Juliette #2
The words hang in the air, raw and honest. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Something shifts in Cag’s face. Not anger. He goes still, and his gaze drops to my lips again. He looks like he wants to devour me and push me away all at once.
"You don't know what you're saying," he mutters, but he doesn't move back.
"I know that when I climbed into that truck, for the first time in twenty-seven years, I felt like I could breathe. I know that when you look at me, you don't see a dollar sign. You see a woman."
He reaches out, his hand hovering near my face before his fingers brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat that settles deep in my belly.
"I see trouble," he whispers. "I see a woman who’s going to make me do something stupid."
"Maybe stupid is exactly what you need. You've been stuck in this barn for three years, Cag. Whittling birds that can't fly. Maybe it's time you finished something."
His jaw tightens. I’ve hit a nerve. Whatever I touched is there in the tension of his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw.
Before he can respond, another truck roars into the yard. This one is new, black, and looks out of place among the dust-covered ranch vehicles.
Cag’s hand drops. He spins around, his entire body coiling like a spring.
A man in a crisp suit steps out of the black truck. He’s holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the barn with a clinical, predatory coldness. He doesn't look like a rancher. He looks like an auditor. Or a reaper.
"Can I help you?" Cag’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble.
"Cag Kramer?" the man asks, not looking up from his papers. "I'm with Black Aspen Holdings. We’re here to discuss the water rights on the western quarter."
My blood turns to ice. Black Aspen. My father’s shadow.
"There’s nothing to discuss," Cag says, stepping out of the barn. "The rights are ours. Have been for a hundred years."
"Black Aspen filed on the upstream rights this morning," the man says, finally looking up. "We bought the parcel six months back. The flow will be diverted under the new filing unless Pine Ridge establishes a superior claim."
He looks past Cag, his gaze landing on me. A slow, oily smile spreads across his face.
"Ah. Conrad Marchand’s daughter. Head office will be interested to know where you landed."
Cag is moving before I can blink. He has the man by the lapels, slamming him against the truck.
"You tell your bosses that if they come for her, they’d better bring a shovel. They’re going to need it."
"Cag!" I scream, running forward.
The man is gasping for air, his face turning a mottled purple. "You’re making a mistake, Kramer. This ranch won't last a month without that water. The cattle will die. The wells will run dry. Is she worth the death of your family’s legacy?"
Cag leans in, his voice a lethal whisper that carries even to where I’m standing. "She’s worth more than the dirt you’re standing on. Now get off my land before I stop being polite."
He shoves the man away. The surveyor stumbles, straightening his tie with trembling hands. He glares at Cag, then at me, before climbing back into the truck and peeling away, leaving a cloud of acrid dust in his wake.
Cag stands in the middle of the yard, his chest heaving. He looks like a titan who’s just declared war on the gods.
Andy is on the porch. He saw all of it. He doesn’t say a word, but I watch him take out his phone and start typing, and I understand that a man in a suit with a bruised throat is worth more to Black Aspen than the water is.
I walk up to him, my own hands shaking. "Cag... the water. If they shut it off..."
"They won't," he says, but his eyes tell a different story.
"He said my father... he called me an investment. He thinks you're holding me for ransom."
Cag turns to me, his expression fierce. "I care about the water. I care about what this could do to Pine Ridge. But I’m not handing you over to solve it."
He grabs my arms, his grip firm but not painful. "You aren't a transaction, Juliette. You aren't a piece of land. You're a woman who needs a place to stand. And as long as I’m breathing, this is it."
The intensity in his gaze is terrifying. It’s the kind of look that demands everything and promises even more. For the first time in my life, someone is fighting for me, not for what I represent, but for who I am.
But the cost... I look around at the ranch. I see the horses in the paddocks, the hay in the loft, the history carved into every beam. If my father is connected to this, Pine Ridge could pay for the choice I made. The thought of the creek drying and the cattle losing water turns my stomach.
"I can't let you do this," I whisper. "I can't be the reason you lose Pine Ridge."
"You aren't the reason," Cag says, his thumb brushing my cheek. "I left the cabin unfinished. I kept carving and putting the wood down before anything came whole. Then you climbed into my truck, and for the first time in three years, walking away felt worse than staying."
