That might not be enough.
And if that’s true?
I’m ready to burn the goddamned board.
I’ll do what I have to in the name of protecting her.In the name of?—
A memory sparks then.
Something Ted said to me all those years ago.
That my father was playing a game himself between his business with the ranch, about how much land our family owned.
When I asked Ted what he meant, he shut down.
Was Ted hiding something?Was he digging into something about my father and his business?
The Bellamy land stretches farther than most people can imagine.
Hell, evenIcan’t imagine it some days, and I’m supposed to inherit a fifth of it.
Our ranch is so big that I haven’t even walked all of it.
Not even close.
Thousands of acres rolling out in every direction.Corners of this place I’ve only seen on paper maps and digital surveys.Places that feel more like myth than property.
It makes me feel small.
And I’m not a man who’s used to feeling small.
This land isn’t just dirt and grass.It remembers, it keeps secrets, and if you listen close enough, it’ll tell you things you might wish you never knew.
Dad said that to me once, before he shot me.Back then I thought he was just trying to sound wise.But the older I get, the more I understand.
This place isn’t just dirt and cattle trails.It’s legacy.Burden.Responsibility.There are herds to manage, water rights to monitor, fences to repair, leases to renegotiate.Then the stuff no one talks about—the unmarked graves from the frontier days.The abandoned hunting cabins deep in the brush.The old root cellar built into the hillside that I’m pretty sure was used for things better left unspoken.
And every time I think I’ve seen it all, some old ranch hand or neighbor will mention a canyon I didn’t know about or a spring fed by snowmelt from the north.We own land that butts up against national forest and government reserves and another country.Land people have tried to buy, dig into, even steal from.
Part of me wants to explore every last inch of it.Ride the boundaries on horseback, sleep under the stars, map out what’s real and what’s rumor.
But another part of me is afraid of what I’ll find.
Like the old barn…
The only reason Falcon and I knew about the barn is because we wandered to it once on horseback while we were looking for a place for target practice.It was decrepit and abandoned, clearly built before my father’s day.
But my grandfather, Brick Bellamy, didn’t own all of this land.Once he passed and my father inherited the ranch, he expanded it, using his trust fund from my grandmother, the Cooper Steel heiress.
Or did he start expanding it before Grandpa died?Dad was Grandpa’s right-hand man for many years, and Grandma only just passed last year.
So much I don’t know…
Secrets don’t just hide in people.They hide in places too.
And I’ve got a feeling this land has seen things—knowsthings—it’s just waiting to reveal.
Like Ted.
