Chapter 3
My rental carsloshes through the puddles, getting sprayed with mud as I drive along the main road in Cherry Peak. My mouth is set in a hard line, my teeth clenching harder and harder with every pothole my tires sink into. I get jostled around in my seat again, and this time, I bark a curse, my tailbone growing sore.
This tiny speck-on-the-map town leaves a fuck ton to be desired. The small RCMP building seems to be the only form of protection offered, and the fire station is nothing more than a rotted old car garage. Surely, the people who call this place home can’t be content with this. Their insurance rates must be through the roof.
“Fuck my life,” I say on an exhale as I follow the GPS route to Steele Ranch.
The moment I hit gravel, I force myself not to turn back and hop on the first plane back to Toronto. This punishment is ridiculous. I had two days to up and pack my life in preparation for this forced “holiday,” and still, my anger rages, showing no sign of calming.
I’m a thirty-year-old man with a bank account in the nine digits. This should not have happened. I almost didn’t believe my father at first. Not until he called a meeting yesterday with the entire board and they told me the exact same fucking thing he did. I’m still in shock.
I grip the steering wheel harder than I should when the Steele Ranch gate comes into view. It’s a lot bigger than I expected. In any other case, I’d probably be impressed with it. Unfortunately, impressed is the last thing I feel right now.
Luckily for me, the gate is already open, and I stiffen my spine before driving through it and up the—no surprise—gravel road. The house waiting at the top of the drive snags my attention. It’s old but not falling apart like the majority of the nearby town is. Despite the mud puddles and brown grass surrounding it, it’s quite beautiful.
A few more moments and I’m parking on the side of the road beside the house, not finding a driveway more fitting. I breathe in for three seconds and let it back out for the same before turning off the car and stepping out.
Only for my left foot to sink into a goddamn pothole. Filled. With. Muddy. Water.
It seeps into my leather shoe and black sock before finding the bottom hem of my slacks. I see red as I lift my foot and kick it in an attempt to send the water flying. The movement has me stumbling, my back hitting the open car door, sending a shot of pain flaring through my already sore tailbone.
I have to dig my teeth into my tongue to keep from shouting out.
“You’re not plannin’ on parking there, are you?”
Lip curling, I whirl on the person speaking to me and slam the car door shut. I press my palms to the car and huff a heavy breath.
“What?”
“Can’t park there.”
It isn’t Brody standing across the road with his arms closed. As if it’d be that easy. Instead, I’d bet a hundred grand I’m looking at Wade Steele. The weathered cowboy hat and boots aren’t what gives him away. No, it’s the dark, cruel scowl on his wrinkled face instead. Out of all the things my father warned me about Wade, his take-no-shit attitude was the one he spent the most time on.
“I don’t see anywhere better,” I tell him bluntly.
The arms he has crossed over his jacketed torso tense. “Leave it there and I’ll have it towed off my land.”
“Where else would you prefer it, then?” I ask through clenched teeth.
He nods toward the bare section of land in front of the house, where tire tracks have been dug so deep into the soil they’ve filled with water, either from rain or the melting snow piles. “There’s fine.”
“On the lawn?”
“Does it look like some type’a garden, boy? Get the car off the road before someone runs it off,” he orders.
Right. I get back in the car, the weight of his stare heavy on my face. It isn’t even a fucking second after I’ve parked in the proper spot that he’s barking at me again.
“Get your things, and I’ll show you where you’ll be stayin’.”
My eye twitches as I stitch my lips closed and move to the trunk. The wheels of my large suitcase sink into the dirt, making me grimace. They only sink further when I slide my carry-on over the handle and drag it behind me toward Wade.
He inspects my luggage with more judgment than I think I’ve ever been subject to before pointing past the house.
“Guest house is behind those trees. Only got one set of keys, so don’t lose ’em. No parties or you’re gone. No people I don’t know on this land or you’re gone. Be at the house tomorrow morning at six-thirty or you’re gone,” he says.
“Got it,” I reply tensely, taking the key ring from his extended hand.
