12. Sadie
SADIE
The boys were still laughing.
Twenty minutes later.
They were still laughing.
Unfortunately.
Beast had changed shirts.
The manure was gone.
His mood wasn't.
The three ranch hands wisely stayed on the opposite side of the pasture.
Far away from the giant former Ranger.
Self-preservation was finally kicking in.
I was helping Hank carry feed into the barn when I heard a truck.
Not one of ours.
Not Beast's.
Not a delivery truck.
My stomach dropped before I even looked.
Because I already knew.
Gerald.
The dusty pickup rolled into the yard.
My grip tightened on the box in my hands.
Beside me, Dad went completely still.
Neither reaction escaped Beast.
Nothing ever escaped Beast.
He looked from me.
To Dad.
To the truck.
Then toward Gerald.
And suddenly I felt sorry for Gerald.
Not really.
The truck stopped.
Gerald climbed out.
Smoothed his shirt.
Looked around.
Then smiled when he saw me.
The smile immediately vanished when he noticed Beast.
Good.
That made two of us.
"Sadie."
"No."
The answer came automatically.
Before he'd even finished speaking.
Gerald sighed.
Like I was being unreasonable.
The nerve.
"I just want to talk."
"No."
"Five minutes."
"No."
"Sadie—"
"No."
The conversation was going beautifully.
Gerald disagreed.
Unfortunately.
He started walking toward me.
A mistake.
A very large mistake.
Because Beast stepped forward.
Just once.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing threatening.
One step.
That was all.
Gerald stopped immediately.
Smartest thing he'd done all week.
The silence stretched.
Neither man looked away.
Dad quietly took the box from my hands.
Then retreated toward the barn.
The coward.
I was absolutely going to tell him later.
Gerald finally looked at me again.
"We need to settle this."
"No, we don't."
"You owe me a conversation."
The words hit like a slap.
Because there it was.
The thing I'd always hated most.
That belief.
That entitlement.
Like my choices didn't matter.
Like my answer didn't count.
Like I owed him something.
My temper snapped.
Fast.
"You know what?"
Gerald blinked.
Apparently, he wasn't expecting that.
Too bad.
"I don't owe you a damn thing. I broke up with you three years ago. What is your problem?"
His face hardened.
Good.
Let him hear it.
"I don't owe you my time."
Another step closer to angry.
Excellent.
"I don't owe you an explanations."
His jaw tightened.
Even better.
"And I definitely don't owe you a relationship."
The ranch went silent.
Even the boys stopped working.
Watching openly now.
Terrible spies.
Every one of them.
Gerald's expression darkened.
For a second I saw the old Gerald.
The real Gerald.
The one from three years ago.
The one who thought getting angry would make people obey him. The one who thought abusing me would make me scared.
The one who thought fear was control.
My hand instinctively moved toward my hip.
Toward the gun.
The movement lasted less than a second.
But Beast saw it.
Of course he did.
And suddenly everything changed.
The air.
The mood.
The look in his eyes.
All of it.
Because Beast realized something.
Not guessed.
Not suspected.
Realized.
I was afraid of Gerald.
Not nervous.
Not uncomfortable.
Afraid.
For one long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Beast took another step forward.
And his voice came out calm.
Dangerously calm.
"You need to leave."
Gerald looked at him.
Then at me.
Then back at Beast.
The calculation was obvious.
He knew he'd lost.
At least today.
His jaw tightened.
"I'll be back."
The words hung in the air.
Wrong.
Threatening.
Ugly.
Beast's expression never changed.
"Don't."
Gerald laughed once.
Humorless.
Then he climbed back into his truck.
A moment later he drove away.
Dust rolled across the yard.
Silence followed.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Then one of the teenage ranch hands finally whispered:
"Wow. That guy is crazy."
The second nodded.
"Yeah."
The third looked at Beast.
Then wisely looked away again.
Hank emerged from the barn.
Slowly.
Thoughtfully.
His gaze moved from me.
To Beast.
Then back again.
And for the first time since Gerald arrived...
I saw relief on my father's face.
Because Beast hadn't just stood between Gerald and me.
He'd stood with me.
And somehow...
Those two things felt very different.