launch herself into flight.

Lily turned at the sound, her hair blowing slightly in the humid breeze, and when her eyes met mine, the whole damn world stopped spinning for a second.

I smiled. A real, gut-deep smile I hadn’t felt in years.

And maybe it wasn’t smart. Maybe it wasn’t safe. Maybe it was reckless and foolish and all kinds of wrong.

But as I strode toward them, toward my daughter, toward Lily, only one thing mattered.

It felt right.

It felt like coming home.