“Well, you’re sure getting it,” I mutter to myself. “And then some.”
At the edge of the property, the terrain changes. What was dry a few yards behind me is now well watered. Even lush.
It’s like I rode from an arid desert climate zone to a lush tropical one by pedaling a few extra feet. Something to learn about as a new ranch co-owner, I decide.
The trail disappears. All I see are knee-high green plants. If I’d paid attention in the one botany class I took in college, I might have a chance at identifying what’s here, but it was an easy A without paying attention, and now I know nothing.
I can’t ride farther, so I tip the bike onto its side and leave it behind. It’s easier to tromp through the plants on foot, and I still want to get to the edge of the property, which seems to be just up ahead where a berm juts up.
Checking the soles of my pumps, I decide they’re as good as anything for scrambling up a little hill, so I proceed through the plants, one shoe or the other getting stuck periodically in mud. Scrambling a bit and holding my arms out for balance, I make my way up the rise. At the top, I suck in a breath. Just beyond where I’m standing is the most gorgeous spread of land I’ve ever seen.
The trees, all in bloom with lemons and oranges, wind in a path that shades acre after acre of crop gardens, all of them teeming with hearty green plants. Tiny bits of red punctuaterows of green, strawberries for as far as the eye can see. Large swaths of flowers with yellows, whites, and purples bouncing in the sun.
I see greenhouses and compost heaps, corn growing in rows, miles of greenery, and curving swirls that remind me of the Palace of Versailles. The land is the very definition of “manicured,” and I wonder if there’s any chance that our property could look half as nice with a little TLC. Or a lot. Maybe there’s a world in which I convince this neighbor to drop the lawsuitandoffer some gardening tips. A girl can dream.
I really should be looking where I’m stepping. There are crags and clumps of plants and loose rocks underfoot as I scramble along the top of the dirt hill, which is covered in soft shrubs. Branches stick out at odd angles, and I find myself ducking and dodging to avoid jagged plants that look like spiky stars growing waist high.
Maybe I should have given more thought to climbing this hill in the wrong shoes, but in my defense, I hadn’t planned on tromping through plants when I got on the bike.
I hear a rustle in the bushes a couple of feet away and flinch, expecting a cute squirrel to pop its head out and reassure me that I’m not as out of touch with nature as I feel. But it turns out to be a bug so large it might as well be a bird.
I jump back, and my foot twists in a hole. I lurch forward, grabbing at anything to steady myself, and ending up with a fistful of spiky shards that slice into my palm as I yelp.
Still unable to steady myself, I windmill my arms, but there’s nothing to grab, and I feel my feet sliding forward. Struggling to gain purchase, I trip over a bushy branch, which sends me flailing down the embankment on the other side of the berm.
My hands scrape against more prickly plants, and every part of me lands hard on the dirt as I cartwheel down the hill, kicking up dust and leaves as I go.
When I finally stop moving, my hand goes to my belly in a flash of panic. I want to believe it’s fine this early on, but what do I know? As my heart throttles my chest, I remind myself that I didn’t land on my stomach. My ankle and scraped-up hands and forearms took the brunt of my fall. Apparently, the human body is designed to protect a baby even in moments like this.
My ankle throbs, and my skin stings. Not to mention the sharp electric zing I felt when I slid down the embankment into some sort of invisible demon fence trying to kill me.
The only saving grace is that no one was here to see my ignominious face-plant.
Then again, there’s no one here to help me get back up.
CHAPTER 12
Fitz
I can’t decidewhether to curse Chad or thank him for bringing the lack of cameras to my attention. When the alarm on my phone tells me someone has breached the invisible fence dividing my land from the atrocity next door, I wish I had camera footage to review.
Then I could make a quick decision about whether to call Chad, involve the police, or reset the fence and go back to work.
It’s probably nothing. Probably a ballsy animal who figured a little electric shock was worth grazing on a mile of ripe strawberries. I have the current dialed up to the maximum, so any medium-sized animal would feel the shock and run fast in the other direction. And it’s not like horses or cows are roaming around on the backside of my land where it meets the neglectful neighbor’s place.
Still, I hop in my truck with a can of bear spray and a walkie-talkie in case I need to get in touch with one of the guys working in the fields.
It only takes five minutes to reach the property, and I do a quick drive-by to check for any signs of an intruder on the side facing the road. Nothing looks amiss, so I park by the barn and walk my horse out of the paddock.
“Hey, Dolly girl, you want to take a little wander around?” I give her flank a pat, and her nostrils flare in anticipation of getting outside.
Grabbing a blanket off a hook, I saddle Dolly up, and she stomps her right forefoot impatiently like she always does. “Give me a sec,” I tell her, sliding the reins over her neck and pulling myself onto her back.
We ride on the trail that follows the perimeter of the property and round the bend toward the back side, which is separated from the neighbor’s land by a high berm and the invisible fence. I know the approximate area where the alarm was triggered, but I don’t see any stray animals wandering around, so maybe it was a false alarm.
But when I do catch sight of the culprit, I wish to God I had those cameras because I really would love to see what happened before I got here.
Sitting on her rear end is Tessa, scrolling on her phone and looking just as beautiful but a lot more pissed off than she did the night we met. My heart hammers inside my rib cage.
