Chapter 23
Rhett
The mud sucks at my boots, making a wet noise every time I lift my foot.
It’s heavy, clay-heavy, the kind of mud that clings to skin and doesn’t let go.
I wipe the rain from my forehead, but it’s a losing battle.
The sky is a relentless sheet of gray, weeping enough water to turn the entire ranch into a bog.
I kneel beside the irrigation ditch, my knees sinking into the muck. The PVC pipe is split wide open, a jagged white gash in the brown earth. Water gushes out, creating a fast-moving stream that cuts through the pasture, washing away topsoil and heading straight toward the creek.
“This is a clean cut,” West Montgomery says from the other side of the ditch. He’s crouched too, examining the break point. He’s wearing his uniform, the badge glinting dully under the gray light. He looks too young for the badge, but he has the eyes of an old man. Tired. Observant.
“Clean?” I ask, tracing the edges of the plastic.
“Yeah,” West says, standing up and wiping his gloves on his thighs. “See the tool marks? Someone used a saw or a knife. This wasn’t wear and tear. This was intentional.”
I look down the line of the ditch. Another ten yards down, there is another break. And another.
“Vandals?” I ask, standing up and groaning as my knees pop.
“Probably,” West says, kicking at a clump of weeds. “Kids, most likely. Bored with the rain, looking for trouble. Or maybe someone with a grudge against the ranch. You guys haven’t made many friends in town lately.”
I know he’s referring to the situation with Saramaria. The rumors. The tension.
“Maybe,” I say noncommittally.
We walk along the ditch, surveying the damage. It’s going to take all day to fix this. We need new pipe, primer, cement. And we have to do it in the rain.
“So,” West says, breaking the silence. “The whole town is talking about the party at The Salt Lick. Friday night. A hoedown to save the ranch.”
I nod. “It was Saramaria’s idea. Or rather, Pearl and Dot’s idea, but she agreed to it.”
“You going?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I look away, focusing on a distant tree line. “I have a lot of work to do. This fence. The barn repairs. The generators.”
“It’s a fundraiser for the place you live,” West points out. “Seems like you should show your face.”
“I’ll think about it.”
We reach the end of the break. West sighs, checking his watch. “I need to get back to the station. The sheriff is having a fit because someone parked in his reserved spot at the diner. I have to go mediate.”
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“Thanks.” He heads toward his patrol car, parked near the gate. “Hey, Rhett?”
I turn.
“Fix the pipe soon,” he says. “If the County sees this much water waste, they’ll add it to your fines.”
“I’m on it,” I say.
He drives away, the red and blue lights flashing once as he navigates the ruts.
I stand there in the rain, alone. I look toward the house. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
It’s been two days since the storm. Since the confrontation in the living room about the fines. Since the day Saramaria took the truck and vanished into the gray afternoon.
She came back that night, grabbed a bag, and left again. She’s been staying at Pearl’s. She comes by during the day to discuss the repairs, but she refuses to stay the night. She says the guest house is quieter. She says she needs to focus.
I miss her.
It’s a stupid thought. I’ve known her for weeks. I spent years without her. But the house feels hollow without her. The air feels stale. I miss the way she moves through the rooms, the way she smells like vanilla and frustration, the way she challenges us at every turn.
Knox has been spending all his time with Diablo. The bull is restless with the weather, and Knox is the only one who can calm him down. That leaves me and Boone. And Boone... Boone has been acting strange. Distracted.
I hear a sound behind me. Boots on gravel.
I turn, expecting Knox.
But it’s Boone.
He’s walking toward me from the barn, a coil of rope over his shoulder. He looks wet, his hair plastered to his head, his coat dark with water. He stops on the other side of the ditch.
“How is it?” he asks. His tone is casual, but his eyes are scanning the damage.
“Cut,” I say. “Three major breaks. We’ll have to replace about fifty feet of pipe.”
Boone nods. “Vandals?”
“West thinks so.”
He looks toward the road where West’s car disappeared. “Sheriff’s department getting involved now?”
“Just West being thorough.”
Boone shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. He picks a piece of long grass from the edge of the ditch and puts it in his mouth. He chews on it, staring at the mud.
“I was in town this morning,” he says. “With the electrician.”
My stomach tightens. I know what he’s going to say. I know the look on his face. It’s the look of a man with news he doesn’t know how to deliver.
“And?” I ask, keeping my tone flat.
