29. Colton
Later, when I get back to the house to finally ice my knuckles, I find a pile of letters waiting on the hall stand and the kitchen empty.
With a frown, I check my phone for the time and see that I’m not late for dinner.
Dismissing it because the house is currently on crack—Mum keeps taking Callan to McDonald’s and the arcade in the vain hope that’ll rewind ten years of her absence—I head for the freezer.
After snagging a bag of frozen peas, I grab a beer from the fridge, where I can see there are aluminum foil-wrapped baking trays containing my dinner, and then head for the table.
That’s where I see two candlesticks right in the middle with slightly burned wicks.
Though I arch a brow at the sight, I sit, dump the peas on my knuckles, and, because no one’s at home and I’m a thirty-goddamn-two-year-old man, I pop the cap on the side of the table.
Then, I drink.
“God, that hit the spot,” I mutter to no one, sighing as I work my neck from side to side to crack it.
That’s when I riffle through the mail.
Spotting the too-familiar handwriting on the front of one envelope, I pause when I notice there are two of them.
The top letter’s addressed to me.
The other is to Zee.
That bitch.
It’s one thing to send it to me, but it’s another to get Zee involved in this BS.
You’re so high and mighty, but you’re nothing more than a murderer.
You think I don’t know you’re laughing at the town now that you’ve moved into their fancy house?
I should make you pay.
Make YOU hurt.
Maybe I will.
Maybe words will become action soon.
It all depends on what your new husband will say.
Because they only care about money, maybe I’ll be seeing you sooner than you think.
My eyes widen in horror.
Normally, it’s this crazy bitch telling me I’m scum or that I don’t deserve to live because I committed the crime of being born a Korhonen.
This is an active threat against Zee.
And it means that one of my household staff is a fucking gossip.
Quickly, I tug open the other letter.
You’re going to pay, Korhonen.
Your family’s gotten away with murder for too long.
If you don’t want me to go to the cops, then you’ll transfer twenty-thousand dollars to this account.
I have proof you’re a murderer.
I’m not afraid of you.
Then, there’s a bank account listed.
“What’s that?”
Spying my wife in the doorway, hesitating like she still doesn’t know if she’s allowed to share oxygen with me, I murmur, “If you want a beer, there’s a six-pack in the fridge.”
I try not to watch her, but it’s an immediate fail.
She draws me like iron to a magnet.
Whatever room she’s in, I track her.
The hunter in me can’t help himself.
Focus shifting from these dumb letters onto something worthy of my attention, I watch as she gingerly treads over to the refrigerator.
After the day I’ve had, I rub my jaw and decide to tear off the Band-Aid for both of us. “Let me guess—you saw what happened out in the yard?”
Her head whips to the side, hair flying with the movement. “I did.”
Is she scared of me? That’s all I need.
Exhausted by the prospect, I sigh. “I’m not going to?—”
“He deserved worse,” she growls before I can get the word ‘apologize’ out. “You should have whipped him. See how much he likes that kind of treatment.” For the first time since that kiss, she stops walking on eggshells around me and it’s a damn fine sight to behold. “You did fire him?”
“I wish it were as easy as that. He’s suspended.”
The bottle in her hand clatters against the marble countertop when she almost drops it. “You can’t let him be around the animals!”
“I know.” I resettle the peas on my knuckles when I make a fist and accidentally dislodge the bag.
She scowls but takes a seat at the table. “So, why didn’t you cut him loose?”
“You remember Bea Hollier?”
“She’s Grantley’s wife.”
“Callan told you?”
“No, Grand-mère did a while ago.”
“You saw the bruises on her that day we went into town. He beats her. Hospitalized her a couple times.” My thumb scrapes at the label on the perspiring bottle of beer. “She won’t leave him.”
“Are you… close with her?”
My brows lift at her hesitation. “Can’t I spare an enemy from an abusive husband?”
“No.” She grimaces. “I mean, yes. Of course.”
God, she’s pretty.
Does she know that?
I don’t think she did when she was a kid. She was all gangly limbs and bruises from tripping. Massive eyes that saw too much—they swallowed up her whole face.
Not anymore.
“I know you were in the same class.”
“Theo Frobisher used to date her.”
Deep in contemplation, she takes a sip of beer. “Why didn’t he marry her if he wanted her?”
My gaze locks on her mouth. “Is anything in life ever that easy?”
“The Holliers and the Frobishers have never liked one another.”
“The Frobishers hate everyone.” I tip my bottle at her. “They would get along with your grand-mère. But they have a distinct dislike of the Holliers.”
“Wasn’t it because Bea’s granddad shot Old Man Frobisher in the ass?”
“Nearly made him a eunuch, which would have ended the line.”
“God, we waste so much time thinking about our lineage. We’re no better than breeders fretting about pedigree!”
