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“Who’s there?” I call out as a figure appears, his silhouette blocked by the bright spring sunlight behind him. I can make out his broad physique but not his face, his presence alarming me.
“It’s Connor.”
I set the brush down and stroke the horse’s snout, calming her instantly before turning to address my neighbor, who I’ve known since childhood. Dusting my hands against the butt of my already dirty jeans, I stride toward him, surprised to see him on my property. Connor tends to keep to his bustling ranch in the mornings, overseeing his horses and cattle like I do mine.
“Is it Katherine?” I ask, immediately thinking of no other reason for his visit.
Connor’s face comes fully into view now, the glow of sunlight falling away as he shakes his head.
“No. She’s fine. She’s cooking up a storm for that girl, though. I’ve never seen so much food. My stomach’s still growling at what I left behind.”
I grunt softly but make no comment. Even so, Connor picks up on it immediately.
“What? You don’t like her? Rose?” he demands.
“I don’t know the first thing about her,” I answer honestly. “And I don’t care to, either. What are you doing here, Connor?”
I’m eager to shift the subject from Katherine Winterbourne’s granddaughter. The truth is, the younger Winterbourne had popped into my mind more times than I’d like to admit over the past twenty-four hours. Her succulent scent of vanilla and citrus lingers in my nose, making it hard to concentrate on other matters. The scent kept me up well into the night, thinking things I had absolutely no business thinking.
Why does she have to be so beautiful?
Connor reaches into his back pocket and thrusts something at me.
Reluctantly, I reach for it, although I suspect what it is. “What’s this?”
“Read it,” he instructs.
Avoiding his eyes, I take the page out of the envelope. I’ve seen my fair share of correspondences like this one over the past few months myself. I don’t want to entertain the words on the page.
“Why are you showing me this?” I demand, handing it back to him after confirming who sent it. They’re all basically the same letter.
“Did you get one like this?”
“Yep. A bunch.” I turn back to my horses. “So what?”
“So what? They’re getting bolder and more annoying, that’s what. We need to put an end to this.”
I shrug indifferently, even though the conversation is giving me a knot in my gut. Like Connor, I find the letters unsettling. But realistically, these bigwigs can’t do anything except continue to write letters.
Bullies. They’re bullies. I know about bullies. My father being the biggest one of all.
I don’t say this aloud, however.
“So what? We just let them continue to harass us?” Connor is next to me now, invading my personal space.
I whip around, my eyes narrow, and he steps back, sensing my annoyance.
“What would youliketo do about it, Connor?” I ask flatly. “Call in the National Guard? Kidnap their pet goldfish? Send them letters back? Give in to their demands? How do you suggest we get MVP off our collective asses?”
Connor’s eyes fix on me, hard and unyielding, a silent intensity in his gaze that speaks volumes. “This really doesn’t bother you? They think they can just do whatever they want?—”
“Were you born yesterday?” I bark. “That’s how it goes. The big guys threaten the little guys in hopes that they get their way. If we don’t engage, they’ll get bored and move on. We just have to wait it out. Eventually, they’ll find someone else to harass.”
“But it’s been months!” Connor throws up his hands in exasperation, still clutching the letter. “I’m sick of this.”
“It might take years,” I agree. “We have to wait them out. It’s our only option.”
He shakes his head. “I disagree.”
