Page 3 of Melt the Ice

He mutters a curse as he walks around to the fridge, pulling out two water bottles and sliding one to me.

“You live here?” I ask.

He shakes his head as he brings the bottle to his lips. “No, but we keep it stocked in case we need something.” It makes sense. Nana always had safety and care stations around the ranch. But it’d make sense to put them inside, get out of the heat for a bit.

“Am I too late?” I ask, my voice quivering.

The bottle crinkles under his grip, making my eyes jump to his. “This place would have always been yours. Your Nana was no dummy.” He taps his knuckles against the counter. “I’ll get you the key, let everyone know there’s someone here now so it’s no longer free rein.”

His boots clack against the wood floor, but he freezes halfway to the door, turning to look at me over his shoulder. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, but don’t take it out on him. He always tried to do right by you.”

“Who?” I ask, but he’s already gone. He couldn’t be talking about my father, right? It’d be just my luck that I’d come out here and he’d have strings to pull here, too.

I hop off the barstool, long brown curls fall from my bun, sticking to the light sheen of sweat coating my skin. My fingers run lightly down the wall as I walk toward Nana’s old room. Pushing the door open, my eyes widen as I take in its facelift. A tall, steepled ceiling pulls my eyes straight to the sliding glass door. In the corner, I can see the peak of the stables.

Dropping my bag to the floor, my eyes snag on a picture, one that has every available bit of oxygen snuffed clear out of my lungs. My hand shakes as I reach for the frame. I can’t be more than nine here, which would make him eleven. We’re standing on either side of Moolan, both with huge smiles on our faces. The only difference is that I’m looking at the camera, and he’s looking at me.

I run my finger over his chubby face, a crack tearing through my heart as I breathe his name for the first time in more than a decade. “Lucas.”

As if this picture were a button on a remote, his nervous, uneven laugh floats through my mind. I can see his face, the way his cheeks would turn pink, and he’d hide his mouth behind his hand, embarrassed by some kid who told him he looked ugly when he laughed because he was missing teeth.

I softly place the frame down, slide off my shoes, and flop backward on the bed. I try my hardest to follow a single fan blade around, but lose it after two or three rotations.

Part of me doesn’t believe I’m actually here. It’s surreal for everything to be so different, yet the feeling I get here is the same as I remember. So much of who I am, well, who I wanted to be was built, molded, and refined in this house.

I hope Nana's proud of me, coming out here like some angry super villain, ready to slay everyone who dares get in the way of me and Little Bird Ranch.

There are a lot of unknowns, ones that won't get answered today, but Miller said I wasn’t too late, and I trust that man with my life. So for tonight, I’ll relax as much as I can.

I jerk upright at the sound of a door clicking shut. I must have dozed off, one look at the clock confirms my “doze” was a full blown nap because it’s now after five in the afternoon. How my legs aren’t asleep from hanging off the bed this whole time, I don’t know. My stomach picks that moment to rumble, and I push my self off the bed letting myself have one more parting glance at the picture sitting at my bedside. Maybe in a different life.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I see an envelope sitting on the counter. I pick it up, feeling the key through the smooth, tan paper. A note sits inside, “This place has always been yours, Lettie. But a lot has changed. We’ve done what we could to keep this place running. I called the lawyer, and he was shocked to find you here claiming ownership. Expect a call from your father. Here's the info for the old ranch Lawyer your Nana used. Call him before you talk to anyone. Welcome home, Little Bird.”

There’s an email under the phone number, so I type in the address.

As if he had a freaking direct line to my thoughts, my phone buzzes on the counter. “Papi” flashes on the screen, I immediately silence it and walk further into the kitchen. The protein powder I always used to beg Nana for is stocked, sitting right next to my favorite fruity electrolyte packs. Some things may have changed, others clearly have not.

Putting some strawberries, milk, and protein into the blender, I braid my hair over my shoulder, watching the trees sway through the window. The light of the sun illuminates the corral where I learned to ride horses all those years ago.

Maybe I’ll ask Miller if Stella is still around. She was Nana’s last rescue, at least she was the last time I was here.

Again, my phone lights up, and when I don’t answer, the texts start coming in.

Papi: Where are you?

Not today, Satan.

Papi: Get home. NOW Scarlett.

Screw off, old man.

Papi: You don’t know what you’ve just done.

Scarlett: I did something for myself for once in my life. Screw you for hiding this from me.

Papi: You will come home now, forget all about that decrepit ranch, and do what you're told.

Scarlett: No.