Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Chesney
The second Jasper Smith opened the door, I almost turned around and left.
Not because I changed my mind, per se, but because, suddenly, this became so real.
This is no longer a decision I made from afar, from the safety of my own home two hours from the town that holds all my trauma.
It’s here, it’s happening, and I’m now face-to-face with the reality of that decision.
My pulse gallops a mile a minute as the flickering porch light casts a warm glow across Jasper’s face, catching the dark stubble along his jaw and the ends of his stupid mullet.
His dark, tired eyes narrow slightly as he watches—no, studies—me with a mixture of surprise and suspicion as my words settle between us.
Finally, Jasper’s eyes leave mine, his gaze flitting to the bag hanging from my shoulder. “You drove all the way out here.”
His voice is rough and barely above a whisper.
I shift my weight, muscles tense. “Yeah.”
Another long, uncomfortable pause follows; the only thing to be heard is the old farmhouse creaking somewhere behind him and the wind stirring through the trees lining the driveway.
And just like that, I’m transported back to being sixteen and standing outside this house after dark.
The circumstances—and feelings—were different back then, but the knot in my stomach is the same.
I hate it.
I hate all of it. The memories, the pull in my chest as they flutter through my mind without permission, the way things were so much simpler back then, and knowing they’ll never be that way again.
“Well?” Jasper asks, arching a dark eyebrow.
Straight to business, then.
Probably for the best.
Exhaling slowly, I say, “I’ll do it.”
Jasper’s expression doesn’t change immediately, almost like he doesn’t trust what he heard. “What?”
“The ranch,” I force out as I gesture vaguely behind me. “Wind River. I’ll help.”
Something like relief flashes across his face, but it’s gone almost immediately. “For real?”
“I’ll help get things back in shape. Get the books straightened out.
” The words taste strange rolling off my tongue, like they belong to somebody else.
Not me. Not the guy who spent nearly two decades avoiding this place.
The guy who built an entire life hours away so he’d never have to look at the pastures behind me again.
“But at the end of the year, you’ll buy me out. ”
“So that’s it?” Jasper asks softly.
“That’s it,” I confirm. Except it isn’t, because the hardest part is still coming. The part I know he’s going to fight me on. “But I’m doing it from Honey Creek.”
His eyebrows pinch. “What? No. That’s not part of the deal.”
“Sure, it is,” I say simply, keeping my voice even.
“No, Chesney, it’s not.”
This is the only part of the deal I won’t negotiate. “I’m not staying.”
Turning my head, I look toward the darkness beyond the house. Toward Sweet Briar and all the memories that still feel like open wounds.
“Chesney…”
“No. I’ll help you get things running again, but from there.” I swallow. “And once the year is over, you buy my half.”
Jasper studies me, long enough that I feel uneasy before I add, “You’ve got the whole year to figure out financing.”
A humorless laugh escapes him. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not.” Nothing about this is easy. My chest feels tight enough to crack.
“But it’s the only way I’ll agree to this.
I handle business from there, and you buy me out in the end.
I’m not staying in town long.” I can’t. No matter how much Truett wants me to stay, I just can’t.
Not for an entire year. “Take it or leave it.”
Heaving a sigh, Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Chesney, you don’t understand,” he says slowly before stepping back inside the house to grab a folded stack of papers from a nearby table.
When he comes back, he’s already flipping through them.
“I’ve read this thing enough times to recite it from memory.
” His finger lands on a paragraph about halfway down the page.
“My grandfather was specific and very clear in his will. The only way you’re entitled to any of the money from the ranch at the end of the year is if you’re here and actively working on it. It doesn’t work if you’re not here.”
My stomach sinks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He huffs a breath. “I wish I was.”
I snatch the papers from his hands and read the entire page myself. Then I read it a second and third time for good measure because, surely, I’m missing something. Surely, Jasper’s wrong. But I’m not, and he’s not. The words stare back at me like a prison sentence. Clear as day.
Active participation. On-site operation. Failure to comply may result in forfeiture.
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss under my breath, shoving the papers into Jasper’s chest.
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction.” Jasper crosses his arms. “So, unless you plan to commute every morning from Honey Creek—which is pretty fucking stupid, if you ask me—then you’ve got no choice but to be here.”
I grit my teeth, suddenly feeling backed into a corner.
This can’t be happening. I already talked myself into helping.
That alone felt impossible. Now, I’m supposed to live here again too?
