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My gut clenches, breathing speeds up, head feeling fuzzy. It shouldn’t matter. Sully and I are nothing. We like to fuck. Hell, I don’t even let him know I like him, but seeing him with her, in this moment, feels like a betrayal.
Logically, I know it’s not, but it’s the wake-up call I need. If it bothers me now, what’s going to happen if I keep this going? If I keep fucking him and laughing with him, then hating myself for it afterward.
Sully will always come out on top, and just like everyone else in my family, I’ll always be alone.
I might as well cut my losses before it’s too late.
Sunday morning I call Sully’s dad, tell him about my mom and quit my job. Sully tries to call me, but I don’t answer, and when he comes to my house, I don’t open the door.
Mom is being cremated. It’s cheaper, and it’s what she wanted anyway. I spend the time between that and when I get her ashes, packing up the rental we’ve lived in for years, keeping what I want and getting rid of the rest. As soon as everything is done, I’m in my truck and leaving Laurel Springs for good, knowing I’ll never see this place again, and pretending I don’t feel the weight in my gut as I go.
Chapter 1
Bishop
Eleven years later
“You ready?” I ask Midnight as I saddle him. His snort sounds like a smirk, and I pat the white stripe on his neck affectionately. He’s getting up there for a horse, but just like the rest of us, enjoys feeling useful. He’s been with me through thick and thin, works as hard as the rest of us, sometimes riding for long hours with scarcely a rest or water break.
The ranch hands accompanying me are waiting near the paddock, seemingly ready for the next grueling forty-eight hours. We’ve been through this before—the outbreak of a cattle virus, this time Q fever, which was detected after two calves were stillborn. To slow the spread, we’re leaving the pregnant cows behind and moving the rest of the herd to greener pastures just beyond the gorge. We’ll need to pass through the valley, which will take the better part of the day, but they’ll like their new surroundings because the brush is greener.
“Bishop,” Dad calls to me just as I’m about to mount Midnight outside the barn. “You be careful out there.”
And he doesn’t just mean from the elements. It’s possible Q fever can spread to humans too if we don’t take precautions while handling the herd. Just part of ranch life.
“Always.” I adjust the scabbard holding my rifle near Midnight’s flank. The ranch hands also carry shotguns for protection, especially on longer journeys. You never know if you’ll run into trouble with snakes, wolves, or thieves. The cattle industry is lucrative, our family has certainly done well for generations, and a handful of smaller ranches covet what we have, no two ways about it. Stealing our main source of income is not out of the question, despite our cattle being branded and the entire county knowing full well most of the black angus livestock belongs to us.
Dad will be staying to meet the vet who will check the pregnant cows to be sure the fetuses are still thriving. I can see the worry lines around his eyes. He’s always concerned about the cattle and horses, but in a time like this, his stress level is through the roof. The cost of any more stillborn calves will no doubt be keenly felt.
Add in being short-staffed again, and the tension around here grows so thick, we can cut it with a knife. A break from the ranch will be a welcome change. I can see it on the employees’ faces too as they wait for me to get moving.
Ranch life is never easy, and as the world modernizes, it’s harder to find staff who still want to work the land. But it’s either in your blood or it isn’t. The environmentalists picketing in town and sometimes outside Sullivan Ranch obviously don’t help, and some employees have gotten gun-shy about our way of life despite it being important to the state of Colorado.
I mount Midnight, and we canter over to the ranch hands, a couple on ATVs, the rest on horseback, while Dad follows beside us to greet them. He gives last-minute instructions because he can’t help himself, even though I’m in charge.
My parents are in their sixties, which isn’t old by today’s standards, but I know Mom dreams of them retiring and handing over the reins to their only child. It wasn’t always that way, but my older sister, Faith, died after a fall from a mare when she was eight. It’s the reason Mom still won’t get on a horse unless she needs to, though I can’t be sure about that, just a good guess. It’s as if she holds a grudge against the entire species because one took her child from her. Since then, she’s been in charge of brokering the cattle deals and spends most of her time at her desk or on the phone. Dad buries his grief in his work, just like me. Being on a horse actually makes me feel closer to Faith, though I was only five when the accident happened and don’t remember much about that day, except all the sadness.
Speaking of my mother, she must’ve spotted us out the kitchen window because she rushes out of the house to add something extra to my food satchel, no doubt some of our favorite sugar cookies or maybe chocolate chip this time. It’s her way of working out her own worries about a trip like this.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” Wade replies with a wink, knowing the treats will be a sweet ending to a long ride.
“See you in a couple of days.” Dad pats Midnight’s muzzle. “I’ll make sure to place an ad in the newspaper asking for ranch hands and a cook.”
That only gets me thinking about Mrs. Dixon, our last amazing cook who passed away suddenly more than a decade ago. We haven’t had anyone stick around long since then or make tasty meals like she did. And her son…God, would I ever not think of Porter or what we shared so long ago? I thought of him even when Aimee and I were married. Maybe that’s why it had only lasted two years. Just wasn’t meant to be because Porter had ruined me in more ways than one.
“The newspaper? Does anyone read those anymore?” I tease. “I told you nowadays people look for jobs online.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mother said the same.” Mom winks when I glance at her. “If there’s no luck, we’ll try it your way.”
I turn toward the mountain, and the others follow. I prefer rounding up the cattle on horseback, and plenty of the others do as well. That’s the one overlap I have with my dad regarding tradition. ATVs might be more efficient in certain scenarios, but nothing beats human or animal instinct.
After trotting for a spell, I lead them in a gallop as we cross the field and surround the cattle we’ll be driving up the foothills and toward the gorge. With the wind whipping against my cheeks, I get that feeling in my stomach that can’t compare to any other when it comes to working the land. Even after I inherit this ranch, I don’t think I can stop being out here. I have that in common with Dad too. No way he can’t have his hand in every aspect of the business on a daily basis. It somehow grounds us, makes us feel part of the earth.
“Come on, boy!” I press my heel against Midnight’s flank, and he ups the pace and leads the way, urging the cattle toward the far end of the pasture. Our two border collies are there as well, helping contain the herd and watching for livestock strays. They’ll stay the night with us. It’s their way of life too.
As we head toward a thicket of trees at the base of the mountain, my gaze naturally tilts toward where one of the many streams on the property lies. The stream. The one I never returned to since Porter left town so suddenly, I’d practically gotten whiplash. And my heart broken. We wouldn’t have worked, I’d told myself repeatedly over the years. It would’ve ended soon enough. But I crave him like no other. His company, his laugh, his quiet groans. I wanted so badly to knock the chip off his shoulder. But I never got the chance.
Our families didn’t associate because of a long-ago dispute between our great-grandfathers, who used to be friends and business associates. But when Porter’s dad died, out of desperation, his mom applied for a position as our cook. My parents encouraged it and offered her the job, they’d told me, hoping it would help soften the grudge his family held against ours.
