There are too many questions, and I know I’ll never get real answers. Even if I asked, how would I know she was telling the truth? I wouldn’t. I’d never really know—and maybe that uncertainty is safer.
When she says what she does, I see the desperation in her eyes. I don’t know what it means—I still don’t—but she wants me to see her. And that’s the problem. I already do. I see more than I want to, and I hate it.
Everywhere I go on this ranch, even when she isn’t there, she’s still with me. I don’t want anything to do with her.
It’s hard not to, anyway.
She’s a fierce presence, and she doesn’t even try to be. She carries it with her, draws attention without asking for it. Even when I’m focused on something else, the second she’s nearby, I notice.
She pulls me in, and I resent it. I tell myself getting my frustrations out would end it, but she’s still here—still lodged under my skin, still a pain in my ass.
Today proves it. From the porch, I watch her struggle with hay bales twice her size, refusing to quit. Earlier I saw her picking horse manure without complaint. I know that smell; it clings, and it sure as hell doesn’t smell like daisies.
For a city slicker, she holds her own better than most. I don’t make it easy for her—I tell her to stay out of the way—but she does the work anyway. And I’m quite sure Hank’s been teaching her when I’m not paying attention.
I’ll need to have a word with that old man.
Still, she leaves me with more questions—especially about myself. I keep circling back to what I tell Monty after the branding. She’s changing me. I brush it off then, but now, with everything else happening, it’s impossible to ignore.
Sheischanging me, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I know there are things she wants to tell me, but she’s waiting for me to let her in. That door has been closed for a long time now.
I didn’t plan for any of this. I also know what she wants to say isn’t just about me—it’s about the ranch. I just don’t know if I have the stomach to handle whatever that is.
I don’t realize how deep I’m in my own head until a horn blares loud enough to cut through it.
The honk of a horn pulls me away as a beat-up pickup rolls up to the gate. Ah, hell. It’s Aunt May. I’d recognize that rustedhunk of junk anywhere.
The only reason she hasn’t turned it into spare parts is because my grandpa built it for her, and she’s sentimental like that.
She’s an amazing woman. She helped raise me after my parents decided the parenting life wasn’t for them.
If it weren’t for my grandparents, the ranch, and my aunt and uncle, I’d probably have ended up in serious trouble. Ranching humbled me in ways I can’t even begin to explain.
I owe my life to this place and to the family that built it.
I get up from the porch and walk to the gate, opening it so she can drive through. She stops as she lines up with me.
“Well, look at you being lazy. How unlike you,” she says.
I roll my eyes and tap the top of her truck. “Park on up.”
She laughs as she pulls into the driveway, parking near the other cars. She cuts the engine and hops out, already reaching for a covered dish. That’s another thing about Aunt May—she never shows up empty-handed.
She’s the reason I work as hard as I do around here. I have to burn off all the cobblers and pies she brings over.
“Brought you and that fine lady a cobbler,” she says, handing me the dish.
I sigh, take it, and carry it inside so she can follow me.
“Where can I find her? I’d love to meet her,” she adds, her smile brighter than the hot sun outside.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I mutter as I slide the cobbler into the fridge.
“And why ever not?”
I close the fridge and look at her. “Because the last thing I need is for you two to get close. Then she’ll never leave.”