“He says the main grid to the cabins is toast. The storm took down three poles on the highway. But he thinks he can bypass the system. Run a line from the main house transformer to the cabins using heavy-duty cable. He’s got the supplies in his truck.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Means we can move back into our own beds soon.”
“Yeah,” Boone says. “He said he can start tomorrow. We should have heat by the weekend.”
I nod. I should be happy. I want my own space. I want to stop smelling Saramaria’s shampoo and feeling like a guest in my own home. But the thought of her sleeping alone in the guest house at Pearl’s or alone here in the big house bothers me.
“Okay,” I say.
I turn back to the ditch, kicking at a clod of dirt.
“That’s it?” Boone asks. “Just ‘okay’?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
Boone spits out the grass. “I don’t know. You’ve been quiet since Tuesday. You’re walking around like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You’re snapping at Knox.”
“I’m not snapping at Knox.”
“You are,” Boone insists. “Okay, spit it out. Are you mad at me or something?”
I look at him. I look at the man I’ve known for years. The man I’ve worked beside, trusted with my life.
“I’m not mad, Boone,” I say. “We aren’t teenage girls. I don’t need to pour out my feelings every time we have a disagreement.”
Boone scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Then what is it? You’ve been acting weird since Saramaria left the other day. Every time her name comes up, you shut down.”
I stare at him. The rain runs down the brim of his hat, dripping onto his coat. He looks annoying. He looks stubborn.
He looks like he’s hiding something.
I take a breath. I need to know. I need to know if my instinct is right. I need to know if the dynamic has shifted permanently.
“The day she left,” I say. “The day she took the truck and drove off in the rain. You weren’t at the house when she got back. You were gone for hours.”
Boone doesn’t flinch. “I was riding Midnight.”
“Riding,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
I take a step closer to the edge of the ditch. “Did you find her, Boone?”
Boone’s eyes darken. “What are you asking me, Rhett?”
“Did you fuck her?” I ask.
The words hang in the air between us, heavier than the rain.
Boone goes still. He stops chewing the grass. He just looks at me, his expression unreadable.
“Did you sleep with her?” I press. “Is that why she’s staying at Pearl’s? Is that why she can barely look at us? Because you crossed a line and now she’s regretting it?”
Boone stares at me for a long moment. The rain pours down, filling the silence between us.
Finally, he reaches up and adjusts his hat. He looks away, toward the meadow where the mustang runs.
“It wasn’t like that,” he says, his tone rough.
“Then what was it?” I ask. “Because she’s been a ghost since then. And you... you’ve been walking around like you won the lottery and lost the ticket all at the same time.”
Boone looks back at me. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that I rarely see.
“I didn’t sleep with her,” he says. “But I... I wanted to.”
He pauses, running a hand through his wet hair. “We were in the meadow. The rain... things got out of hand. I touched her. I tasted her. She... she touched me back.”
He stops, shaking his head. “She ran away, Rhett. She got on that horse and took off like the hounds of hell were after her.”
I stare at him. Jealousy burns in my gut. He tasted her. He touched her.
“She’s confused,” I say. “And you complicated things.”
“I know,” he says. “I know I did. But I couldn’t help it. It’s like... it’s like this gravity between us. I’ve tried to fight it for years. Since we were kids. Since the day she left. But seeing her here, fighting for this place, needing us... it broke something in me.”
He looks at me, challenging me. “Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it. I see how you look at her. I see how Knox looks at her. We’re all in the same boat, Rhett. We’re all drowning in her.”
I look away. I can’t deny it. I can’t deny that I want her, too. That I want to be the one who makes her feel safe. The one who makes her scream.
“She’s not ready for this,” I say. “She’s trying to save the ranch. She’s trying to figure out who she is without her grandfather. She doesn’t need three Alphas adding to the pressure.”
“I know,” Boone says. “But she’s not going to find herself in Denver, is she? She’s going to find herself here. With us. Whether she likes it or not.”
He picks up the coil of rope.
“I’m going to go check on the cattle,” he says. “You good here?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll start digging.”
Boone walks away, his boots squelching in the mud.
I watch him go. I think about Saramaria. I think about her running away.
If Boone crossed a line, she’s scared. She’s retreating because she feels out of control.
And if I want to help her—if I want to be the one she trusts—I need to give her that control back.
I pick up the shovel. I drive it into the mud.
Friday. The party.
Maybe I will go. Maybe I’ll show her that she doesn’t have to run from us. That she can stand her ground and we will still be there, right beside her.
But first, I have to fix this damn ditch.