Savage Peaks

Chapter One

The winter wind howled through the valley to the east of the Cascade Mountains in central Washington. It carried the biting scent of snow and pine down from the jagged peaks and into the ranch land below at the sloping base of the range.

Cassidy West dug her favorite Tecovas boots into the freezing mud, leaning her entire weight back against the fence tensioner. The rusted wire groaned in a high, thin protest and vibrated through her leather gloves and straight into her aching bones.

This fence line was older than she was. It was likely older than her father had been.

“Come on,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

Her breath plumed in the frigid air, creating a white cloud that was snatched away instantly by the gale. The temperature had dropped ten degrees in the last hour. A storm was coming. She could feel the heavy pressure of it settling against her temples.

She gave the tool one final, desperate yank.

The wire snapped, recoiling with a violent crack as the tensioner handle slammed into her ribs. Cassidy gasped, then the air left her lungs. She lost her footing on the slick ground and landed hard in the muck. Cold, wet sludge immediately soaked through the seat of her faded Levi’s.

Pain radiated from her side as she lay there for a moment, staring up at the slate-gray sky that loomed over the snow-capped mountains.

She did not cry. She refused to. Tears would freeze on her cheeks, anyway.

“Damn it,” she whispered.

She rolled onto her side and pushed herself up on shaky hands. She had been out since dawn and was exhausted. She knew she was fighting a losing battle against the elements and the decaying infrastructure of Silver Creek Ranch.

She stripped off her gloves, exposing raw, red knuckles and looked at the broken wire. It was rusted through. The whole perimeter needed to be replaced, which would cost money she did not have.

Back at the house, the feed bill was sitting on her kitchen counter with a bright red “Past Due” stamp on it. The electricity bill lay next to it, and the mortgage notice was buried under that.

She tried to wipe mud from her pale cheek, only to leave a streak of dirt in its place.

This ranch was her legacy. It was the only thing her father had left her—a sanctuary from a world that had chewed her up and spit her out—but right now, it felt more like a prison.

She grabbed the pliers from her belt to twist the broken ends together. It was a temporary fix, a band-aid on a bullet wound, but it would have to hold. She couldn’t let the cattle wander onto the highway. A lawsuit would bury her.

She bent over the wire and narrowed her focus to the impossible task. Then she heard it: a low, powerful hum cutting through the sound of the wind. Cassidy froze.

She instinctively placed her hand on the knife clipped to her belt and straightened slowly. In the distance, a vehicle crested the ridge.

At first she assumed it was the ranch foreman, Roger Stern, in his ancient F-150, or his son, Gabriel, a ranch hand like his father and a budding horse trainer. But every rancher in the valley drove a beat-up Chevy or a Ford, and it was not a truck approaching. It was something else.

A black Mercedes G-Class SUV came down the ridge directly toward her.

The vehicle was pristine. The paint shone with a terrifying perfection against the backdrop of dead grass and gray slush. It looked like a machine of war wrapped in luxury, navigating the treacherous ruts of the access road with arrogant ease.

Cassidy watched in bewilderment as the massive SUV slowed and turned toward the barn. The LED headlights sliced through the gloom, illuminating the peeling paint of the stables.

Panic spiked in her chest. Bankers did not drive Mercedes G-Wagons. This was something worse.

She shoved her hands back into her damp gloves and started marching toward the barn, her boots struggling to find purchase in the slick mud. She forced herself forward with a long and aggressive stride.

She had to protect this place; it was all she had.

The SUV came to a halt near the main gate, and the engine cut. The silence that followed was heavy.

Cassidy stopped ten yards away. She planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look threatening. She knew she looked a mess—covered in mud, her Carhartt jacket stained with oil, and the hair escaping her cap a tangled mess.

The driver’s door opened.

“You are lost!” she called out, though the wind tore at her voice. “The ski resort is ten miles north. Turn around!”

A man stepped out, and Cassidy felt the air leave her lungs again, but not from a blow to the ribs this time.

He was massive at well over six-foot-two with broad shoulders that seemed to block out the fading light. His charcoal Armani suit was tailored to perfection, the fabric hugging his torso of corded muscle. Despite the weather, he wore no coat or hat.

