Falling Hard for the Billionaire Cowboy

3. HAYLEY

Chapter three

HAYLEY

A few hours earlier …

I finally manage to flag down another ride, this time from an older woman named Beatrice who is headed to the outskirts of Redstone. Once again, she is someone who knows me as Martha's daughter.

But that isn't all.

I also find myself perched in the bed of yet another pickup truck, the wind whipping through my already disheveled hair. My stomach growls, reminding me just how long it has been since I'd eaten. I know that as soon as I get home, I'll be raiding the fridge and then crashing – everything else can wait until morning.

As we drive through the already dark sky, a cool breeze brushes against my skin, raising goosebumps and sending a shiver down my spine. I look up at the sky, marveling at the breathtaking array of twinkling stars. It’s a sight I've missed during my time in the city, where smog and light pollution make it almost impossible to even see a single star. Here it feels like you can reach out and pluck the stars right out of the heavens.

"Almost there, honey!" Beatrice calls out, her voice loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine.

True to her words, we soon pull up to the familiar gates of my family's ranch.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Beatrice. I appreciate going out of your way to drive me out here." I thank her, knowing that hitchhiking a ride two times a day in the city would be impossible, not to mention dangerous.

People either think you're about to rob them, kill them, or worse. Well, not like I can blame them.

"Thank you again, ma'am," I repeat once more as I climb out of the truck bed on wobbly legs.

"You take care now, dear," she says warmly. "And make sure to hang on to your time here!" She says with a wink, before driving away.

I wave as she drives off, then turn to face the gates. With a deep breath, I push them open and step onto the property. Immediately, the scent of smoke hits my nostrils. I glance around, wondering if the incinerator is running. My parents had installed it years ago to help manage the ranch's waste, and the smell brings back a flood of memories.

As I make my way up the long driveway, each step feels like a punch to the gut – but in a good way. Nostalgia washes over me in waves as I take in the familiar sights. There's the old oak tree where I'd had my first kiss, the barn where I'd learned to ride, and the house itself, standing proud and barely changed. It’s as if time had stopped in Redstone the day I'd left for the city.

When I reach the porch, I am surprised to find it dark. My mom always turns the porch lights on by the time it’s seven, and there are also no sounds of life coming from inside. I fish my phone out of my pocket. The network bars have finally reappeared, but when I try calling my parents, there is no answer even after the fourth ring.

I frown, my mind is racing. Have they gone out of town? I'd reached out to them this morning before leaving, but when I hadn't heard back, I'd assumed they were busy with ranch work. Now, with the same thing happening again, I can't help but wonder if something is wrong.

I'm thankful that, unlike the other things I had left behind, I did have my old spare key. As I stare at the lock, I allow myself a small smile, grateful that my parents haven't changed it in the years I'd been gone. I set my suitcase down and insert the key, but as I am about to turn it, I freeze.

Grrrr.

Is that... growling?

I hold my breath, listening intently. After a few seconds of silence, I shake my head. It has to be my imagination. My mom is allergic to dogs, so we'd never had one in the house. There is no way I'd heard that.

"I can't wait to sleep," I mumble, pushing the door open.

The moment I step inside, I come face to face with a man.

No, I mean… a real, freaking man???

I am completely stunned for two very important reasons:

One: It isn't my dad.

Two: It’s the handsome man – I mean, the jerk – from the road earlier. I’m sure of it.

We both stand there, frozen in shock, staring at each other. The light from inside the house illuminates his features, and I can see him even more clearly. It’s definitely him, those silvery gray eyes are unmistakable. I feel a confusing mix of emotions – exhaustion and annoyance at finding this stranger in my home. But there's also an unwelcome flutter in my stomach at how handsome he looks up close.

My gaze drifts past him to the two large dogs sitting obediently at his heels, and then the fog of exhaustion lifts from my brain. Alarm bells begin to ring, loud and clear.

I take a step back, placing my suitcase between us as a makeshift barrier. "Who are you?" I demand, my voice shakier than I would have liked. "And what are you doing in my house?"

The man's brow furrows in confusion. "Your house? No, you've got that backwards, lady. This is my house. What are you doing here?"

"Don't call me lady," I snap. "And you're trespassing. Where are my parents? What have you done with them?"

He holds up his hands, a mix of bewilderment and amusement playing across his stupidly handsome face. "Whoa there, slow down. I haven't done anything to anyone. I live here…"

I cut him off, my patience was wearing thin. "Listen here, cowboy. This is my family's ranch. It has been for generations. And no jerks live here – especially not jerks who leave people stranded on the side of the road."

I can see his expression change, which is enough proof for me.

"Wait a minute, I didn't leave you stranded. Didn't another truck come looking for you?"

"Oh, so now you remember," I say sarcastically. "Yes, ANOTHER CAR, a kind soul who didn't look at someone in the eye and leave them stranded. What are you, some kind of squatter? Or worse?" Then a terrible thought occurs to me. "Oh no, you're not... you haven't kidnapped my parents, have you?"