That’s not what I agreed to. But Jasper’s right…
Commuting doesn’t make any sense. The money I’d spend on gas alone would be irresponsible.
Not to mention, the time it would take to get here and back home every day. I wouldn’t have any time to sleep.
My chest tightens the same way it does when I spend too long thinking about home. About Lyle. And about everything I left behind.
“No,” I blurt.
Jasper lifts his eyebrows. “No?”
“I’m not living in this town,” I grit out. “I’m not living at my family’s house. I won’t fucking do it.”
“Then you lose your share.”
“I don’t fucking care. You need this. I don’t.”
The lie almost sounds convincing. Almost. But I can tell Jasper doesn’t buy it.
And neither do I, because if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be standing on his porch.
Wouldn’t have driven here the second I got off work.
Wouldn’t have spent so many sleepless nights arguing with myself before finally giving in.
I care too much.
That’s always been the problem.
Jasper watches me carefully, his jaw popping. “You can stay here,” he says after a long beat.
The suggestion hits me like a bucket of ice water. My eyes narrow. “What?”
His shoulders lift slightly. “This house. You can stay here instead.”
I can do nothing but stare at him. I must have misunderstood him. “You want me to do what now?”
“It’s not like there’s not enough room,” he continues, completely oblivious to the turmoil rumbling inside of me.
Barking out a short, disbelieving laugh, I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”
Jasper’s mouth twitches, something like vague amusement flickering across his face. “It’s a big house.”
“I’d rather sleep in my truck.”
He snorts. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s realistic,” I correct. Living with Jasper Smith sounds like an entirely different kind of torture.
One I’m not interested in exploring at all.
Not even a little. The fact that a traitorous part of my brain immediately remembers how broad his shoulders look in a black t-shirt is irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.
I shove that thought away before it can do any damage.
Jasper leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then where are you planning to stay?”
“My family’s ranch.” The answer comes automatically, even though the idea makes my stomach churn. I’m contradicting myself left and right lately.
“You sure about that?” he asks.
No. Not even remotely. But I nod anyway because the alternative is somehow worse.
Or should be.
“What happened to not even five minutes ago when you said that wasn’t gonna happen?”
When I don’t say anything, he breathes out a small chuckle.
“You know, we managed to get along once…”
My eyes snap to his, and the air changes immediately. A tension neither of us acknowledges, because we both know exactly what he’s talking about.
Before.
Before funerals.
Before grief.
Before rival families mattered more than two lonely teenagers sneaking around fishing holes and fence lines, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.
My chest clenches. I haven’t thought about those days in years—at least not intentionally.
“That was a long time ago,” I murmur.
And it was. But I still remember the secret friendship, the easy conversations, the way he used to grin at me from across a pasture like we shared some private joke nobody else was in on. I remember all of it even though I desperately wish I didn’t.
Jasper shrugs. “Still happened.”
I swallow, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. “Doesn’t matter. We were kids.”
Neither of us looks away, almost like we’re testing to see who folds first.
After a moment, Jasper pushes off the doorframe. “Think about it,” he says.
I frown. “About what?”
“Staying here.”
My head’s shaking before he even gets the words out. “No.”
He chuckles. “You haven’t thought about it.”
“I don’t need to.” My tone is firm.
“That’s what you said about accepting this deal, yet here you are.” Jasper’s mouth twitches again. It pisses me off almost as much as what he said. I stare at him, and he stares right back. Stubborn bastard. Then his expression turns serious. “You want this partnership to work?”
The question hits harder than it should, like a punch to the gut.
Mostly because, despite everything, I do want it to work.
But not for me. For Truett. For Dad. And for the bills stacked up on the kitchen counter and the future that’s slipping through our fingers.
Hell, I don’t just want it to work. I need it to.
Not waiting for a response, Jasper nods toward the dark ranch behind me. “Then you’re going to have to be here.”
My pulse kicks up slightly again. I know he isn’t talking about in Sweet Briar, or on Wind River Ranch, or even about the partnership as a whole. Jasper means here, with him. I hate how much that thought unsettles me—and maybe, if I’m being honest with myself, how much it doesn’t.
Swallowing down the bitter taste on the back of my tongue, I say, “I’ll think about it.”
Jasper’s smile is small but knowing. It’s infuriating. “Sure, you will,” he drawls.
The worst part is, for the first time since he showed up on my family’s porch, I’m not sure if what I said is a lie or the truth.
The only thing I do know is, if being back in this town doesn’t kill me, working alongside Jasper Smith just might.