Chapter 7 Dante
Dante
Days slipped by as I settled into my new life on the Wesley Ranch.
Hell Creek was quiet, quaint, and honestly, kinda boring.
It was the opposite of Newark in every way.
And it didn’t take me long to realize that I stood out like a sore thumb.
If I wanted the locals to trust me enough to do business with me, I needed them to accept me as one of their own.
And that meant a new wardrobe.
Unfortunately, Hell Creek didn’t have much in the way of shopping. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. If I shopped local, I could make friends, schmooze, and get on the good side of the town. How hard could it be?
I parked the SUV on Main Street, taking in the three-block stretch that apparently constituted downtown Hell Creek.
A diner with faded paint, a bar without a name, the courthouse where I’d gotten married three days ago, a run-down hardware store, a lawyer’s office, and a feed store with a weathered sign that read “Morrison’s Feed & Supply. ”
It would have to do.
The bell above the door chimed as I walked in, and the smell hit me immediately. Dust, leather oil, and something vaguely agricultural that I couldn’t quite place. The interior was dim compared to the bright morning outside, my eyes taking a moment to adjust.
Rows of shelves stretched toward the back, stocked with everything from chicken feed to fence posts. But what caught my attention was the small section along the right wall. A pitiful display of clothing that looked like it had been there since the Reagan administration.
Jeans. All of them the same basic style in varying shades of blue. A rack of shirts with pearl snap buttons in plaids and solids. A shelf of cowboy hats gathering dust. And boots. Lots and lots of boots.
This was it. This was my entire shopping selection.
“Can I help you with something?”
I turned to see an old man standing behind the counter, staring at me. He was bald, weathered, and looked like he’d spent his entire life under those dying fluorescent lights.
“Just grabbing some clothing,” I said, pointing towards the far wall. “Is that all you have?”
“That’s all you need,” he grumbled. Then he looked me up and down, like I was the most ridiculous person in the world in my slacks and button-down dress shirt. “People around here work. Them’s workin’ clothes.”
“Got it,” I nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
I headed toward the wall of dusty clothes and stopped short. I had no clue what I was looking for or what things went together.
“You look like a deer in headlights,” a voice said.
A woman, probably in her sixties, had stepped up beside me. She had gray hair pulled back in a bun, a kind face, and the kind of tough facade that told me she didn’t put up with nobody’s bullshit. I liked her the moment I saw her.
“I’m not from around here—”
“I gathered,” she grinned, giving me a once over. “The clothes and accent give you away.”
“That’s the thing,” I continued. “I’m trying to fit in. But I’ve never…” I gestured to the wall. “I’ve never worn this stuff. I don’t know where to start.”
I couldn’t tell if she was charmed by me or knew she was dealing with a rattlesnake. But either way, she just smiled, placing her basket on the shelf next to her before sticking out her hand. “My name’s Evelyn. I work over at the Nelson Ranch.”
“Dante Valenti,” I replied, shaking her hand.
“I just moved to the Wesley Ranch.” I thought it best not to mention that I’d married Nick three days ago.
I wasn’t sure what kind of people lived in this small town yet and I needed her help.
“Well,” she sighed liked a mother aiding a helpless child.
“Give me a spin and let’s see what we’re working with. ”
I raised my arms, doing a slow turn like I was on some kind of runway. Evelyn circled me, her eyes assessing every detail of my outfit with the precision of a drill sergeant inspecting a recruit.
“Well,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You’ve got a good build. That’s half the battle right there. But these...” She plucked at my dress shirt with two fingers like it was contaminated. “These have got to go.”
“That bad?”
“Honey, you look like you’re part of the mafia.
” My heart leaped into my throat, but she was already moving to the rack of pearl snap shirts, flipping through them with practiced efficiency.
“Out here, if you’re not working cattle or fixing fence, you’re probably at the bar.
And even then, nobody’s wearing whatever this is.
” She gestured vaguely at my Brioni suit that cost over ten thousand dollars like it was a rag.
I couldn’t help but laugh. There was something refreshing about her bluntness. Back in Jersey, people either kissed my ass because of my last name or avoided me entirely. This woman didn’t seem to give a damn who I was.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
She pulled out a dark blue shirt with white snaps and held it up against my chest, squinting.
“This’ll work. Brings out your eyes.” She tossed it at me, and I caught it reflexively.
“You’ll need at least four or five of these.
Different colors. And get a couple flannels for when it gets cold.
Which it will. This is Montana, not wherever the hell you’re from. ”
“Jersey,” I nodded. “It gets cold there too.”
“Not like it does here,” she shot back, giving me a wink. “Trust me.”
I grabbed a few more shirts in different colors—a gray one, a dark green, something in burgundy that she insisted would look good on me. Each one felt stiff and foreign in my hands, nothing like the soft Egyptian cotton I was used to.
“Now jeans,” Evelyn said, moving to the stack of denim. “What size are you?”
“Thirty-two, thirty-four,” I said.
She pulled out several pairs, holding them up to my waist with zero shame about getting in my personal space. “These’ll do. Wranglers. They’ll last you forever if you treat ‘em right.” She dumped them in my arms. “And for God’s sake, get the boot cut. You’re gonna need room for your boots.”
“Boots,” I repeated, looking at the wall of leather. There had to be fifty pairs, all variations on the same theme.
“Don’t even think about those fancy ones,” she warned, following my gaze to a pair of ornate black boots with silver stitching.
“Those are for show. You want work boots. Something that can handle mud and shit. Literally.” She pulled down a pair of plain brown leather boots with a rounded toe.
