Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
MIA
Morning starts with a breve latte to-go from the on-site restaurant, greeting other residents as I pass. I sip the creamy drink, walking toward Mrs. Everley’s office. Despite the early hour, the summer day already promises to boil.
I wear a pair of light-washed Ariats and a white tank top with beige embroidered cowboy boots. A long silver circle and turquoise necklace hangs low, echoing the scar-bound tattoo—and its owner—that I can’t get off my mind.
One week in Texas, and I’m already going Western. It’s the least remarkable of the changes I’ve experienced here, though.
I check in with the administrative assistant and wait. He raps softly on the door, and I hear Mrs. Everley’s voice. “Come in.”
The blinds are drawn, tranquil music playing. Incense burns on her desk, a smoky sweetness edged with patchouli, and a small water feature in the corner babbles like a brook.
I didn’t notice these things the day I arrived. Can’t figure out how I missed them, now. But my mind raced, my heart broken. And I couldn’t see past my own problems.
“Ms. Lowell, you look like you fit in now,” she says, standing to shake hands.
I settle in the chair across from her with a shrug. “I could maybe get used to this place. Beautiful skies, a lonesome prairie, rugged mountains.”
“Cute cowboys,” she says with a giggle that catches me completely by surprise.
“Well, if you say so.” Though I play it cool, one man haunts my mind.
“Don’t suppose you’re here to talk about that,” she says, mouth firming. “More like an update?”
My throat tightens, chest heavy.
“Do you want the good or bad news first?”
“Good.” My voice comes out firmer than before.
“I touched base with the legal team earlier, and Crowe’s authority remains paused, though not revoked.”
I nod, feeling cold silver and turquoise between my fingers as she talks.
“But based on the evidence you’ve provided.” She shakes her head. “It’s only a matter of time before the judge rules in your favor.”
“Really? You think so?” I ask, pulse pounding.
“I can’t predict the future. But your case looks solid. Airtight.”
I relax my shoulders. “And the hearing is still set for the thirtieth?”
“Yes,” she says, typing. Then, she looks up. “The forensic audit is officially underway, and the legal team continues to review your journal for additional documentation.”
“Are they finding what they need?”
“And then some. You didn’t spare a detail.” The corners of her mouth soften, tilting up. “Crowe has retained his own counsel, and he’s pushing hard behind the scenes.”
I nod, licking my lips. “As expected.”
“This isn’t over. It’s just moved underground. If we need to move it back out into the light again, I trust you’ll be ready.”
“Always,” I say, and for the first time since the concert in Valor Springs, there’s force behind my words.
“Another meeting with your parents is scheduled for later this week, and you said you were going to meet with Grayson at Lone Star Security?”
“Today, actually,” I say, looking down at my phone.
My heart skips for a second until I see there are no missed calls or new texts. Been this way all week. But I know Maverick’s the kind of man who does things right. That means at the right time, too.
“Soon. Shoot, I didn’t realize what time it is,” I excuse.
“In that case, don’t let me keep you.”
I stand, and she comes around her desk to shake hands. “You’ve taken major steps since arriving here, Mia. Not only fighting back but also providing evidence and information. You’ve also proven you’re healthy, stable, and capable of making your own decisions.”
“Thank you.” I grin. And I’ve proven I know how to be silent when that’s what life asks for.
An hour later, Jack pulls up in his truck, and my heart sinks. Though I know better, part of me still hoped for a big black pickup and a quiet, dark-eyed driver.
“Hope you don’t mind country,” he says as he drives. Learned a week ago that’s as far as conversation goes with him.
Didn’t respond back then, braids in my hands, heart limping along. But today, I have an opinion. “It’s growing on me.”
“Comes with the boots,” he grumbles. “All you need now is a Stetson.”
“Give it another week,” I murmur, sarcasm threading my words.
When I see the massive ranch gate—iron, wood, and stone—a hummingbird lands in my chest. I swallow hard, trying not to hope. But hope isn’t something you can capture or ignore.
Staring out at the distant prairie, I imagine Maverick walking the perimeter, slight limp, eyes narrow and scanning. Body taut and ready for trouble.
Grayson and Josie greet me at the Ranch door.
“Mia!” the bubbly teen screams.
“Josie,” I lean down, hugging her close. “So good to see you again, though I swear you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” I observe, eyeing the too-short hem at the bottom of her jeans.
“Like a weed,” Grayson chuckles as his daughter scrambles into a sprawling ancient oak. Its thick, gnarled branches nearly touch the ground.
Still, I watch the teen, holding my breath.
“You okay?” he grunts.
“Not a fan of heights,” I confess, holding a hand to my chest. “For myself or anyone else.”
“How’d you manage all that flying you must’ve done as a touring act, then?”
The question feels remote, like it’s not meant for me. But for another time and place.
I smile sheepishly, confessing, “Sedation. There was a pill for everything back then.”
“Not so long ago,” he corrects, kicking the red dirt in front of him.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“I know,” he says with a nod. “Sounds like between the advocacy group and your parents, what you want is getting more likely with each passing day.”
“Most of it anyway,” I say in low tones, pushing sadness deep. “And things here at Lone Star, are they okay?”
He shrugs.
“I know there were concerns about the possible legal repercussions of helping me.”
He removes his Stetson, stabbing his fingers into his hair. “Par for the course. It’s why we have a legal team, Ms. Lowell.”
“And Maverick Holt? Is he okay?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Grayson stills, eyes narrowing like he’s reading me. “Fine.”
It’s already too late. I’ve said too much, so I keep going. “Is he here by chance?”
He replaces his cowboy hat, face unreadable.
Josie squeals, jumping down from the branch where she stands, nearly making me scream. My knees shake just watching her antics.
“You look pale all of a sudden, Ms. Lowell,” he observes with a chuckle.
Josie runs over, tugging on his sleeve. “Dad, are you going to tell her about the ranch or not?”
Our eyes meet, and he frowns. “The newbie’s out ranch shopping in Red Mesa. Good land there, no neighbors for miles. Abundant water rights. Peace. Quiet.”
My pulse pounds, though I try to play it cool.
Grayson frowns, adding, “If you happen to be in the area … that would be your choice.”
If Jack is okay with a detour. Not sure I’ll give him the choice.
I smile. “Then, I’d like to go.”
Back in his truck, country music’s the topic of conversation.
“You gonna start singing cowboy songs?” Jack asks.
I freeze, unsure of my answer. “Never got to choose what I sing,” I realize out loud. “Maybe it’s time to start.”
He nods, whistling along to the radio as the landscape shifts from golden fields to rusty rock formations. Every shape and size, like nature’s an abstract sculptor.
“Red Mesa,” he says. “Good ranch country.”
I nod, throat too thick to speak as I stare at the horizon, distance narrowing. Until I can almost feel my cowboy bodyguard.
We stop in front of the only ranch with a “For Sale” sign—a big, black truck parked next to it.
“Need me to wait?” he asks.
“No, I’ve got my phone handy and can call for a ride,” I answer breathlessly.
“Best of luck to you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
My hands are still for the first time I can remember. Waiting for something that’s not a promise—but possible.