Chapter 1 Scarlett
scarlett
Two days. I have two days to stop the sale of Little Bird Ranch. My hands clench the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white as I think about what I could have lost, what I would have lost if I didn’t overhear that conversation.
I know my father has the ability to brush things under the carpet.
I’ve seen him do it time and time again.
But I never thought he’d use it on me. I wonder how much he paid to keep this from me.
I know for damn sure, his name is nowhere on the deed.
Nana was too much of a worst-case-scenario planner for that.
Which makes me wonder: why wasn’t I? Why did I not question him?
Why didn’t I fight? I’d like to think it’s because I trusted my father, but truth be told, I think it’s because talking about the ranch got me ignored.
Talking about the oil business got me acknowledgement, and with Nana gone, all I wanted was good ole Daddy Dearest’s approval.
My heart is begging me to put the pedal to the metal and get there as fast as I can. Yet somewhere in the depths of my soul, I have to wonder if he was right. Was I really made for the type of life a ranch would provide? What if the version of me who belonged there no longer exists?
The wooden fences on the side of the highway pull me to a memory I’d long forgotten. Nana’s voice soon replaces my thoughts. Soft and warm, like it always was.
“Keepin’ these animals safe will always be your biggest priority, Little Bird. Everything else can be someone else's job, but these animals? They’re yours. This is your special job. Okay?”
I nod, a huge smile stretching across my face.
I have a special job. I like to be needed.
It makes me feel seen and appreciated. Like I’m important.
At home, I’m just a trophy, something for mom and dad to show off at their stupid business parties.
The cold, robotic touches they’d give when someone wanted to take a picture of our family.
But here at the ranch? Everything is warm, especially Nana.
“Nana?” My voice cracks. It’s almost the end of the summer, the time of year I can’t stand. I don’t only lose her, but my best friend, Lucas, too. And I know that makes him sad. He’s always sad except when he’s with me.
“?Qué pasó, mi amor?” *Her eyes never leave the road, but her hand gently squeezes my shoulder.
I sigh. “Can I live here one day? I really hate it when I have to leave. The ranch feels more like home than home does.”
She pulls to the side of the road, hanging her hand over the steering wheel. “Mija*, this ranch will be yours one day. I wouldn’t leave it to anyone else. I need someone I trust to take it, keep the legacy I’ve built alive. Give these animals a second chance, just like they gave me.”
The pressure in my chest grows. I want that little girl back. The one who wasn’t afraid of what anyone else thought of her, the one who loved herself just as she was. The little girl who knew what she valued and didn’t fold for anyone.
Going back, one of two things is going to happen: I’ll find her, or I’ll have to face the fact that I’ve let this world turn me into someone I can’t stand.
Truth be told, I don’t know what to expect.
It's been almost eleven years since I last stepped foot on the ranch, since I heard the nickname little bird and recognized the person looking back at me in the mirror.
His puppet, he called me. What if I’m too far gone? What if there’s nothing left of the ranch at all? I don’t know which would hurt more, to see it thriving or burned to the ground. Both sting in different ways.
My anxiety spiral is going to have to wait. At least until I see what I’m walking into, before I decide to throw myself out of a moving car, directly into oncoming traffic.
Twenty-two hours later, I take a right onto the dirt road that leads to the ranch, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, my tires kicking up gravel, clinking the underside of the truck in its wake.
I don’t breathe, bracing for destruction I’m convinced is here, but instead, the sign for Little Bird Ranch comes into view, and my breath catches when I see it.
What used to be a small wooden sign, wrapped around the gate with fence wire, is now larger and hanging from the top of the gate.
Sparrows fly around the top, sunflowers along the bottom, “Little Bird Ranch” etched in the center in the same big western letters I used to think were the coolest thing I’d ever seen.
I move on autopilot, remembering the way to the main house like I never left. My foot slams on the brake when I get to the end of the drive, heart tumbling from my chest as I take in the sight in front of me.
The old farmhouse that had peeling paint and a porch that groaned when you breathed too hard is gone. In its place stands a home straight from my dreams. It looks identical to the house I drew on a dream board the last summer Nana was alive.
