Page 26 of The Mountain Echoes

So, I sold—at a damn good price—and started looking west for land that still breathed like it used to.

I found Wildflower Canyon on the back end of a cross-country trip, driving without a map, chasing something that felt like peace.

What I found was a place where ranching was still a way of life, not a photo op. Land that hadn’t forgotten what it was for. People who didn’t talk about “the next big thing” and were salt of the earth, doing the hard work of getting food on the table.

My sister, Joy, was eighteen then, and just finishing high school in Dallas.

I’d raised her from the time she was eight, after we lost our parents in a car crash just outside Amarillo. She doesn’t remember much about the night it happened, but I do. All of it. Especially the look in her eyes, the first time she realized I was all she had left. I was a kid myself, but I promised her we’d make it. And, through grit, we did.

She moved to New York, went to college, and then became a buyer for Neiman Marcus. She was living a life that looked nothing like mine, but it suited her. Still, when she started calling to say the city was wearing herdown, I told her Wildflower Canyon had room for one more.

I bought her a storefront on Main Street, helped her open her boutique,Bringing You Joy.

I am proud to say that it’s the best damn clothing shop in a hundred miles. Women looking for a cocktail dress and those who simply want a pair of cowboy boots—shop there. Joy has something for everyone, and she does it without being a snob.

She fit into Wildflower Canyon just as I did, seamlessly.

She still lives at Kincaid Farms, in the house that I built. It’s not opulent or even fancy, but it’s solid—like us. And no matter where the day takes us—cattle, couture, or carved ribeye—we always make it back there.

Because at the end of the day, family is all you can count on—land changes. People leave. But if you’ve got a front porch, a little stretch of sky, and someone who knows where you’ve been, you’re doing just fine.

I wonder who knows where Aria has been as I watch her walk into Blackwood Prime.

She’s not wearing a dress, which would not be out of place for my steakhouse, but she fits in much better like this—in a pair of worn tight jeans, a tucked-in button-down, boots that mean business, and a tan canvas jacket that’s probably seen a few hundred sunrises.

Her hair is still in a braid as it was during the funeral. Black as molasses. She says something to the host, who points her toward a table by the windows.

I see Amos Langley.

Many ranches in Wildflower Canyon work with him. I don’t. My accountant is in Texas, the same one who helped me sell the property and now helps me manage Kincaid Farms.

Amos has a reputation for having numbers in his blood and calluses on his hands. He has his own ranch, so he knows what it takes. I like the man. He doesn’t bullshit, and he has a strong and straight spine.

Amos rises and pulls a chair for Aria like the gentleman he isn’t. Something about this woman inspires men to do things for her. I recognize that. I think it’s that heady combination of vulnerability with strength.

She doesn’t need your help; she can stand on her own, and yet you want to extend a hand.

I remember what Celine said about her,“She’s manipulative. That’s why Mama didn’t want her around. She has a way with men, even Papa. It’s disgusting.”

I like seeing her in the low lighting and against the dark wood and leather booths of Blackwood Prime.

She stands outandblends in. She does this without making an effort.

“Now, Maverick,” Senator Otis Jessup interrupts my perusal of the woman who is occupying my mind a lot more than any other has in a very long while. “I know some of the locals are squirmy about this airport idea. But I swear to you, it’s going to be just what this community needs. A step forward.”

I turn my attention back to my dinner companions.

Blackwood Prime has become the place where politicians rub elbows with ranchers and never notice the blood on each other’s boots—so no surprise that I’m courting fucking Senator Jessup, whose son owns a development company. He shills for him, finding him business. His latest initiative—now that Piper Novak, the largest Texas developer, is struggling to keep her business afloat due to numerous federal investigations into her company—is to take over the commercialization of Wildflower Canyon.

My latest initiative is to make sure that shit doesn’t happen.

Since I’m smarter and wealthier than this asshole and his son, I’m going to prevail.

We’re seated atmytable. It’s in the corner near the fireplace, giving me a full view of the restaurant. I can see who comes in and who goes out.

No one will ever accuse me of not being in control.

Jessup is pushing for amodestregional airport, which will come in handy for the luxury resorts he also wants to build in the name of modernization and bringing revenue to Wildflower Canyon.