Page 10 of Branded Betrayal

I giggle at the pictures of me and Nash when we were young and doing chores on the ranch. There are pictures of Aunt Marg teaching me to milk Miss Bea and Ginger, and me and Nash canning beets, our hands stained a reddish purple.

My throat tightens at the last picture of me in the album. It’s right after my high school graduation. There are suitcases packed up next to my car. It should have been a happy time. But Mom and Dad were gone, and Nash and I were broken. Aunt Marg hugs me tight, and while I’m smiling for the photo, I remember crying on the inside.

I peer at the image, at Aunt Marg’s eyes. Something sad stirs in the depths.

Maybe she knew I wasn’t just leaving for school.

Maybe she knew I was leaving forever.

I rest the album on my lap, my head tilted up toward the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I know she never held it against me. She only wanted me to be happy.

And that makes this hurt even more.

Later, I fall asleep on her bed with the television on. Aunt Marg couldn’t fall asleep without it. Always needed the background noise, day and night. I wrap the coverlet around me, the faint scent of lavender lulling me to sleep.

Thin beams of light stream in through the billowy curtains in the morning, and for a second I forget. I forget she’s gone. I forget I’m all alone here.

Then I remember. Everything. And all the regrets I buried in their very shallow graves have resurrected to torment me yet again.

I clutch the strap of my handbag as I walk down the street toward Kent Atwood’s office. Our town lawyer scheduled the will reading for two days after the funeral because of “pressing timelines.” I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but with Blaze back in town, I have no intention of staying here a second longer than necessary to get things in order with Aunt Margaret’s estate.

Cold spreads through my chest when I see Nash’s pickup truck parked out front. We could have driven together, but then again, that would have required us to speak to each other, and he hasn’t uttered more than five words to me since he tore me down the day I showed up at Red Rock.

Squaring my shoulders, I walk up the stone path toward the front door like I’m about to attend another funeral.

The caustic words he spewed back at Red Rock still cut deep. He’s bitter and angry. I get it. I walked away and left him alone to pick up the pieces of his life. He lost our parents, then Blaze, then me. I’d feel hurt and abandoned too.

I just wish I had someone . . . anyone . . . on my side.

The curious eyes of Kent’s small staff narrow at me once I step into the main office. I rub the back of my neck, a shiver slipping down my spine under the weight of their stares as I walk toward the receptionist.

“Hello, Savannah,” the girl says with a forced smile. “Kent is in the conference room.” She reaches behind her and points at a closed door. “You can go on in.”

The scents of lemon oil and old books fill my lungs. They are scents I always found comforting as a kid when I’d come here with Dad. I’d walk around the law library while he met with Kent, running a finger over the leather-bound spines of legal books tucked neatly into their respective shelves.

I twist the handle on the door and push it open.

Kent stands up from his chair and walks over to me.

“Savannah,” he says, stretching out a hand to clasp mine in a firm handshake. He’s dressed in a gray suit, his silver hair neatly combed back. “It’s been too long. I wish we were seeing each other under better circumstances.”

I nod, shifting under Nash’s cold stare. “I was just thinking about the days I’d tag along with Dad and sit in your law library.”

Kent chuckles. “You pored over legal precedents for hours and hours, to the point where we were certain you were going to follow in my footsteps and become the next town lawyer. But I guess you were just meant for bigger things.”

Nash scoffs and mutters, “Bigger things, my ass.”

A sharp pang assaults my heart. Dad had always talked about me going to law school after college. He wanted me to handle all of the contracts and legal dealings for our ranch and used to brag to all of his friends about how lucky he was to have such a smart, business-minded daughter.

I bite down hard on my lower lip. He had such high hopes for the family’s future, and all of it went up in smoke. Literally.

And ironically, my stupid fairy-tale fantasies of the future were partly to blame.

I sink into a chair across from my brother. Nash stares at the table, eyes focused on the unopened envelope in front of him. Kent takes a seat opposite us after pulling a thick file from a nearby cabinet.