21. Colton
Cities - Toby Mai, Two Feet
“You sure you don’t want to go to the Bar 9?”
She peers at me over her shades. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it’s home?”
“The Bar 9 hasn’t been home for nearly twelve years.”
“You left eight years ago.”
“Mom died twelve years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”
“Not your family, not your grief.” Her tone’s light enough that I know she’s not trying to be insulting. Even if I am insulted. “Grand-mère will call me when she’d like me to visit. As for the boys…” Her shoulder hitches. “They’ll come over soon enough.”
I shift focus onto the controls of the private plane that I’m piloting home. While she doesn’t exactly appear nervous, I get the sense this is her first trip in a light aircraft.
When I was going through the preflight checks, she kept jumping every time I adjusted a dial or scrawled a notation on my clipboard.
“I guess you want to talk about the fire,” she says on a rush.
My hands tighten around the controls. I didn’t expect her to bring this up and I didn’t want to push it… “What happened that night?”
“If I say any of this, it can’t be retracted.”
“I don’t want you to retract it. I want to know. Hell, I need to know. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. It’s all I’ve been thinking about—who killed Loki?”
“Think about the worst things that have happened to your family.”
“To make me depressed?”
“No. Think about it. Think about who’s behind most of those ‘worst things’ and then throw the blame on that one person for this too.”
Stiffening, I demand, “Pops? What the?—”
The plane jerks as my grip tightens on the control yoke.
Startled, she jolts. “Believe me or don’t.”
Suddenly, I regret her bringing this up. Because if we’re going to make it home, I need to not lose my shit.
Grinding my teeth, I bite off, “This is why you’re scared of him?”
Her lips kick up at the corner in the most pathetic excuse for a smile. Jesus, it hurts my heart to see it. “I wish that were all he’d done to make me scared of him.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“He’s Clyde Korhonen. I’m me. Who’d have believed me over him? And don’t say you. You didn’t believe me then. Only forced proximity opened you up to the possibility of doubting what you knew, to listening to that question, never mind answering it.
“I watched him set fire to a newspaper and drop it onto a bunch of hay. God, the smoke was so bad, so quickly. I can still feel the pinch in my lungs.” She shudders. “I knew I couldn’t leave the stables until he’d gone?—”
“Why not?”
“Because if he saw me, a witness to his crime, what do you think he’d have done to me?” Her gaze is knowing. “I’d have ended up amid the pile of horse bones, that’s what?—”
“No. He’s not?—”
“Not what? A killer? I saw him set fire to the stables and he didn’t open a single stall door.” Her jaw works. “Sounds like a killer to me?—”
“But—”
“No. No buts. If you want to hear this, then shut up and let me tell you what happened.”
“Fine.”
“As soon as he got out of there, I tried to open the stall door, but Loki was freaking out. All the horses were. It was so thick of smoke in there and he must have been choking already. He reared up and hit me. I’m lucky he didn’t clip me on the head, but I fell down. It took me so long to just regain consciousness. Every time I tried to stand, I nearly passed out from the pain and I’d already inhaled so much smoke too.” She gulps. “I was pretty sure that I was going to die in there, that’s how bad things were.”
“Fuck, Zee.”
“By the time I was able to get to my feet, Loki had passed out.” Her mouth trembles. “I’m pretty sure he was gone. When I ran my hand over his muzzle, he didn’t react. I’ll never forgive myself for failing him. It’s part of the reason why I can’t force myself to shut out those sounds he made. I can still hear him, but I deserve to suffer?—”
“God, no?—”
“Yes.” Her fingers rub her temple. “I only stopped having nightmares about them a few years ago.”
I know what she means. The sounds. The smells. Then, how the roof caved in, the rush of oxygen-stealing heat, trapping our herd inside?—
“I didn’t want to die too,” she rasps. “But it was too late. I left the stall but the last thing I remember is hacking up my lungs. The strain must have been too much. The next thing I knew, I was outside and you were…”
Walking away.
Self-hatred is an old friend of mine, and it rears its ugly head. Especially as I remember finding her in the stables—in the middle of the aisle. Splayed out.
I’d thought she was dead.
