20. Dean
Dean
" H owdy there, partner."
My mood's already in the shitter, but hearing that reed-thin voice with its fake-ass cheeriness makes my day immediately worse. I straighten up from repairing a gap in the outer fence and turn to see a lanky old man in a cowboy hat that's trying too hard.
"Sinclair. I thought I told you next time I caught you on my land, I'd shoot you."
He laughs like I'm joking. I'm not.
"Yeah, yeah, we've had our differences," he says.
"But that's all a long time ago—water under the bridge by now, right?
" I stay silent, figuring it's the quickest way to get him out of my hair.
"I came by to let you know I spotted a few coyotes near the ridge last night.
You might wanna keep your animals in till we hunt 'em down. "
I nod, thinking back to the dead calf Reed found yesterday. Could've been coyotes, then. But Sinclair didn't come out here to be neighborly. He's never done anything without an angle.
Even before he tried to steal the farm out from under me, I didn't trust him. Something's always felt off—too much fake charm, too many teeth when he smiles. He's got the slickness of a used car salesman, and he's certainly not the "salt of the earth" type he pretends to be.
"Oh, by the way, while I was in town this morning for a business meeting," he adds, like it's just occurred to him, "I heard a strange little rumor. Something about Reed putting the moves on a sixteen-year-old girl."
There it is.
I raise an eyebrow. "That's a hell of a rumor."
"That's what I thought. Of course, it's probably gossip, but you know how folks talk.
Supposedly, he beat up her brothers afterward.
One's still in the hospital. Unconscious.
Or was." He sighs and shakes his head like he's heartbroken about it.
"It's a shame when someone keeps messing up after you give them a chance.
I had a brother like that—not a womanizer, but a drunk.
Wrecked his own life and nearly wrecked mine with it.
Got me into all sorts of debt at one time. "
He gives me a "what can you do" shrug. "Anyway, figured I'd do my neighborly duty and warn you about those coyotes."
"Right," I say flatly. "Next time, pass it along through one of the hands. No need to come all the way out here at your age."
His smile tightens. "Sure thing, partner."
He tips his hat and walks off, and I get back to the fence—but my mind's on his words. He's fishing. Setting traps. And I've got a sinking feeling this thing with Reed was part of it.
By the time I head back to the house, the sun's getting low. I walk in, expecting to find Reed—but I stop short at the sight in front of me.
Lennon and Hailey. Smiling at each other.
That throws me.
This morning, Lennon was in my study, practically foaming at the mouth, insisting on kicking her off the property.
Now he's shoulder to shoulder with her over a mixing bowl, dusted head- to-toe in flour and wearing one of my fucking aprons.
There's a warmth in the way they look at each other, something soft and easy.
Like a little domestic scene that snuck up on them.
"Yeah, I think it needs more stirring," Hailey murmurs, glancing at the batter.
"I can still see lumps," Lennon agrees.
"Let me do it!" chirps Grace from somewhere behind the counter.
Ah. That explains a little. But not everything. There's something deeper in the air between them—a peace that wasn't there before.
"Okay!" Reed calls, entering from the hallway in another one of my aprons. My grandmother's apron, actually. The tight, over-the-head kind made for a woman. I barely wear it myself.
He wears it like he owns it.
"Well? How do I look?" he asks, hand on his hip.
"Great," Hailey says, cheeks pink. "A little tight in the waist."
"That's because Dean has a smaller waist than me. Guy's deceptively svelte for his size."
"You're gonna get killed," Lennon mutters.
"For calling him svelte? He already knows."
"Not for that—for stealing his favorite apron."
Reed grins. "Eh, it's fine. He won't be back till late, and I'll have it washed and back in its spot before he even notices."
I clear my throat, and all three of them jump.
Reed, unfazed, beams at me. "Hey, Dean. Just telling them how dainty your waist is. Hope you don't mind I borrowed the apron."
"I do," I say. "But that's not what I came to talk about."
"Uncle Dean!" Grace pops up from behind the counter. "Are you gonna make frosted lollies with us?"
I walk closer so I can see her face. "Later, sweetheart. Right now, Uncle Dean has work to do. And so does Uncle Reed."
Reed shrugs like it's nothing.
"I'll catch up later."
Hailey blushes. "But we haven't finished?—"
"This isn't about you," I say too sharply. Her face falls and I realize I've screwed that up. "I mean I'm not holding it against you. You're helping Lennon with Grace. That's fine."
Reed grins. "Don't worry, Hailey. Dean just wants a reason to yell at me. You're ruining his fun."
I sigh. "Actually it's not that. We need to talk. I think last night was a setup."
Reed frowns. "What do you mean?"
"I think Sinclair was behind it."
He nods slowly. "Yeah. That tracks. Sounds exactly like the kind of crap that old bastard would pull. The way the sheriff came storming up here like he already had the story—it fits."
"Walk me through what happened."
Reed shrugs. "Like I said, I went to the bar.
Had a drink. This girl comes up to me—young, too young.
I turned her down. Said no thanks and left.
Next thing I know, her brothers are outside running their mouths, wanting to fight.
Then she comes out and tells them I tried to get her into the bathroom.
Total lie. Everyone watching—Mattie included—would have seen her come up to me, not the other way around. "
"Then why would they lie?"
He shakes his head. "That's the part I don't get."
But I do. Or I'm starting to.
Sinclair's greedy. Always has been. Resents the land I bought being mine. I don't think he even gives a damn about farming. There's been rumors before about how he wants to turn this whole ridge into some kind of getaway resort—cabins, spa, the works, with Hailey's lake as the centerpiece.
This isn't only about Reed.
This is about pressuring us, making the farm look like a liability. One more scandal, one more sheriff's visit, one more legal mess—and suddenly we're not worth the trouble. That's Sinclair's game.
And I've got a feeling he's only getting started.