White brick siding gleams beneath the Florida sun.
Black trimmed windows catch the light just right, and the porch.
Gah, the porch. A dreamy sigh escapes me as I take it in.
The old saggy steps are now stone, sturdy, and gleaming as they lead to a dark brown door that looks like it’s more than ready to welcome me home.
White wicker chairs sit on either side of the door, and a porch swing I can’t wait to curl up in with coffee tomorrow morning hangs off to the side. But the real kicker is the chimney. I always wanted a fireplace, one I could relax in front of. Not that you need one here, but it feels cozy.
It’s beautiful, too beautiful. My throat tightens because there’s someone who cared enough to do this for me. I look to the sky, “You did this for me, Nana, didn’t you?” I whisper.
My hand lands on the door, and to my surprise, it opens. But then the alarm blares to life, racing to the wall, I quickly punch in the old alarm code, and when that doesn’t work, I try my birthday. The obnoxious ringing doesn’t stop. Think, think, think, Scarlett!
But before I can try another code, the sound cuts off, with a soft “disarmed” voice from the keypad. No one knows I’m here. I’m sure they’d think I was breaking and entering, but technically, this is my ranch. For two more days. I remind myself.
I’m sure someone, or the police, will show up any minute. But for the time being, I take in the renovations.
The inside is just as beautiful as the outside, bright and airy, full of natural light.
While the house may look different, the bones are still the same, minus a few walls.
I’m overwhelmed with memories as I spin in a slow circle, vivid pictures of a life I forced myself to forget roll like a film reel.
Laughter, tears, scraped knees, Nana’s frijoles and arroz con leche, and a pair of hazel eyes that keep me up at night every now and then.
It’s all here.
My body trembles under the weight of all the time I’ve lost. Emotions I’ve worked hard on suppressing for years begin to boil over. I reach for the nearest object, getting ready to throw it, just to relieve some of the pressure lodged behind my ribs, when the side door opens.
Whipping around, I come face to face with Miller, a man I haven’t seen in twelve years.
My stomach swoops like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
He doesn’t look like he’s aged a bit. There’s a bit more salt in his beard, but his hair is still the same chestnut color it was back then.
There may be an extra line or two on his face, but his eyes still hold the same warmth.
His jaw drops as he rushes to me. “Lettie? Is that you?”
I nod, unable to form words as he throws his arms around me. I’ve always considered him family. He was more of a father to me than my father ever was. “Hi.” My voice cracks when his forehead relaxes, and a smile takes over his face.
He takes a step closer and wraps his arms around me, rubbing his hand across my shoulder. “What the hell took you so long?”
I sit at one of the barstools and wipe my eyes. “My father told me they sold this place after Nana died.”
He mutters a curse as he walks around to the fridge, pulling out two water bottles and sliding one to me.
“You live here?” I ask.
He shakes his head as he brings the bottle to his lips. “No, but we keep it stocked in case we need something.” It makes sense. Nana always had safety and care stations around the ranch. But it’d make sense to put them inside, get out of the heat for a bit.
“Am I too late?” I ask, my voice quivering.
The bottle crinkles under his grip, making my eyes jump to his. “This place would have always been yours. Your Nana was no dummy.” He taps his knuckles against the counter. “I’ll get you the key, let everyone know there’s someone here now so it’s no longer free rein.”
His boots clack against the wood floor, but he freezes halfway to the door, turning to look at me over his shoulder. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, but don’t take it out on him. He always tried to do right by you.”
“Who?” I ask, but he’s already gone. He couldn’t be talking about my father, right? It’d be just my luck that I’d come out here and he’d have strings to pull here, too.
I hop off the barstool, long brown curls fall from my bun, sticking to the light sheen of sweat coating my skin.
My fingers run lightly down the wall as I walk toward Nana’s old room.
Pushing the door open, my eyes widen as I take in its facelift.
A tall, steepled ceiling pulls my eyes straight to the sliding glass door.
In the corner, I can see the peak of the stables.