The memory of how that shattered my heart has me rasping, “I’m so fucking sorry, Zee.”
“Do you believe me?”
There’s little I couldn’t imagine my father doing to get what he wants. But why he’d want the horses dead is something that doesn’t compute.
“Unequivocally.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows but she lowers her head and starts reading something on her phone.
I let her.
Mind racing, memories flickering to life, I’m torn back to that night.
“Colton? How long until we’re at the ranch?”
Dragged from my thoughts, I check our position, well aware that I need to refocus on my current task before I screw this up too. “Twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” she says softly.
How she can even stand to be in the cockpit with me is a miracle in itself.
As we approach a pocket of turbulence, I want to reach for her hand but I have less right to do that than I did before this conversation. “It’ll be bumpy for the next few minutes.”
“O-Okay.”
The turbulence is nothing I haven’t dealt with in the past, but it’s almost worth it because while my hands are busy piloting the plane, one of hers settles on my knee. I glance down at it in surprise, but I’m almost relieved when she squeezes it in a death crush.
It might hurt, but after letting her down for so damn long, that I can be her safe space is something I don’t deserve but equally need.
Guilt—the fire always engendered it in me because I believed I was partially to blame. Now, I’m well aware of what I damaged and what I lost.
Something that I might never be able to find again.
An hour later, she practically falls into my arms while scuttling out of the passenger seat once we’ve landed.
The weight of her has changed—she’s no longer a kid. All big eyes and bony shoulders. She’s a woman now.
My inner caveman wants to tag a ‘mine’ on that but this, I remind myself for the tenth time since I said ‘I do,’ isn’t the Dark Ages.
She owes me nothing but her disdain.
And I can admire her, but it needs to be from a distance.
“Yo, boss, everything good up there?”
“Yeah, it’s handling like a dream,” I confirm, turning to Jerry, the mechanic I hired to look after the plane and to repair the helicopter Callan busted last year. Whatever the little shit did to it, Jerry has yet to fix.
“Glad to hear it,” he chirps as he heads off to take care of the post-flight checks. “Ma’am,” he aims at Zee, curiosity oozing from that one greeting.
He might be an outsider, but Pigeon Creek’s gossip train works fast.
She nods at him, and, disappointed to have no more fodder for the masses, he grabs our suitcases from the plane and dumps them on the ground.
A pickup truck pulls up shortly after and I leave the bags to Albert, who packs them in the box.
That’s when I notice Callan.
About twenty yards away, he’s idling on an ATV. His curious gaze takes everything in, making me wonder, as always, what he sees.
A part of me wouldn’t be surprised if he saw security blueprints.
“Callan’s here.”
“I guess I should be grateful he isn’t armed with a torch and a pitchfork.”
“Callan isn’t like that.”
Nervously, she whispers, “You swear you don’t think I did it anymore?”
I can’t stop myself from cupping her cheek. “I swear.”
“I want to believe you so bad, but I’m used to everyone here hating me,” she whispers, head tilting ever-so-faintly into my palm.
Jesus.
“Even your brothers?”
“No. Not them. But Grand-mère… She resents that I got caught.”
“Never liked her.”
“There isn’t much to like. But, she raised us, made sure we were fed and safe and clothed. She did her best when faced with raising four kids in her seventies after losing her daughter and a beloved grandson. It might not be what I’d want for my child, but we’re still standing.”
“I want more for our child than that, don’t you? To be still standing?”
“Definitely.”
“Then that’s something we can both work toward, hmm?”
Her smile is tremulous but it feels good to bask in its warmth—meager or not.
If I could hit rewind…
No. There’s no use in thinking that.
She flicks a look at Callan and visibly braces herself again. “I guess you’d better introduce me to him.”
“You’ll be fine. He’s a good man.”
Together, we amble toward my brother. My hand finds its way to the small of her back.
Naturally.
Of its own volition.
“Figured we’d see you at the house,” I greet when Callan studies Zee and she stands there awkwardly.
“I wanted to meet your wife in her natural habitat.”
