Page 5 of Melt the Ice

“I live here.”

Her jaw slackens, but she quickly schools it, crossing her arms, curling one around the opposite elbow. Her drink sits long forgotten at her feet. “Come again?”

“Gladly.” I throw her a wink.

“Does that usually work for you?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve never tried it on anyone else.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbles.

I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. It’s clear that she isn’t thrilled I’m here. Why, though, I’m not sure. I, however, don’t share the same sentiment. “Ms. Anna left me the ranchhand’s house.”

I watch as tension coils through her, her body straightening like she’s preparing for battle as she marches to the railing. “Nana left you part of the ranch?” she spits. The vitriol dripping from her takes me by surprise.

My heart plummets to my feet, and my hands flex at my sides while I try to piece together this Scarlett and the one I’ve loved since I was eleven. They’re not the same person, this isn’t her, this isn’t my Lettie. And to be honest, I’m not sure what to do with that. “Yeah,” I breathe as I slide my finger into my dad's ring that hangs from my neck, searching for something familiar to hold on to. “The back acre.”

The storm brewing in her eyes catches the light of the setting sun just right, illuminating the amber ring around her pupil. “What?” she says through gritted teeth.

I take in her features, committing as much to memory as I can in case this is all I ever get of her. “Lettie.”

“Don’t you Lettie me, Lucas.” Her hands fly through the air. “You didn’t think to tell me you lived here? That, I don’t know, the entirety of the ranch wasn’t actually mine?” She scoffs, backing away. “Typical freaking man.”

My body goes rigid. “And how exactly would you have liked me to do that?” I lace my fingers together, letting my hands dangle over the rail. “Carrier Pigeon?” Her silence amps up my annoyance, but it’s the rise of her freaking chin that does me in.

“You sure as hell didn’t give me any other options,” I seethe. My fingers lift, putting my next words in air quotes. “It’ll be more fun this way, Goldie.” I awfully imitate her younger voice. “You’ll get a letter or a call from me one day, and it’ll be the greatest surprise ever.”

I let out a mocking giggle, thinking back to all the times I ran to the mailbox, hoping for the letter that never came. I ground the heel of my hand into my chest, the part that hurts anytime I think of it. No, she doesn’t get to play the victim card. Not when it’s her who’s been silent all this time.

“You promised, Scarlett.” I pause, trying to keep myself from shattering in front of her. “You promised you’d come back.” She holds my gaze, still looking down her nose at me like I’m scum on her shoes. “Why didn’t you?”

Finally, her head drops, hands sliding into her back pockets as she says, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” I push.

She huffs, blowing a piece of hair out of her face like the question annoys her. “Because I’m not that girl anymore. She died when Nana did, Lucas,” she says, her voice breaking over my name. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”

I chuff, shaking my head at her deflection. I’ll let it go, for now. “I fixed the fence for Miller. Pony duty is part of my nightly chores. So working.”

I’d imagined this moment a million times over the past decade, but not once did it look like this. No, in my fantasy land, she ran into my arms, tears streaming down her face as she apologised for leaving me behind when she swore she never would.

Maybe there’d be a kiss or two. Heck, maybe we’d just pick up where we left off behind the house I currently live in. Her declaration of love when she was fourteen is woven into the fabric of who I am today, burned in a way I’ve never wanted to heal from.

But now, I’m questioning everything. Did I make it all up? In my desperate attempt to make someone, anyone, stay, did I put her on a pedestal? Dreamt up a future that included her, but was too blind to see that wasn’t what she actually wanted?

Anger swirls with confusion, wrapped up in hope that refuses to die where she’s concerned.

“You fixed the fence?” she says after a beat.

I take a deep breath, desperate to get rid of the tension in my chest. So I wiggle my brows, defaulting to my favorite coping mechanism, cracking jokes. “I’m very good with my hands.”

Her lips tick up at the corner. It’s small, but I caught it. “How long have you been here?” Her questions are sharp, calculated. Her new, icy demeanor fit for someone in a courtroom, not a ranch in central Florida.

My fingers anxiously drum against the wood of the railing. “Nine years.” Her face gives nothing away, so I take that as my cue to continue. “Look, I always hoped you’d come back. But if it bothers you that I’m here, I can find an apartment or something.”

My foot taps in rhythm with my fingers, uncomfortable in the silence.

“You’d just leave?” Her brows pull low over her eyes, and her head snaps back like she’d been slapped, and there’s something about the way she carries herself now that stings. Like she doesn’t think her feelings deserve to be taken into consideration, like she doesn’t believe I’d step aside for her.