“Wish I could say otherwise.”
“So, I’m guessing there’s a correlation between Marvin being a piece of scum, Bea, and you not being able to fire him?”
“Who’s the first person he’s going to take his frustration out on? Tonight, he’ll be nursing his injuries.” I rub my temple where an ache is gathering. “He won’t be able to do much more than groan and moan at her. Two days suspension, without pay, will hopefully make him simmer down rather than have him using her as a punching bag.”
“Do you ever get tired of having the weight of the world on your back, Colton?”
As I’m about to drink some beer, my hand freezes on its upward trajectory. “I don’t.”
“Seems to me like you do.” She hitches a shoulder. Her oversized sweater trickles over one arm, revealing creamy flesh that I want to— “Just an observation.”
“From someone who’s seen more of my brother than me since you moved in.”
“That’s probably why I noticed. You’re very alike.” She tips her head at the letter in front of me. “What’s that?”
“Mail.”
Of the black variation.
The bitch of it is, I’ll end up forking over the 20k.
Not because I’m scared about the ‘truth coming out.’ The only thing I’ve killed in my life is game. But keeping Zee safe is a priority and I know the blackmailer needs the cash.
Can’t stop being everyone’s goddamn father. That’s my problem.
Changing the subject, I mutter, “Where’s Callan?”
The pucker of her brow furrows deeper as she stares at me in silence. Eventually, though, after I wait her out, she answers, “Your mother took him to McDonalds again.”
I chuckle into my bottle. “I wonder if she orders Happy Meals for him.”
Zee’s lips twitch. “She’s not that bad. They’re going to the movies. That’s why Ida went with them.” Her soft smile flattens and she follows that up by clearing her throat. “I came down after they left and…” She points to the candles. “I think, okay, no, I know Callan is setting us up.”
“Ah.”
It’s all I can think to say.
“There were dishes set for two and music playing… You should probably talk to him.”
“You’ve spoken to my brother, Zee. Why do you think he’d listen to me?”
With a sigh, she taps her nails on the table. “True.”
I study her.
This woman who sleeps next door to me, who’s technically mine but also isn’t.
This woman creeps about the house like a ghost because this isn’t her home.
This woman sometimes cries out my dead horse’s name in her sleep.
This woman gave me the best kiss of my life.
This woman is fucking killing me.
“Penny for them?”
The only thing I can think to say to her is, “You cried during your sleep last night.”
She stiffens like I shot her.
But she doesn’t deny it.
Zee takes a deep gulp of beer. “I used to get nightmares all the time after… that night. They went away. But they started up again. Recently.”
Fucking A.
The suffering my father knowingly put this woman through will be the death of me.
“Maybe Callan got it right.”
“What do you mean?”
My jaw works. “Not calling Pops ‘Pops.’ That’s a label you give to someone who cares about his children, but the only thing that matters to Clyde is Clyde.”
“Oh.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Zee.”
“For?”
“Everything. That you have to live here, that you have to be with people you don’t know. That you’re sleeping in the room beside a stranger?—”
“You’re not a stranger. And I could be at the Bar 9. You gave me that option. I never expected you to. And after getting to know Callan, I can’t imagine how he’d cope with you moving, so it’s more impactful of an offer than I first recognized.”
“He’d have been fine with Mrs. Abelman. But you’re right. He has attachment issues. Also Clyde’s fault.”
Her brow lifts. “You’re downgrading him to his first name?”
I nod. “That man’s been no father to me. I always called him that because of the younger kids.”
“How bad…” She bites back the words.
“Go on. Ask,” I say calmly.
“How bad were things when you were younger? I saw some of it, but what Callan shares… it makes me think you hid more from me.”
“I did. Things were pretty damn bad.” When I drain my bottle dry, I retrieve another beer. “Want anything?”
“No. I’m good.”
Grunting, I return to the table and flip the cap on the edge again. “Pretty much from the start, he and Mum disagreed on how to raise me. He worried she was making me too soft.”
Her mouth rounds before she flattens her lips. “What an asshole.”
“He is. It got worse when I was scared about the monster under my bed.” I chuckle at nothing. “That earned me my first whooping.”
“I hate that man.”
“You and me both. But it was only the beginning. Anything that set him off about me not being a perfect alpha male at age four, I needed to learn a lesson. I swiftly realized nothing I did would please him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a crappy rancher. He doesn’t understand the land. Not like Uncle Clay did. I take after him. We listen, watch, and react.” I tap my nose. “But Clyde’s jealous. He thinks it’s a language when, really, it’s just taking note and being proactive. I made suggestions for anti-wildfire measures last year and he said it was a waste of money.” I shake my head. “Dumb fuck.”
“So he beat you because he didn’t measure up?”
