Chapter 9
BLAINE
S he likes me too.
I replayed those words in my head all night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling while sleep refused to come. I like you too. I shouldn't, and I don't know what to do about it, and everything is complicated. But I like you too.
It wasn't a declaration of love. It wasn't even a promise. But it was something. A door cracked open. A possibility.
I'd dated plenty of women in San Francisco. Beautiful women, successful women, women who looked perfect on paper and photographed even better at charity galas. But there was always something missing—a spark, a connection, that ineffable thing that makes you want to know someone beyond the surface.
Most of them had wanted something from me.
My money, my connections, the status that came with dating a tech founder.
I'd gotten good at spotting it—the way their eyes lit up when I mentioned the company, the careful questions about my net worth disguised as casual curiosity.
After a while, I'd stopped trying. Easier to be alone than to wonder if someone was with me or with my bank account.
Caitlin was different. She'd met me covered in horse manure, clueless about ranching, fumbling through basic tasks that any ranch hand could do in their sleep.
She'd seen me at my most incompetent, my most vulnerable, and she'd liked me anyway.
Not because of what I had, but because of who I was trying to become.
That meant something. That meant everything.
I was still grinning like an idiot when I finally fell asleep.
Sunday morning, I woke to the sound of shouting.
I was out of bed and pulling on jeans before I was fully conscious, stumbling down the stairs and out the back door to find Hector and Miguel standing by the equipment shed, staring at something on the ground.
"What happened?" I asked, jogging over.
Hector stepped aside to show me. The generator—the big backup unit that powered the barn if the electricity went out—was lying on its side, a dark pool of oil spreading beneath it.
Someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Or something like one.
The casing was cracked, the fuel line severed, vital components crushed beyond repair.
My stomach dropped. This wasn't random damage. This was deliberate. Methodical. Someone had stood here, in the dark, and systematically destroyed a piece of equipment that kept my horses safe.
"Found it like this twenty minutes ago," Hector said. His voice was flat, but I could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Wasn't like this last night when I did my rounds."
"So sometime between—what, ten PM and six AM?"
"Closer to four. Miguel checked on a mare at four and didn't see anything."
A two-hour window. Someone had come onto our property in the middle of the night and destroyed ten thousand dollars' worth of equipment. They'd walked right past the house where I was sleeping, dreaming about a woman's smile, completely oblivious to the threat moving through the shadows.
The contrast hit me like a punch to the gut. Last night I'd been floating on possibility. This morning, reality had arrived with a sledgehammer.
Jake appeared beside me, still in his pajamas. "Jesus. The generator?"
"What's left of it."
"The cameras?—"
"Don't come until Tuesday," Tre said, joining us. He looked pale. "I put in a rush order after the fence, but..."
But they weren't here yet. And whoever was doing this knew it.
I crouched down, examining the damage. The destruction was thorough, methodical. Every blow had been placed for maximum effect—not rage, but calculation. This wasn't random vandalism. This was someone sending a message.
I know where you are. I can reach you anytime I want. And there's nothing you can do about it.
"Cole?" I asked Hector.
"Can't prove it. But yeah." He spat on the ground. "This is how it starts. Little things at first—fences, equipment. Then it gets worse. Sick animals. Contaminated feed. Accidents."
"How much worse?"
Hector met my eyes, and I saw something there I hadn't seen before. Fear. Not for himself—for the horses. For the ranch. For everything he'd spent his life protecting.
"The Henderson place? The barn fire?" His jaw tightened. "Two horses died. They say it was an accident, but..."
My stomach turned. "He killed horses?"
"Can't prove it," Hector repeated. "Can never prove anything with Cole. That's how he operates."
I stood up, my hands shaking with a combination of fear and fury. This wasn't a game. This wasn't some corporate competitor trying to undercut my market share. This was someone willing to hurt animals—maybe hurt people—to get what he wanted.
In San Francisco, I'd dealt with ruthless people. Investors who'd stab you in the back while shaking your hand. Competitors who'd steal your ideas and your employees without a second thought. But there were rules, even in that world. Lines that weren't crossed.
Cole didn't seem to have any lines at all.
"We need to talk to him," I said.
"What?"
