Page 16 of Branded Betrayal

“Can’t.” He twists away from me and heads to the flatbed of his truck. “I just came to drop off some tools for you. Just wait for Mikey.”

I eye the box he carries over to the barn. Tools I’ll no doubt need to learn how to use, sooner rather than later if the past few days are any indication. “Nash, can we not do this today? I’m trying. Really trying.”

He turns to look at me. I shift in my boots. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel the shards of ice hit me from a few feet away. “You wouldn’t have to try so hard if you’d bothered to learn any of this when you still lived here.”

I swallow hard. “That’s not fair. I know I wasn’t here. I know you’re angry. But can you . . . maybe guide me? Even a little?”

He looks away, jaw ticking. And for a split second, I think he might say yes.

But then he shakes his head, and my hopes deflate like a stabbed helium balloon. “You’re on your own, Savvie. I’ve carried this place long enough.”

“Okay, but before you go, can you just show me real quick how to—?”

“Savannah.” He pulls off his sunglasses. “I got a job that I’m late for. You wanna run this ranch? You wanna make it operational? Then use that big business brain of yours to figure it out.”

I recoil like he just poked me with a cattle brand. “I’m trying to figure it out. That’s why I’m asking.”

“No.” He walks to the back of his truck and slams the bed closed. “You’re asking me to do it for you. There’s a difference.”

“That’s not fair. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m asking for guidance.”

He laughs, but there’s not even a shred of humor in it. “You wanna talk about fair? I’ve spent years taking care of this place. Then you show up after six damn years and take over everything. You think I deserved to be shafted like that? By the woman I did everything for?”

His tone is like an icy hand clenching my heart. “Nash—”

“You wanna turn this place around? Great. But don’t expect me to hold your hand through it. I had to figure shit out on my own. So can you.”

“We’re going to lose the ranch if you don’t help me,” I blurt out in a panic, the words I’ve been trying to bury somehow managing to slip out.

He stops, his hand on the door handle. He slowly turns back to look at me. “Maybe we will. Maybe Aunt Marg should’ve thought about that before she left it to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing.”

He sticks his sunglasses back on, gets into the truck, and backs away from the barn.

I stand there, throat burning, watching the dust kicked up by his tires settle. He’s angry. Hurting. Bitter. Probably drowning just like me.

But knowing that doesn’t make the ache any easier. It doesn’t ease the guilt or the feeling of abandonment.

Probably the same kind of abandonment he felt when I left him six years earlier.

I turn back to the cattle.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s try this again.”

They still won’t move.

I try everything. Wave my arms, yell, sing. Freaking anything I can think of. But they just stand there, chewing the grass, looking at me like I’m the idiot.

Which I clearly am.

I take in a few deep breaths. I need to calm the hell down. Even I know if you freak out around animals, you disrupt their sense of peace.

I try again, moving slowly around the perimeter, walking behind them and guiding them gently.

A squeal threatens to escape when one cow moves. Then another until they’re all walking toward the gate.

Holy shit. I did it. And all on my own.

I fist-bump the air because it won’t shatter the silence like the loud whoop I really want to let out.