Page 81 of York

Was I horrified at their manner of death? Sure. I wished everyone could go at night, in their sleep, none the wiser that it was happening. But that wasn’t what they’d gotten, and my heart hurt for the fear they must have felt in those final moments.

As for my grandfather, my feelings were even more complicated. He was a monster in many ways, yes. We argued constantly. He beat me often. But he was the only consistent adult figure in my life. He might not have been warm and fluffy about it, but he was there to take me to doctor’s appointments or to get a cast at the hospital. Did he lecture me about climbing things I shouldn’t? Sure. But he was there. The only person who was. He taught me to ride a bike, ride a horse, shoot a gun.

There was a lot of bad.

But it hadn’t all been bad.

It took me years away from home to put it into perspective. There was still a lot of anger and pain at some aspects of my childhood, but there had been some good moments.

And any chance to try to sit down with my grandfather and have a talk about that, introduce him to his great-granddaughter—that was all gone.

Worse yet, he’d been sick. For a man as strong and prideful as he was, I knew that couldn’t have been easy. And I hadn’t been there. There was some regret about that too.

So all that was spinning around in my mind until I felt sick enough to have to get out of bed and leave the room, go seek some fresh air.

I hadn’t even been letting myself think about the money. If there even was any money coming to me. It was too risky to hope.

Growing up, my grandfather claimed he’d been hard on me because I was his legacy, because I was who had to take over the ranch and keep it successful for the next generation, and the one after that. So most of my life, I’d lived with some strange comfort knowing something would come to me one day. Even if I chose to sell the ranch for the money to start my new life.

When I’d left home, I’d assumed that was all over. That he had given the inheritance to my parents, or simply been a vindictive prick and left it to no one at all. Certainly not the granddaughter who’d never been what he wanted me to be.

So there was still a chance I was getting nothing but my childhood belongings or something like that.

Still.

It would be a full-circle moment to go home, to see the ranch one last time, to show it to Denali.

Then head back to Golden Glades where, I hoped, we could figure out this stalking thing and be done with it once and for all.

I hadn’t been able to hold myself back from texting Amanda one last time before giving my phone to York to destroy.

How fucking dare you put my daughter’s life at risk?

That was all I needed to say.

The only message that mattered to get across.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to text her at all, but I needed her to know I knew. I wanted the guilt to eat her alive. Because I’d been so, so close to death, to leaving my daughter without her mother.

If this information had come to me about her just a week or so ago, I would have been curled in a ball, inconsolable. Aside from my daughter, Amanda was all I had.

Now, though, that wasn’t the case.

We’d only been in the clubhouse for about a week, but I’d already formed such deep bonds with the people there. Eddie, because of his love and patience with my daughter. The other wives and moms for their advice, their backup, their steady friendship—even though it was new. And even some of the guys, who I found myself hanging out with when Denny was occupied.

That wasn’t even mentioning York. Who had come to mean a lot more to me than was probably normal or healthy. But I found myself looking for him, moving closer to him, my spirit lifting each time I heard him laugh or interact with our daughter.

It was like there was something buried in me that tugged me closer.

We hadn’t really been alone together since the last time we had sex. Which was maybe good. I felt way too exposed, raw, and emotional about the whole thing. I needed some time to get my mind and heart together.

The night air was thick, the tree frog calls and cricket trills interrupted on occasion with a deep, lonesome-sounding owl’s hoots, as I walked across the backyard.

I didn’t dare cross into the thick tree line of the woods behind the house, but I stood near it, trying to sort through the thoughts that refused to let me sleep.

“Runa.”

I jumped, gasping as I spun around to find York walking toward me. And the bastard didn’t have the decency to be wearing a shirt.