"Cole. I need to look him in the eye. Let him know we're not going to be intimidated."
"Blaine—" Jake started.
"I'm not going to threaten him. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just want to meet the man who's trying to destroy my family's legacy." I looked at Hector. "Can you arrange it?"
Hector studied me for a long moment. I could see him weighing something—my inexperience against my determination, maybe, or the risk of confrontation against the cost of doing nothing.
"Your grandfather tried to talk to Cole once," he said finally. "Years ago, when all this started. Went to his house, man to man, asked him to leave Sierra Sol alone."
"What happened?"
"Cole laughed in his face. Said Earl was a dinosaur, that the old ways were dying, that sooner or later Sierra Sol would be his whether Earl liked it or not." Hector's expression hardened. "Earl never forgot that. Never forgave it either."
"Then I need to show Cole that the Hartley stubbornness didn't die with my grandfather."
Slowly, Hector nodded.
"There's a town meeting Tuesday night. Cole never misses one. Likes to remind everyone who really runs things around here."
"Then I'll be there too."
Monday was damage control.
We called a repair service for the generator—a temporary fix until we could afford a replacement.
Jake spent the morning on the phone with insurance companies, trying to file a claim without admitting we suspected sabotage.
Tre's security cameras arrived a day early, and we spent the afternoon installing them at every entry point, every vulnerable spot we could think of.
"This is insane," Tre said, mounting a camera on the equipment shed. "We're basically living in a siege."
"It's temporary," I said. "Once we have proof?—"
"If we get proof. Cole's been doing this for years without getting caught."
"Then we'll be the ones who catch him."
Tre gave me a look. "You know, when you called me about this ranch thing, I thought it would be like... peaceful. Pastoral. Maybe some light manual labor and a lot of wine on the porch."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm not disappointed." He tightened a screw, testing the camera angle. "I'm terrified. There's a difference."
"Noted."
I looked around at what we'd built in just a few hours—a network of cameras covering the barn, the equipment shed, the main approaches to the house. It felt wrong. This was supposed to be a place of peace, of connection with the land and the animals. Instead, we were turning it into a fortress.
But fortresses existed for a reason. And right now, we needed one.
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "How are things with the vet?"
I almost dropped the drill I was holding. "What?"
"Caitlin. Saturday night. You two on the porch for like an hour while Jake and I pretended not to watch from the window." He grinned. "We saw her turn around at her truck. What did she say?"
"That's private."
"So it was good."
"I'm not discussing this with you."
"Your face is discussing it for you. You look like a guy who just got very good news."
I couldn't help it. I smiled. "She said she likes me."
Tre whooped loud enough to startle the horses. "I knew it! Jake owes me twenty bucks."
"You bet on my love life?"
"We bet on whether she'd admit it before breeding season. I said yes, Jake said she'd hold out until at least March." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Congratulations, man. She's great."
"She has a boyfriend."
"A crappy long-distance boyfriend who sends her heart emojis instead of actually showing up. That's not a boyfriend, that's a pen pal." Tre shrugged. "She'll figure it out. Women like her don't stay in bad situations forever. And when she does, you'll be there."
"That's the plan."
"Look at you. Patient. Strategic. Almost like you learned something from all those business deals."
"This isn't a business deal."
"No," Tre agreed. "It's way more important."
Caitlin texted that evening.
Heard about the generator. Are you okay?
News traveled fast in a small town. I typed back:
Frustrated but fine. How did you hear?
Doc Peterson. He heard it from someone at the feed store who heard it from someone else. A pause. Then: Small towns.
Very small.
Do you need anything?
I stared at the screen. What I needed was to see her. To hear her voice. To stand next to her and feel that sense of calm she somehow gave me, even in the middle of chaos. What I needed was to forget about Cole and generators and sabotage and just exist in the same space as her for a little while.
But she had a boyfriend. And I'd promised not to push.
I'm okay. But thanks for checking.
Of course. Be careful, Blaine. Cole doesn't mess around.
So I'm learning.
Another pause. Then: I meant what I said Saturday. Just so you know.
My heart did something ridiculous. Which part?
All of it.
I sat there for a long time, phone in hand, smiling at those words.
All of it.
In the midst of everything going wrong, something was going very, very right.