The large and looming man looked down at the ground as his polished black Chelsea boots sank into the slush. He lifted one foot and inspected the mud clinging to the sole with an expression of detached clinical interest.

Then he looked up with incredibly deep blue eyes, the color of a glacial crevasse. But like a glacier, Cassidy noticed, they were cold, hard, and utterly unyielding.

He took in her appearance without reaction, simply assessing. Cassidy felt like she’d just been inventoried.

“Cassidy West,” he said in a commanding deep baritone that vibrated through the icy-cold air.

“Who are you?” Cassidy snapped. She maintained the physical barrier by not uncrossing her arms. “You are trespassing.”

“Sterling Thorne,” he said, closing his car door and walking toward her. He moved with predatory grace, ignoring the mud ruining his expensive footwear. “We have a meeting.”

“I don’t have a meeting with anyone,” Cassidy said, taking a step back and hating herself for retreating. “especially not with a suit who drives onto private property without an invite. Get off my land.”

Sterling Thorne stopped three feet from her, and his scent drifted to her nostrils. It was crisp and woodsy, like sandalwood and ozone, and completely out of place in the barnyard stench.

“I am aware of your schedule,” he said calmly. “I own the mortgage.”

Cassidy blinked as her world tilted on its axis.

“That is a lie,” she whispered. “The bank holds the note.”

“The bank liquidated their distressed asset portfolio on Friday,” Sterling said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. “My firm acquired it.”

Cassidy flinched, and her hand twitched toward her knife again.

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he noted her movement. Then a flicker of amusement drifted across his face.

“The risk profile was too high for them,” he said. He pulled out a folded document and extended it to her. “You are in default.”

“I missed two payments,” Cassidy argued in a shaky voice. “I talked to the manager, and he gave me until the end of the month to catch up. I have a verbal agreement.”

“Verbal agreements are irrelevant,” Sterling said. “Read the addendum.”

Cassidy stared at the paper without taking it.

“The transfer of the debt triggered the Change of Control clause in your original contract,” Sterling said without emotion as he recited the details. “The installment plan is void, and the full principal is now due.”

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face.

“The full principal?” she choked out. “That’s—”

“Three point two million dollars,” Sterling supplied the number. “Payable immediately. It is a balloon payment, Ms. West, standard in high-risk commercial lending.”

The number seemed inconceivable. Three point two million. She didn’t have three point two thousand.

“You can’t do that,” she whispered. “That’s illegal.”

“It is entirely legal,” Sterling corrected her. “It is in the fine print. You simply didn’t read it…or your father didn’t.”

He looked past her, scanning the dilapidated barn and the shivering cattle.

“I don’t want a ranch,” he said, looking back at her, the coldness in his eyes intensifying. “I want the geography. The south ridge is ideal for an expansion of the ski runs.”

“Expansion?” Cassidy felt sick.

“A luxury annex,” Sterling said. “Chalets, a new lift, a boutique hotel where this barn currently stands.”

He adjusted his cuff, and his heavy gold Rolex glinted in the twilight.

“I am here to liquefy the asset, Ms. West. The acquisition is complete, and I have buyers eager to acquire it so my firm can make a significant profit. Survey and demolition crews are scheduled for the first of the month.”

Cassidy just stared at him. Liquefy the asset? Demolition?

He was talking about her home—the place where her family built a legacy over generations.

“You can’t do that,” she said. “This is a working ranch. We have livestock.”

“History does not pay your three-point-two-million-dollar debt,” Sterling said, stepping closer and invading her personal space. He towered over her; she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

His voice dropped to a low rumble. “I am a businessman,” he said. “The numbers here do not work. They have not worked for a decade. I am simply the one with the capital to stop the bleeding.”

“I can turn it around,” Cassidy argued. She was desperate now. “I have a plan for a breeding program. The beef prices are going up.”

“Negotiable terms require leverage,” Sterling said. “You have none. You owe a seven-figure sum that is due today. Unless you have a check in your pocket, this conversation is a formality.”

He looked down at her hands trembling at her sides, then back up at her exhausted face.

“Look at you,” he said softly. “You are fighting a war you lost years ago. You are freezing, you are broke, and you are ruining a pair of boots worth more than your truck.” It was an indictment.

He turned away from her abruptly, his gaze snapping to the distant ridge line, and pointed a gloved finger toward the shadowy peak of the North Ridge.