The man actually has the audacity to chuckle. "Kidnapped? Lady- sorry, miss, there's been a huge misunderstanding here."

"You think?" I shoot back. "Because from where I'm standing, there's a stranger in my house with two very large dogs, and my parents are nowhere. So yeah, I'd say there's been a misunderstanding."

I grip my suitcase tighter, trying to look braver than I feel. "I should warn you, I've got a gun in here," I lie, patting the suitcase. "And I'm not afraid to use it."

The man's amused expression fades, replaced by concern. "Okay, let's all calm down here. There's no need for weapons. I promise you; I'm not a kidnapper or a squatter. My name is Austin. I bought this ranch several years ago from the Millers."

I blink, momentarily thrown off balance. "The Millers? But... that's my family. My parents would never sell the ranch. This has to be some kind of scam."

Austin—if that is even his real name—sighs and runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "Look, I understand this must be confusing, but I swear I'm telling the truth. Your parents – the Millers, right? – they sold the ranch to me. Said they were looking to retire and do some traveling."

I shake my head. "No, that's impossible. They would have told me. I just talked to them..." I trail off, suddenly realizing I can't remember the last time I'd actually spoken to my parents at length. Has it really been that long? Or did they tell me, and I've forgotten?

"When?" he presses. "When was the last time you spoke to them?"

I open my mouth to answer, then close it again. The truth is, I can't remember. Between my hectic job in the city and the gradual drift that often comes with distance, our communications had become sporadic at best. Emails here and there, the occasional text... but an actual conversation? I can't pinpoint the last time.

I hesitate, torn between my suspicions and how his words make sense. But as I look down, I see something that I had missed earlier.

Soot-covered footsteps - on the porch and inside the house.

My mind begins to race, and I remember I had smelled smoke earlier.

Looking back to this moment, I can only blame how tired my brain was. But at that moment, a cold realization washed over me—what if he had burned something to hide a truth? I had almost fallen for his handsome face and disarming smile.

"No," I say, taking a step back. "I don't believe you. This is my family's home, and there's no way my parents would have sold it without telling me. You're lying."

Austin's expression hardens, the warmth in his eyes cooling. "Miss Miller, I understand this is difficult to accept, but I assure you, I'm not lying. I have all the legal documents inside…"

"Anyone can forge documents," I cut him off. "For all I know, you’re some sort of con artist. How do you explain my parents not telling me about this supposed sale?"

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. "I can't explain your family's communication issues. That's between you and them. But I've been living here for years now, and I have every right to be here."

"Prove it," I challenge. "Call my parents right now. Let me talk to them."

Austin's jaw clenches. "I don't have their contact information. They didn't leave it when they moved out."

"How convenient," I scoff. "Some buyer you are, not even getting the previous owners' information."

"Look," Austin says, his patience clearly wearing thin, "I've tried to be understanding, but this is getting ridiculous. You can't show up at my door in the middle of the night and accuse me of being a criminal."

Now, my anger is rising. "It's not 'someone's home,' it's my home! And I'm not leaving until I get some real answers."

"You need to leave," Austin says, his voice low. "Now. You're not welcome here."

Those words sting more than I care to admit. This is my childhood home—the very place I've long dreamed of returning to. And now this stranger is telling me I'm not welcome?

"I'm not going anywhere," I declare, crossing my arms in defiance. "This is my property, and if anyone's leaving, it'll be you."

Austin's silvery grey eyes flash with anger. "That's it. I've had enough of this nonsense." He reaches for his own phone. "If you won't leave willingly, I'll have to call the police."

A spark of panic ignites in my chest, but I refuse to back down. "Go ahead," I challenge, pulling out my own phone. "I'll call them myself. We'll see who they believe – the rightful owner or the trespasser."

"Are you serious right now?" Austin sounds incredulous. "You do realize that in their eyes, you're the one trespassing? I have all the legal documentation. What do you have? A sob story about your parents not keeping you in the loop?"

His words hit me like a slap in the face, but I push aside the hurt and doubt. I can't let him see how much his statement affects me.

"We'll see about that," I say, my finger hovering over the emergency call button. "I've known the local sheriff since I was a kid. He'll know I'm telling the truth."

Austin throws his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Call them. But don't say I didn't warn you. This isn't going to end well for you."

My hand is shaking as I press the button, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. What if he is telling the truth? What if my parents actually had sold the ranch without telling me? But no, that is impossible. There has to be another explanation.

As the phone begins to ring, I lock eyes with Austin. His eyes feel like they are drawing me in for an instant. For a brief moment, I have a flicker of doubt. But then I remember all the summers spent here, all the memories this place holds. This is my home, and I am going to fight for it.

"Hello, emergency services," a calm voice answers at the other end of the line. "What's your emergency?"

I take a steadying breath, my gaze never leaving Austin's. "Yes, hello. I need to report a trespasser at 1542 Willow Creek Road. He's claiming to own my family's property."

As I speak, I see Austin shake his head in disbelief. He mouths something that looks like "You're making a big mistake," but I ignore him.

There is no reason to listen to a jerk, or is there ?