The gravel road goes right past the thick line of trees, but it’s impossible to see much else. I don’t bother with a thank you before shuffling past him and starting down the road, every rock sending my suitcase bobbing and pulling on my arm socket.
It’s a miracle I’m able to keep my mouth shut. Nothing I want to say would help the situation any. I’d end up on my ass outside the gates in a blink, and I’d rather be here of all places than stranded in that town.
The stale water in my shoe squishes in my sock, grating on my nerves until they fray. Pissed and frustrated, I make my way up the road, ignoring the wide eyes of the passing workers on the right side of the ranch, where the horses roam inside and around a tall stable.
I’ve never so much as seen a horse in person before. I try not to gawk at the tall and beefy midnight-black one lingering in the field, watching me.
It’s not until I’m clearing the treeline that I stop feeling those beady brown eyes on my back. For an animal, it’s incredibly fucking rude. I roll my jaw as my suitcase wheels catch on yet another rock, and I give it a hard yank, impatient and beyond done with this entire situation already.
My first impression of Wade still is that he’s going to make my life hell just because he can. I don’t plan on making it easy on him to do so, but I have to play my cards right. No way am I letting my father take Swift Edge from me. Not in this life and not in any other. If I have to keep my tongue tucked behind my teeth for the next few weeks, then so be it.
I repeat that to myself as I come to a stop at a fork in the road. One side continues past the smaller guest house while the other . . . while the other leads me right to the front fucking door.
“Hey.”
Brody Steele’s voice carries in the wind from his place on the front steps. He’s sitting on the top one, his tall frame hunched over his knees, booted feet splayed wide, and tan jacket flecked with mud.
My black slacks and knee-length suede jacket make me feel out of place. If I’m supposed to dress like him . . . My stomach rolls.
“What are you doing back already?” I ask him, snappier than he deserves, but I don’t have it in me to apologize.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” he retorts.
I drag my ruined suitcase behind me as I get closer to the house. I’m brimming with the urge to attack him for the welcome I received on this stupid ranch and the events leading up to today, but somehow, I manage to hold myself back.
“You have an album to record.”
“Is this really what you wanna talk about right now?”
My eye twitches. “Your grandfather didn’t seem to mention the fact that I could have driven directly to the guest house when he made me leave my car behind.”
“Well, that answers my next question. Was wondering why you were walkin’ all this way.”
I hum low in my throat, my muscles tense as I inspect the house before me. While much smaller than the main house, it’s newer, with dark brick instead of light and one level, not two. The porch is similar in style, but again, with a dark look instead of the reddish brown from the main house.
“Are you my welcome party? Here to give me a tour?” I ask gruffly.
He cocks his head slightly, eyes drifting to the suitcase beside me that I’m too terrified to inspect for damage. When his stare meets mine again, he attempts to smile.
“It looks like you might need some time alone to settle in.”
I almost laugh. “Right.”
He pushes himself up from the step and walks toward me, stopping a few feet back. The backward baseball cap on his head is ratty, the material scuffed and threads poking out as he takes it off and runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair.
“Listen, I know you don’t wanna be here. We all know it. But don’t treat anyone here with disrespect. I don’t give a shit if you’re my boss or not, I’ll kick your prim ass right off this land if you so much as snarl at one of the ranch hands. Keep your frustration inside. We’re all doin’ your dad a favour here. You too,” he says, the threat sharp in his tone.
Despite how I bristle at that tone, I grow a bit of respect for the guy at the same time. He’s always been a straight shot. Never made my life easy, that’s for fucking sure.
I nod tensely.
He nods right back, extending his hand for me to shake. I hide my wince when he squeezes harder than necessary, trying to prove a point.
Silence hangs between us as I grab the key ring from my pant pocket and head to the porch. His next words have my knees locking, staring ahead instead of back.
“One more thing. My woman lives on this land too. This is her home, and she treats it as such. I hear you look down your nose at her or her friends the way you tend to, and you’ll find that you no longer have that ability. Am I clear?”
This time, I let my laugh escape. It’s a dark, cruel sound, but it doesn’t seem to matter.
“Crystal clear.”
I don’t know how long he stands there, and I don’t care. Not once I make it inside and let the door slam behind me.