“And it’s not only the debt,” he said, his voice becoming hard again. “There is a liability. The insurance premiums on those open mine shafts are bleeding you dry. If someone were to wander into them, and they collapse, the lawsuit alone bankrupts the new owner. They need to be capped.”

Cassidy bristled. “Those mines are history,” she snapped. “My grandfather worked those claims. They’re part of the heritage of this valley.”

“They are holes in the ground,” Sterling corrected her, dismissing her sentiment with a wave of his hand. “They are a safety hazard and a financial drain. I don’t care about heritage, Ms. West. I care about exposure. And right now, this entire property is one giant, gaping wound.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” Cassidy spat.

“No,” Sterling agreed. “You didn’t. But I am here, and I oversee my acquisitions personally.”

He turned away from her to scan the property again.

“I want a full inventory of the livestock by tomorrow morning,” he commanded. “and the equipment. Anything that can be sold to offset the demolition costs.”

“Tomorrow?” Cassidy choked out. “That is impossible. I have to fix the fence. I have to feed the herd.”

“Stop operations,” Sterling said. He turned back, pinning her with his icy stare. “You are no longer running a ranch. You are managing a liquidation. Do not repair the fence, do not buy feed, do not spend another dime of my money.”

“The cows will get out!” she cried, gesturing wildly to the hill. “If I don’t fix that wire, then they will wander onto the highway and get hit.”

Sterling paused. He looked at the hill then looked back at her.

“Then move them to the lower corral,” he said.

“The lower corral is flooded,” she shot back. “The drainage pipe burst last week. It keeps bursting, but I could fix it if I had the money for new parts.”

Sterling stared at her. The silence stretched thin and tight.

“Then put them in the barn,” he said.

“The barn is full,” she lied. It wasn’t full since she had sold off twenty head last month to pay the taxes. But she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Sterling moved in closer until Cassidy could feel the heat radiating from his large body, which infuriated her. He was warm and comfortable. He probably has a heated seat waiting for him in that Mercedes.

“I do not care where you put them,” Sterling growled dangerously. “But if you spend one dollar on fencing wire, then I will deduct it from the severance package I am currently inclined to offer you.”

“Severance?” Cassidy laughed harshly. “I don’t want your charity.”

“Call it a settlement, then” Sterling said. “To get you off the land quietly. Consider it a discount on the principal you owe me.”

He checked his Rolex, dismissing her.

“I have a chalet nearby where I’m staying,” he said. “I’ll be back at 0600 hours to review the inventory. Be ready.”

“Six?” Cassidy gaped. “It is dark until seven.”

“Then bring a flashlight,” Sterling said.

He turned and walked back to the SUV with efficient strides, seemingly unbothered by the mud and the cold. He also seemed unbothered by the fact that he had just destroyed her life with a single contractual clause.

Cassidy stood frozen as she watched him opening the car door. She felt small and defeated, but beneath the fear and the exhaustion a spark ignited. A hot coal of defiance burned deep in her core.

He thought she was just an asset, like a line item to be crossed out. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Before he got into his Mercedes, he paused and looked back at her. His gaze lingered on her face.

“Get inside, Ms. West,” he called out. “You look like you are about to become hypothermic.”

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

He did not hear her as he climbed into the warm leather sanctuary of his car. Then his door sealed shut with a heavy thud.

The engine of the black G-Wagon purred to life. He reversed and swung around, driving back toward the ridge. His red taillights disappeared into the gathering twilight.

Cassidy was left alone in the howling wind. Snow began to fall, and fat, wet flakes hissed as they hit the mud.

She looked down at her hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Three point two million,” she whispered.

She turned and looked at the broken fence line up the hill.

“Screw him.”

Cassidy bent down and picked up the broken tensioner, her fingers seeking purchase on the icy metal handle. She started walking back up the hill, not to the barn to do inventory.

I’m going to fix the fence. She would use her own shoelaces to tie the wire if she had to.

This was her land. Sterling Thorne was going to learn that some things could not be bought, not even for millions of dollars.

But as she trudged through the snow, the image of his eyes burned in her mind. They were cold, blue, and terrifyingly intelligent. He was a force of nature, just like a blizzard. But she had a terrible feeling that he was going to be much harder to survive.