And inheriting enough land in Colorado to make me a millionaire fifty times over or more meant I could change so much for so many.
“And what about the whole other twenty-five percent the foreman owns now? What if he doesn’t agree to sell?”
“Why wouldn’t he agree? It’s an instant payout. Anyone with sense would take the money and walk.”
There was a beat of silence, then Dalton shifted gears. “Talking of walking, I met Hunter last night at Eddie’s, and I had to hear it fromhimthat you two broke up.”
The ex.
I grimaced. It hadn’t been some great love affair—just a way to get sex without effort or expectations. That was the beginning and the end of it.
“We’d have had to be dating to break up,” I said. “He wanted me to be all small and cute and let him be the big alpha man. It worked until it didn’t.” At five-nine, yes, I was short, and yes, people said my blond curls and my blue eyes leaned toward cute, verging on twinky, but fuck if I wanted to be babied and managed as much as Hunter had wanted.
“Would have been nice to hear it from my best friend,” Dalton teased.
Guilt flickered. It hadn’t crossed my mind that he’d care—I wasn’t used to sharing my life with anyone, Dalton included.
“Sorry,” I said.
Dalton snorted. “No, you’re not.”
“I am,” I argued.
“You’re sorry you got caught; not sorry you didn’t tell me.”
I huffed. “That’s unfair.”
“It’s accurate,” he said mildly. “You compartmentalize. I exist in one box. Your sex life exists in another. The boxes do not touch.”
“That’s not true.”
“Lucas, I found out about your breakup from the man you were sleeping with. I feel that earns me at least a little indignation.”
I grimaced. “When you put it like that, it sounds bad.”
“Itisbad,” Dalton said, then softened it with a grin I could hear in his voice. “But it’s also very you.”
I stared out at the fence line stretching into the distance, the land vast enough to swallow a person whole, and the ranch sign again, at the fresh paint, then ahead, down the long drive disappearing into the property. I couldn’t even see outbuildings, a house, or people. It was desolate.
“I can do this,” I said, despite the spike of something tight and unfamiliar in my chest. Fear wasn’t something I allowed, but somehow, there it was.
“Yes, you can,” Dalton said, “and I’ll come out and visit if I get the PTO approved with the shit that’s hitting the fan, okay?”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I want regular updates, okay?”
“Sure.” I ended the call before he could say anything else, then sat there for another second, my heart beating harder than it should’ve. Everything felt lonelier as soon as the call ended, which was freaking ridiculous.
I put the phone face down on the seat and eased the car forward, turning off the road and onto the ranch drive. The surface changed—packed dirt giving way to ruts and shallow holes that rattled the suspension and sent a jolt straight up my spine. The rental car bounced and complained, every uneven patch shaking my back hard enough I clenched my teeth and slowed, as if that would help.
The road curved and dipped with the terrain, following the river, and after a few minutes, the ranch came into view.The main house sat back from the track, two stories, weathered timber, broad and square. A wraparound porch ran along the front and one side, posts evenly spaced, boards worn smooth by use. It faced the working yard rather than the road. Off to one side stood the barns—long, low buildings with wide doors and practical roofs, spaced to allow vehicle access and movement of stock. Sheds and utility structures sat farther out, positioned for storage and repairs. Fencing cut the land into defined sections, with pens closest to the buildings and larger pastures beyond.
Even from a distance, this was obviously a place where people lived and worked, and as I rolled to a stop and cut the engine again, the reality of selling this pressed down on me harder than the cold ever had. What was I doing out here? I’d planned for resistance. I hadn’t planned for this sudden panic and regret that I had to do this.
I stayed in the car a moment longer, hands resting on my thighs. One more breath. Then another. As if delaying it by seconds might make this easier. Leaving wasn’t an option, so I forced myself to move, to commit, and to get these six months over with. This was temporary. I would treat the ranch like a contract with an end date, and the other owner, this Jesse Knox, would be nothing more than an obstacle I’d learn to work around. I sat straighter when there was a bang somewhere to my left, then took a last second to get my head straight.
Someone stepped out of a large barn, bundled against the cold in a heavy jacket, shoulders broad beneath the fabric. He wore a Stetson pulled low, dark jeans, and worn boots, and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he stared inmy direction. I knew there were other staff who kept the place running alongside Jesse, but I couldn’t tell which category this man fell into from here. His expression was dark and furious as he strode toward me, long steps eating up the distance. I noted it clinically—men had looked at me like that before, and I was still standing.