Zee’s brows lift but I snort. “You’re a weirdo, Callan.” To her, I state, “Ignore him when he comes out with crap like that. The little shit thinks he’s Pigeon Creek’s resident anthropologist.”
“I am here, you know.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Callan.”
“I’m Zee.” She shakes his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Callan.”
He hums. “Might not be. You could hate me.”
“I doubt that. Takes a lot of energy to hate anyone.”
“Some people deserve it though, wouldn’t you say?”
Her fingers find their way onto her elbows again, and I can tell she thinks that’s aimed at her. “They do.”
“Colt said you’re frightened of Pops.”
I huff. “Callan!”
“What? Did you or didn’t you say he scared her?”
“It’s fine. He does. There’s no point in denying it.”
“Callan, why didn’t you bring a truck?”
“I’d have to ride with you if I did.”
“At least you’re honest,” Zee teases, and for the first time since we left her apartment, hell, since before I entered her damn home, she relaxes.
Typical.
Callan’s nose crinkles at the bridge. “Sorry. I didn’t know if you were going to be a bitch or not. Cole hates you so it was a fifty-fifty shot whether he was right to.”
“Wow, you’re not honest. You’re brutal.” She doesn’t appear offended though. “It’s fine. He can hate me so long as he leaves me alone.”
“Cole never comes home. He stays in New York City. This place has bad vibes for him.”
“I think Pigeon Creek has a lot of bad vibes for many people,” she says softly.
“It does for me too,” Callan shares, “but I’d never leave the ranch.”
Her fingers pinch her elbows. I only notice because they turn white from the pressure. “You’re lucky to love your home.” To me, she says, “I do need to get my office ready.”
“That’s fine. I arranged for them to transport your things here ASAP. They should arrive tomorrow night. Until then, you can make your suite your own.”
Her smile’s rueful. “Ah, yes. My suite.”
“Mrs. Abelman had it painted,” Callan relays. “It still stinks.”
“We can open the windows, air it. It’ll be fine.” Her gaze turns inquiring. “Does Mrs. Abelman hate me too?”
“No. No enemies within the house,” I assure her. “And Callan wasn’t lying. Cole rarely comes home.”
“Lies. He visited twice this past year,” she retorts.
“Ah, the gossip train.” I roll my eyes. “Pops told everyone he had a heart attack and dragged us home for a bedside vigil. As for the last time, he was introducing us to his girlfriend. Both are extraneous circumstances, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“So formal,” she mocks, but she does concede with a regal nod.
That word suits her—regal.
I point to an SUV. “Our ride.” To Callan, I ask, “Did you finish your chores?”
“Yes, Dad,” he mocks. “What do you think I am? An idiot?” He doesn’t let me answer, just starts the motor and revs the engine before taking off.
Once we’re in the SUV, she hesitates. “He’s…”
“Annoying?”
She graces me with a soft grin. “Sensible.”
“Yeah. You got that about right. Kid was born sensible. Doubt he’d ever jaywalk. Pops can’t understand why he’s not a pain in the ass like the rest of his spawn.”
“You might all be ornery, but you’re not him.”
Considering her accusation, I’ll take that for the compliment it is.
But the mere mention of him has me eager to get to the bottom of why he’d set fire to the stables, otherwise it’ll eat me alive.
Silence reigns until we make it to the homestead. I reckon she’s thinking about the shit she needs to do to establish herself here. As for me, I’m trying to figure out who to approach to reconcile Pops’s behavior that night.
What I do know—I’ll be making sure Seven Cs Inc. is disentangled from his companies ASAP.
If he’s capable of this, then God only knows what he might have done with the family’s billions.
Though I get out and open her door when we arrive at the big house, I wait for her to alight before I guide her to the porch.
That’s when I warn her: “I’m going to pick you up.”
“From where?” she asks, confused.
“Here.” I point to the door. “If you think I’m telling our kid that I didn’t do this, you’re mistaken.”
Before she can so much as blink, I swoop in and pick her up, holding her high against my chest.
Letting loose a shriek, her hands slipping around my neck to cling to my nape, she snaps, “That wasn’t much of a warning.”
Carrying her over the threshold, I drawl, “I’ll be sure to give you two weeks’ notice in the future.”