Page 1 of Melt the Ice

prologue

If it weren't for my father’s proud gaze as I worked the boardroom, I would have walked away long ago. After every plan I had for my life imploded twelve years ago, I now get my kicks from making grown men cry.

Mr. Schnider pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a labored breath before looking over at me. “I’m sure you can understand that with the increase in costs since the contract was signed–”

My hand raises, stopping him mid-sentence, “Did you not account for that possibility?” I stand, walking toward the door, turning to look over my shoulder before pulling it open, “I won’t put my employees at risk due to your incompetence.”

Back at my desk, I barely have my laptop open when knuckles wrap against my door frame. I straighten when I see my father standing in the doorway. “You handled that well.” He chuckles as he sits. “I’m proud of you, Scarlett.”

I wait for my heart to flutter like it used to when he said those words, but instead, there’s nothing. A dull ache takes their place, a recognition that the pride I feel now doesn’t compare to what I’m really longing for, something new, or maybe something old.

He beams at me. Just then, my computer shows my screensaver. It’s a picture of my Nana and me pulling up the carrots we grew the last summer she was alive. I’m covered in dirt, but my smile takes over my face. That was the last time I remember being truly happy.

My body slumps in my chair, almost forgetting he’s even here. I give him a small smile, which seems to satisfy him. Not that he’d ever notice how miserable I am here, the man’s got the emotional intelligence of a rock.

“Take off early, go do something fun for your birthday. Take a trip or something, you’ve earned it.” He says as he pushes off the arms of the chair.

“Thanks, Papi,” I say as his back disappears down the hallway. I sigh, my fingers massaging my temples as I run through all the places I could go for my twenty-fifth birthday. I don’t have friends, real ones anyway. I only have those who want to ride the Arias coattails. It’s been that way all my life. The weight of being the oldest daughter of an “oil tycoon” feels more like a curse than a blessing.

My eyes roll at the thought. I get so distracted scrolling through travel websites that I don’t realize how late it’s gotten. I quickly pack up my things and head out, vowing to stop at my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant on the way home, maybe have a margarita or two.

The light in my dad’s office catches my eye, and hushed voices float from under the closed door, which is weird for a multitude of reasons. The first is that he never closes it. The second is that he’s never here past four. It’s currently six thirty.

As I get closer, I realize it’s my Godfather Damien’s voice that's mixing with my father's. I’m about to crack the door to say hi when Damien’s question stops me in my tracks. “You’ve got the ranch for three more days. How are you going to celebrate its sale?”

The ranch, what ranch? I freeze, swallowing roughly. “I’ll just be happy she won’t have a chance to take it over anymore. She could ruin everything for us if she went back.” I don’t believe it. He’s talking about my ranch.

The phantom smell of sunflowers assaults my senses, earthy with a soft citrusy note. It’s a scent few would know, but after spending so much time in that field, it’s part of me now. A smell that always feels like home.

“What are you going to do if she finds out?”

Ice clinks against a glass before it hits his desk with a hollow thunk. “As long as she doesn’t realize I forged her signature and paid off the lawyer, then I don’t care if she finds out. She’ll thank me eventually. It’s better that those things stay buried.”

The room tilts. He lied. My hand presses into the wall, my stomach clenching as heat floods the back of my neck. Shock gives way to hurt, to anger, as I realize he looked me dead in the eyes and told me it was gone, vanished, sold to the highest bidder the second Nana died.

I had dreams tied to that ranch. My whole childhood, I planned out how I’d make it better when I got out of school, how I’d love it the way Nana did. I was “Scarlett, the cow whisperer.” At least that’s what I told myself when I made up stories to get me through the part of the year that I wasn’t there. I was part of that ranch, but even more, the ranch was part of me. Well, it used to be anyway.

Damien hums, “She’s going to hate you, Bash. You know how much that place meant to her.” He chuckles, his footsteps growing softer as he moves farther from the door.

“She’s my puppet.” My dad says with confidence. “She’d do whatever I asked her to. Maybe that’s her downfall. It’ll all come to light one day. She’ll hate me for the rest of her life. And I don’t care, as soon as her birthday passes, and the guy on the other end signs the deed, there’s nothing she can do about it.”

If he wants a puppet, I’ll show him what it’s like when I pull the strings.

1

scarlett

Two days. I have two days to stop the sale of Little Bird Ranch. My hands clench the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white as I think about what I could have lost, what I would have lost if I didn’t overhear that conversation.

The drive down I-75 is long, straight, and boring as hell. Mile after mile of flat, heat-glistening asphalt is about enough to make you want to gouge your eyes out. My lungs burn with how loud I’m singing, as if the louder I am, the quieter the memory of the last time I rode shotgun with Nana will be. The thought has my jaw clenching for a beat as I try to keep the tears away.

I know my father has the ability to brush things under the carpet. I’ve seen him do it time and time again. But I never thought he’d use it on me. I wonder how much he paid to keep this from me. I know for damn sure, his name is nowhere on the deed. Nana was too much of a worst-case-scenario planner for that.

Which makes me wonder: why wasn’t I? Why did I not question him? Why didn’t I fight? I’d like to think it’s because I trusted my father, but truth be told, I think it’s because talking about the ranch got me ignored. Talking about the oil business got me acknowledgement, and with Nana gone, all I wanted was good ole Daddy Dearest’s approval.

My heart is begging me to put the pedal to the metal and get there as fast as I can. Yet somewhere in the depths of my soul, I have to wonder if he was right. Was I really made for the type of life a ranch would provide? What if the version of me who belonged there no longer exists?

The wooden fences on the side of the highway pull me to a memory I’d long forgotten. Nana’s voice soon replaces my thoughts. Soft and warm, like it always was.