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With Carl gone, who was going to get in Bennett’s way?
*
Maggie shivered. She’d forgotten how cold the Texas desert could get with no concrete and steel to hold the warmth in.
“Can you turn up the heat?” she asked the driver.
He gave a curt nod and flicked a switch. Apparently, not only the air was cooler up here.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Turning her gaze back to the landscape whirring by, she let the terrain roll over her along with the memories they brought up.
The dry, cracked earth spotted with dilapidated homes on failed ranches were the same. So were the white-painted churches dappling every corner of what local folks called Tornado Alley since it looked like it’d been leveled by an F5 twister. But not even God saw fit to intervene and bring this place some life.
“This place is so sad,” she commented.
The driver didn’t even offer her a nod. And why would he? It wasn’t a question.
“One week,” she whispered to herself this time. “I’ll turn the property around in one week and then I’m out of here for good.”
Only when they neared Deer Creek did plants seem to thrive along with the homes and people in them. Inside the town limits, one might be able to forget about the poverty beyond its borders, but Maggie couldn’t. It was why she’d finally given in and left.
There was always a thin line between making it until next season and selling your birthright back to the bank when you were a rancher. And out here everyone was a rancher.
Which meant failures were visible, displayed for the town to see—and judge. If she dropped the ball in San Antonio, there wouldn’t be sideways glances at the supermarket or the hardware store. Just her own guilt.
How did you do it, Dad?
“If you make a right on Birch, there’s a shortcut through town. It’ll save you six or seven minutes.” She didn’t like still knowing so much about a place she’d tried to forget, but it was in her bones, her DNA. She was, and always would be, a daughter of Deer Creek.
The driver took Maggie’s suggestion, and in minutes she was at the gate of her father’s ranch. Well, what used to be a gate to what used to be her father’s place. The wood was broken in half, not by force it seemed but over years of neglect, leaving it open for anyone to stroll on through. Her heart lurched.
She should have let the driver take his time through town so she could postpone the ache that opened up in her chest. This wasn’t what she expected.
The drive up the path leading to the ranch house used to be her favorite part of Deer Creek. Bougainvillea and cottonwoods had lined the road, giving it the feel of a Georgian paradise, not the entrance to a Texas ranch. Now, the bougainvillea was strangled by other endemic plants and the cottonwoods were choking under half-dead vines.
“Dad,” she whispered, “what happened here?”
He’d been gone for barely a week. Not near enough time to let the property fall into such disrepair, but then, she couldn’t argue with the evidence in front of her, especially as the driver pulled up beside her home. The whole place, from the gate to the driveway to the house, was in ruins.
The heat that had threatened behind her eyes built quickly, giving her no time to stop a few tears from falling. If she’d only come back sooner…
Out of the corner of her sight, a figure appeared, but through blurred vision, she couldn’t make out much detail. Who the—
She shot out of the SUV before the driver could open the door for her, drying her cheeks as she went.
“Excuse me, but this is Newman property. May I ask what you’re doing—”
The man turned to face her, and her breath stalled and the chill that had been nagging her all morning evaporated. Heat and familiarity raced over her skin.
Chiseled jawline bathed in scruff.
An interested frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Jade-green eyes belied strength and wit.
She’d spent one too many hours drowning in those eyes to forget them or the man they belonged to. The way he stood there, hands on his hips like he owned the place was familiar and yet not. One thing was for certain—he looked like he belonged there, if only there wasn’t her father’s land and he wasn’t fifteen years too late.
