Page 4 of Melt the Ice

I was raised to be obedient and quiet, the image of a perfect daughter. I played the part for so long that I almost forgot I ever wanted anything else. My father took the parts of me I loved most and turned them into weapons to keep me compliant. And I have never hated him more than I do right now.

Like fireworks on the fourth of July, my phone explodes. I turn it off and leave it on the counter as I walk toward the back door.

“Come on, Nutter.” A deep voice that I don’t recognize carries through the air, wrapping around the side of the house until it reaches me through the cracked window. “It’s time to go inside. Sleepy sleep, night night.”

I cringe at the tone he’s using, but then again, Nana used to do the same thing. She’d say, “These animals are my babies, and I’ll talk to them as such.” I let out a soft chuckle as I walk toward the back door, sipping my shake as I go.

“Listen, Butter went inside without throwing a fit today, so if you could just follow in his footsteps, I’d really like to go home sometime this century.” Nutter and Butter? Who in their right mind named these animals?

A heavy-laden sigh comes from the man. “You’re as stubborn as a mule,” he whines.

The neck of the animal hides his face, so I can’t see him fully, but he’s clearly struggling to get the poor thing to move. I wonder who’s in charge of hiring these days. I bring my drink to my lips, taking a large sip before asking, “First day on the job?”

He yelps, whipping to stand up so quickly that he pulls the reins, making the stubborn animal back up with him. I take my time drinking in the absolute man that is standing in front of me.

His hands flex as he pulls himself upright. Tight, sinewy forearms decked out in ink that beg me to trace over each design for hours. A blonde beard, neatly trimmed, sits on his perfectly chiseled face. His lips are full, lush, and currently pulled into a smirk.

Wait, why is he smirking? How long have I been staring at him? Oh God, the mortification. My eyes shoot to his, desperate to end this awkward encounter, but those eyes, it can’t be.

My drink falls from my hand when my gaze hits the scar slicing through his left eyebrow, and the world drops out from under me. Suddenly, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey, Lettie Girl.” My name spoken in his deep timbre of a voice rips through me. It’s never sounded so good coming from someone’s lips, and every carefully constructed wall I’ve built over the years threatens to collapse in an instant.

My heart remembers him before my mind can form a single coherent thought. And that’s a problem. Bad Scarlett. I’m here for a reason, and feeling things for the man in front of me is not one of them.

He clears his throat. My fingers twitch at my sides as I fight the urge to run my finger over the jagged line. To prove he’s real, that he’s here. But I don’t.

He ties the lead of the pony around the corner of my porch before laying his head on top of his hands that are resting on the middle rung. We’re close, too close. It’s abundantly clear that I am not ready for this.

I can see it in the way he looks at me, like I’m still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. But I’m not. In fact, I’m everything we both hated back then, cold and calculating, only looking out for myself and my own interests. Selfish, for lack of better words, a monster of my father’s making.

I’m not a woman who wants to be protected. I’m not the woman who wants to be kept and cared for like my mom and sister do. If I can’t make it happen myself, I don’t want it. But it’s him. My childhood partner in crime, the one I told all my secrets to, the one I shared all my dreams with. The one I loved with my whole heart. The one I left behind when I promised I wouldn’t.

This version of Scarlett needs distance, needs space, needs to be left the hell alone to figure out who she is. But still, in the small recesses of my mind, the traitorous thought that I don’t actually want any of that takes root. And that’s exactly why I need to shut this down. Right here, right now. We can’t go there, not when the risk is losing both him and the ranch. I wouldn’t survive it a second time.

* What’s wrong, my love?

* my daughter

2

lucas

One of the reasons I’m so good at hockey is that I anticipate my opponents' moves before they make them. But here, for the first time in almost twelve years, the woman I’ve been dreaming of seeing again stands before me in a white tank top and black athletic shorts. And absolutely nothing could have given me the upper hand in this situation. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Her curly hair lies braided over her shoulder, face free of makeup, and her honey brown skin glistens in the light of the setting sun. She looks different, older. A line sits between her brows, making her look more serious than I remember her being. But the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, thinking I was just some helpless ranch hand, I’d know those mischievous brown eyes anywhere.

“The polite thing to do would be to say hi back…” My eyebrow lifts, the very one she’s been laser-focused on for the last thirty seconds. Yes, I’ve been counting. We’re now at thirty-five Mississippi’s, and I’m starting to think I broke her. But then she starts to turn away.

“Hey, Goldie. Nice to see you again,” I say in my best feminine voice, the joke landing flat, even to my own ears. My smile fades as her nose wrinkles over the bridge.

Years of praying she’d come back, years of working my ass off around here to keep this place in good shape when she didn’t, and it’s her who finds me in the same spot I saw her last. Part of me wonders what she wants. Did she come back to claim the ranch, or walk away for good?

Lord knows she hasn’t had any interest in it the past decade. Which begs the question, why now? Why so close to her twenty-fifth birthday, to the deadline, and why did she never reach out like she said she would?

“I’ve missed you.” The words scrape against my throat on their way out. Her eyes narrow, and my jaw clenches to keep me from saying anything else.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, her voice the kind of calm that comes before a storm.