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I finally turned my head to face him. “You turn into an old bitty all of a sudden? Concerned with my love life?”
“Mama is. Maybe she should talk to you but she's worried you'll bite her head off. Don't know what would ever give her that impression,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
“I don't have time for dating. And finding a wife is the least of my concerns,” I grunted, but Bella's steady gaze seemed to call my bluff. “I'm doing it for her,” I answered his original question, nodding at the mare. “For all of them. They depend on me.”
“Sure, they do. But don't forget you got people who care about you, too. People who—“ Walker's voice trailed off as he searched for words I didn't want to hear.
“Save it,” I said, standing abruptly, brushing hay from my jeans. “I know what you're trying to say, but I don't need a damn therapy session. This ranch is my priority.”
“Got it,” Walker replied, but his eyes lingered on me a moment longer. “Maybe just consider your actions impact more than just you and the animals.” He nodded in a departing gesture before turning and walking out the same way he came.
I let out a deep sigh. Watching Bella settle into a more comfortable position, I allowed myself a rare moment of vulnerability, letting my facade of the unbreakable rancher crack just a bit. “Guess we're both carrying a heavy load, huh, girl?” I mused softly.
But maybe in her own way, as her nose found my palm and she exhaled a contented sigh, she understood. Maybe better than anyone else.
5
Eryn
It was silent here. Actually silent. I marveled at lack of sound through the open window, and then at the canopy of trees overhead as I brought the Jeep to a stop.
“It's like I can hear myself think. How strange.”
“Are you sure this is the place?” Zaya leaned forward from the backseat, surveying the mountain house out the windshield. Her long braids brushed against me, sending tickles down my arm.
“Mmmhmm. Trust me,” I assured her, turning to give her a smile. “I bet it's even better than the photos.”
We’d spent the rest of the afternoon exploring downtown and window shopping. Skylar had wanted to go on a buying spree, but since we hadn’t yet been to the rental, there was not an inch of room left in the Jeep to stow any purchases. We held her off with the promise of a shopping day soon, and I had to admit, I was excited for that, too.
We spilled out of the car, stretching limbs and inhaling deeply.
“Now this is fresh air. Fuck that LA smog,” Skylar shouted, breaking the serenity of the moment.
“Fuck the smog!” Enzo echoed in his Italian accent. They giggled. I couldn't begrudge them. We'd been waiting for this moment, for the freedom, for the privacy. And yeah, the fresh air too.
“I think I forgot what real air smells like after being in LA for so long,” I said.
Skylar nodded. “Same. But I grew up in LA. Maybe I never really knew how nice it is.”
Enzo chased Skylar down the slope of the front lawn, grass that was uneven and spotted with dandelions. So unlike the perfect manicured lawns we'd just left behind.
“Alright. You did good, kid,” Zaya said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
Our rental for the week stood before us, the epitome of rustic elegance. Perched against the backdrop of towering pines and jagged peaks, the wood structure almost blended in. If not for the sun glinting off the massive glass windows, of course.
“Wow.” The word slipped from my lips before I could stop it. I was privileged, lucky. I'd stayed in beautiful homes and estates and hotels before. Palaces, a few times. And a castle one or twice. But something was different about this place. Not the house itself, necessarily, but the whole package. Fresh mountain air and quiet living and . . . reality. Maybe that's what I was missing all this time.
“Look at those windows!” Enzo said. “Can you imagine the sunrise view from here?”
Zaya beamed. “I'm obsessed.”
“Total Instagram gold,” I admitted with a chuckle, fully aware of the contradiction in my desire to unplug yet share the beauty with my followers. It was something I'd been grappling with lately. The urge to be more private warring with my habits and job.
I may have grown up the daughter of a billionaire, and I sure as hell benefited from his connections. But the more I started posting, the more fame and followers I got, it became validating. Not the public attention itself, but the proof that I could do something on my own. I could earn my own money and not have to rely on Roger Blake.
I was older now. Years of putting my life on display had taken their toll. I still loved interacting with people from all over the world. I loved showcasing small businesses and sharing knowledge I've learned of the things I care about. But I was so tired of the game. The need to post. The desire to check how many likes it got. The comparisons to other influencers who were coming to take my crown.
Maybe if this plan worked, if I was able to start this business and see it through, I'd find a balance. They could have the crown. I wanted a life. Or, I was hoping for one, anyway.