“I’m pretty sure, yeah. In part, at least. I remember Uncle Clayton was teaching me about foraging crops one day. Alfalfa is a natural species here?—”
She smirks. “Rancher’s daughter, Colt. I know that.”
“You might have forgotten. Anyway, he was talking about starting a breeding program, wanting to integrate legumes like sainfoin and meadow bromegrass into our land.
“He got me researching the different species, learning what the pros and cons of each variety were. Pretty soon, I could talk about it like an eight-year-old pro. The importance of it made sense to me.
“Clyde clipped me once for being boring because it was all I could talk about.” My smile is bittersweet. “That time with Clayton as the land’s guardian is why our herd is as hardy as it is.”
“Why did Clayton let your father treat you that way?”
“I don’t know.”
We share a look. Hers disturbed, mine fatigued.
“How did Lindsay even fall for him? Bleugh.”
“She was new to Canada. New to the province. New to everything. He charmed her, and then afterward, she learned he was a bastard. He’s relatively handsome and, don’t forget, we’re rich. I’m not saying Mum’s a gold-digger, but she was raised in a poor area of the UK. Coming to Canada was something she’d dreamed of.”
“Why Canada?”
“My grandmother fell in love with a Canadian during the war. She was set to cross the Atlantic and then he was killed in action. They were married and everything, but she didn’t dare make the move without him.”
“What was his name?”
A smile twists my lips. “Ralph. Grandma told Mum a lot of stories, ones Ralph shared with her. That’s why she came here. To see the place her mother always regretted not visiting.”
“That’s sad.”
“It must have seemed like a rags-to-riches story. She came over with nothing and then married into one of the richest families in the province. How was she to know that everything comes with a price?”
That has her pulling a face. “I’m sorry she had to go through that. I’m sorry you did too.”
“It’s fine.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Why didn’t you want to live at the Bar 9?”
“Because the temptation to smother my grandmother was too strong?”
Snorting out a laugh, I retort, “She’d have fought you like a bear in a trap.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“You’re not the murdering kind.”
“The town doesn’t believe that.”
“No,” I agree, rubbing my eyes. “That why you haven’t left the ranch?”
“What’s there to leave for?”
“Amazon deliveries?”
She grins but hides it behind her beer. “The ranch hands bring the mail.”
“There is that.”
Zee releases a sigh. “Does this place have any happy memories for you?”
“The house, the ranch, or the town?”
“The house.”
I hum. “Plenty. Bad ones, sure. But I grew up with my brothers. I’d do anything for them. Did anything for them. I wanted them to be safe in a way that I never was so I took a lot of pleasure in seeing them grow up normally.”
She blinks. “You’re a very good man, Colton.”
“Hardly.” That she thinks that matters.
More than she’ll ever know.
“Not many would…” She plays with her earring. The fidgeting is new—that’s why I notice it. “The bulk of my memories from home are good ones.”
“Then why don’t?—”
“Because the two people who made them good aren’t there anymore,” she admits, her voice raw with grief.
“I’m sorry, Zee,” I rasp, leaning forward so that I can snag her hand in mine. “It’s not fair. How my douche of a father can still walk this Earth but your parents, good people, have both passed away.”
Her chin butts her chest, but she doesn’t free her hand. “The prospect of living there, full-time, without them was more than I could stand.
“Plus, I know my grandmother. She’d never give me any peace. At least here, I can do what I want. I knew before we married you’d never pressure me into anything.”
“You know you can use a truck whenever you want, right?”
“Callan said as much.” She bites her lip. “Thank you.”
“For?”
Zee hesitates at first then murmurs, “You’ve been very generous. With everything. I couldn’t have… expected that.”
“We’re married.”
“Yes, but you’ve still been kind. I’m not saying this because you’re a Korhonen, either. You’ve welcomed me into your home. You’ve offered me the use of a truck. Staff clean my bathroom and Ida makes dinner.” She huffs out a laugh. “It’s more than I expected and more than I deserve too.”
I squeeze her hand but before I release it, I press my lips to her knuckles. When she squirms on her seat, I do it again, rumbling the words against her skin: “Don’t tell Mrs. Abelman that. She has her schedule to abide by.”
She swallows.
Hard.
My gaze locks on hers as I run the tip of my nose along the seam where her pointer and middle fingers meet.
“She’s pretty terrifying,” she croaks out, but she doesn’t pull away. “I thought the rumors were creative lies.”
With a wink, I relinquish my hold on her hand. “I made up most of the rumors but they were founded in the truth.”
Her smile hits me on the raw. Mostly because it’s genuine. Honest. A shared moment of humor.
What catches me like a fist to the solar plexus is when her thumb comes out and swipes over the place I just kissed.
Not to wipe away my kiss.
But to hold it in place.