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The sound of their boots die away. Slowly, I take my heels off and gather up the papers. My knee burns as I limp down the cold sidewalk to the corner where I parked Clint’s old truck. I shift inside and push the seat back so I can stretch my leg out and inspect the damage.
It’s not bleeding as badly as I thought. I lick my finger and dab the blood. The little shock of pain makes my eyes well up with more tears. I’m frustrated, angry enough I want to scream andpunch the seat beside me. But sad enough that all I’ll actually do is go home and cry into my pillow.
I take a deep breath and brush my hair back. It's a quiet day in the city, but inside I’m churning with a million different emotions. It’s been seven months since Clint died on Sovereign Mountain.
Seven months since Jay Reed walked into my house and told me that Garrison Ranch is mine.
All of it. The land, the horses, the cattle, the money in Clint’s bank account.
Anyone with half a brain would have turned around and sold all of it back to the Garrison brothers. But all I could think about was how much I fucking hated their entire family and I was determined to never let it fall into their hands again.
They took my farm once before. They’d treated me like a servant in my own home.
Never again.
I shift the truck into gear and pull out onto main street. The papers from the judge sit beside me in the seat. They should be the nail in the coffin of the war between myself and the Garrison brothers, but I have a feeling this is just the beginning.
A shudder moves down my spine. It’s getting dark and I hate driving alone on the back roads. Clint and I had a short and miserable marriage, but at least he’d kept me safe in this remote wilderness.
It feels like it takes an age to get back to the Garrison Ranch. I pull slowly up the drive and jump out, taking my farm boots from the bed of the truck. The floodlights from the barn illuminate my path as I head to check on the horses.
They're all fast asleep. I breathe in the sweet hay as I move silently down the center of the dark barn. I do a slow loop and lock the barn up, pausing a moment to lift my head and look up at the sky overhead.
I was born under this sky. Under the heavy net of diamond stars with the mountains standing like guardians around me. I’ll probably die here.
What happens between now and then is a mystery.
Eyes burning from exhaustion, I trudge across the driveway and climb the front porch steps. My keys slip through my fingers and clatter on the floorboards. I’m grumbling under my breath as I pick them up, but my entire body freezes when I realize there’s something taped to my door.
A black envelope with a silver monogram. I glance over my shoulder.
The night is chilly and empty.
Quickly, I yank the envelope down, unlock the door, and burst into the warm kitchen. Thankfully, I left the heat running from the night before. We’re still in the time of year when it’s balmy during the middle of the day, but the night has a bite to it.
I kick off my boots and pad barefoot to the kitchen table and sink down. The envelope is made of thick, expensive paper. I turn it over and stare at the silver letters on it.
SMR.
SMR?
It hits me all at once and I feel stupid. Sovereign Mountain Ranch. Of course, I’ve seen those letters before. On that night seven months ago—when Gerard Sovereign sat in my husband’s office. My stomach flutters and I’m not sure why.
Maybe because the memory of his bright eyes is burned into my brain. Maybe because he’d looked me dead in the face and said, “Mrs. Garrison, I could bend you over this desk and fuck you with your husband watching and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word.”
Heat curls in my lower belly. I clear my throat and press the back of my fingers to my cheek. I’m glad to be alone, just as I was when…I’ve thought about him before. Because, as ashamed as Iam, once Clint was gone, and I had time to spend on my back upstairs with my rose vibrator, the image that never failed to get me off was those words falling from his lips.
And the realization that he meant it.
And in my fantasy…I let him.
I rip the envelope open and a card falls out. One side is black with SMR in gunmetal gray and the other is white scrawled with masculine handwriting in black ink.
Miss Garrison,
I’m extending an invitation to talk with you now that you are the owner of Garrison Ranch. Please join me for a business dinner on Wednesday, the 14th of September, at six-thirty.
I will see you then.