He leans down, his forehead resting against mine. "I'm not stopping this time, Juliette. Black Aspen can take the water. They can take the gates. But they aren't taking you."
A low moan escapes my throat. It’s a sound of surrender, of fear, and of a blooming, primal need. I’m a runaway bride in a borrowed dress, standing in the middle of a war zone, and all I want to do is melt into this man until there’s nothing left of the girl I used to be.
"Cag," I breathe his name like a prayer.
"You belong on this ground," he growls, the words vibrating through my entire body. "With me. Remember that when the sun goes down. Remember that when the wells go dry."
He pulls away, his eyes blazing with a territorial fire that makes my knees weak. He has a ranch to run, a threat to answer, and a woman he has decided to protect. For the first time since I ran, I believe I might not have to face any of it alone.
I watch him walk back to the barn, his stride heavy and purposeful. He stops at the door, looking back at me.
"Stay near the bunkhouse, Juliette. I need to know where you are while I deal with this."
I don't argue. I climb the ladder, my heart heavy with the weight of what’s coming. I sit on the cot, the scent of chamomile still lingering in the air. I pick up the pencil sketch Linda left for me.
A magnolia. A flower that blooms in the face of the storm.
I look at the whittled bird on the crate. It doesn't look like a stick anymore. It looks like a promise.
Outside, the wind picks up, carrying dry earth through the cracks and rattling the old boards. My father is coming. Black Aspen is closing in.
But as I lie back on the cot, smoothing Linda’s cotton dress over my knees, I realize I’m not afraid anymore.
Because for the first time in my life, I’m not being traded.
I’m being claimed.
And Cag Kramer doesn't look like a man who knows how to lose.
I close my eyes, the sound of his whetstone starting up again below me. Scrape. Pause. Scrape.
The sound of a man who has decided something.
I drift into a fitful sleep, dreaming of dry creek beds and gold wedding rings. In my dream, my father is a giant made of oil and paper, reaching out to grab me. But before his fingers can touch my skin, a wall of pine and muscle stands in the way.
"She's mine," a voice rumbles, shaking the very foundations of the earth.
I wake to the roar of diesel engines and men shouting across the yard. The sky is clear, but every ranch truck is moving toward the western quarter. Cag appears below the loft, his jaw locked.
“The upstream flow stopped,” he says.
The water is gone.
The war has officially begun.
I sit up, my hand going to the whittled bird. My fingers trace the delicate wings, the sharp beak, the eyes that seem to be looking right at me.
"Don’t put it down, Cag," I whisper into the empty loft. "Not this time."
I can hear him moving below, his boots heavy on the dirt floor. He’s not panicked. He’s not rushing. He’s moving with the deliberate calm of a man who intends to protect both the ranch and the woman under its roof.
He’s found his reason.
And God help anyone who tries to take it from him.
I stand up, smoothing the cotton dress over my hips. I’m done hiding. If there’s a war coming to Pine Ridge, I’m not going to be the prize sitting in the tower. I’m going to be the woman standing beside the man who claimed me.
I walk to the ladder, my jaw set. My father might have the money and the power, but he doesn't have the one thing that makes a man truly dangerous.
He doesn't have anything to lose.
Cag does. He has me.
And as I head down to join him, I realize that’s the most powerful weapon of all.
The barn is quiet now, the only sound the settling of the wood and the distant lowing of thirsty cattle. Cag stands at the open barn doors, looking toward the western quarter. The cattle are bunching near the troughs, and the water line inside the nearest tank is already lower than it should be.
He doesn't turn when I approach. He just reaches back, his hand finding mine with unerring accuracy. His fingers interlace with mine, his grip tight and possessive.
"It's starting," he says.
"I know," I reply, squeezing his hand.
"You scared?"
"A little." I look up at him, at the scar on his jaw and the fire in his eyes. "Are you?"
"No," he says, turning to face me. "I've been waiting three years for a reason to fight this hard. I'm not scared, Juliette. I'm ready."
He leans down, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gesture that feels more intimate than a kiss. The touch feels like a promise made before either of us knows the cost.
"Let ’em come," he whispers.
And for the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.
Not in a ballroom. Not in a boardroom.
Right here. In the middle of the dust, with a man who sees the bird inside the wood.
The daughter of Conrad Marchand is dead.
The woman of Cag Kramer is just getting started.