“These. Ariat. Good brand. They’ll break in nice. ”
I took them, adding them to the growing pile in my arms. The weight of it all was starting to get to me—not physically, but mentally. This was real. I was actually doing this. Trading in everything I knew for a life I had dreamed about but was completely foreign to me.
“You alright there?” Evelyn asked, eyeing me with concern.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking off the strange melancholy that had crept over me. “Just... adjusting.”
“Well, adjust faster,” she said, but there was warmth in her voice as she gave me a playful nudge.
“You’re missing the most important part.
” She walked over to the hat display and pulled down a black felt cowboy hat, turning it over in her hands to inspect it.
“Can’t be a proper rancher without a hat. ”
I set down my pile of clothes on a nearby bench and took the hat from her. It felt heavier than I expected, solid in my hands. I turned it over, examining the band, the stitching, the way the brim curved just so.
“Go on,” Evelyn urged. “Put it on.”
I hesitated. This felt like more than just trying on a hat. It felt like putting on a costume, playing a role I had no business playing. But I’d come this far, hadn’t I? Might as well commit.
I placed the hat on my head, adjusting it slightly.
Evelyn stepped back, crossing her arms as she looked me over. A slow smile spread across her face. “Well, I’ll be damned. You actually look the part.”
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward a small, dusty mirror propped against the wall near the boots. “See for yourself.”
I looked at my reflection, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize the man staring back at me.
The hat sat low on my forehead, casting shadows across my face that made my features look harder, more weathered.
Combined with the pearl snap shirt I was still holding and the general atmosphere of this place, I almost looked like I belonged here.
Almost.
“The hat stays on,” Evelyn declared. “You’re buying it. Now let’s get you to the register before Morrison charges you rent for standing here so long.”
I gathered up my pile of clothes, the boots, and kept the hat on my head as I followed her to the counter. The old man—Morrison, apparently—rang everything up with the enthusiasm of someone attending a funeral. The total came to less than one of my dress shirts back home cost.
“You need bags?” Morrison grunted.
“No, I’ve got it,” I said, pulling out my wallet.
He eyed my black Amex card like it was a snake. “We take cash or check.”
Of course they did.
“I’ll cover it,” Evelyn said, pulling out some worn bills from her pocket before I could protest.
“You don’t have to—”
“Consider it a welcome gift,” she said firmly, handing Morrison the cash. “Besides, you can pay me back by coming out to visit on the Nelson Ranch.” She glanced down at my left hand, nodding to the gold band. “And bring your spouse with you.”
I couldn’t help noticing the purposeful way she’d said spouse instead of wife. Did she know something already? Had the Wesley’s talked? I knew word would spread eventually and all the work at the Wesley place couldn’t have gone unnoticed. But already?
“I think that can be arranged,” I replied, shooting her my most charming smile. “I don’t know anyone around here, so it would be nice to make some friends.”
“Well, Cole and Jesse Nelson are good people. You’ll like them.”
Cole and Jesse. Sounded like a straight couple to me. I don’t know why I expected different. Evelyn and I left the shop together. The moment we were outside I turned to thank her, but she held up a hand.
“So, you’re the one that married, Nick, huh?”
She did know. I cleared my throat. “Uh, yes. That’s me.”
“I never thought he’d be the type to go for a man,” she replied, but there was no judgement in her voice, just surprise.
“Especially a city boy.” She took a step closer, patting me on the shoulder.
“I hope you know how lucky you are, Mr. Valenti. Nick is a hard-workin’ man.
He’s been trying to save that ranch for years on nothin’ but a hope and a prayer.
” Her smile widened as she plucked at my suit.
“But considering this suit cost more than my truck, I’m figurin’ you’re the reason the Wesley’s are back on their feet now and that ranch isn’t in foreclosure. ”
I was starting to think this woman was psychic. Or obnoxiously observant. She might even give my father a run for his money. And that, more than anything, made me realize that if I was going to do well in Hell Creek, I needed her on my side.
“Yes ma’am,” I nodded.
“Well, be kind to one another. I know a marriage of convenience when I see one.” She patted my shoulder again, her kind eyes boring into mine. “But that doesn’t mean love can’t grow in its place if you just take the time to nurture it.” Another smile. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Valenti.”
“Call me Dante,” I replied. “And good to meet you too, Evelyn.”
She gave me a small wave, and I watched her walk away, her words settling over me like the Montana sky that seemed to consume everything in this town.
Love. The concept felt foreign, almost laughable. I’d married Nick Wesley for business, for the ranch, for my father’s expansion plans. Nick was beautiful and strong, yes. But love had nothing to do with it.
And yet, as I loaded my purchases into the SUV, I couldn’t shake the image of Nick’s face that first morning. The way he’d looked at me with such raw hatred, but also something else. Something that made my pulse quicken. There was possibility there, a seed of what could be.
I drove back to the ranch, the black hat still on my head. It felt strange, like wearing someone else’s skin. But when I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, I had to admit Evelyn was right. I looked the part.
The tiny house came into view, and I spotted Nick near the barn, working on something I couldn’t quite make out from this distance. My stomach did an odd flip, and I told myself it was just nerves about showing him my new look. Nothing more.
I parked and grabbed my bags, the new boots feeling heavy in my hands. Nick looked up at the sound of the car door, and I saw him freeze mid-motion when he saw me.
I walked toward him, acutely aware of every step, every movement. His eyes tracked me, widening slightly as he took in the hat, the bags, the whole package.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he asked when I got close enough.
I grinned, tipping the hat slightly. “When in Rome, right? Or in this case, when in Hell Creek.” I held up the bags. “Got myself a proper rancher wardrobe. Thought I should look the part.”
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he turned back to whatever he’d been working on. A broken fence post, I realized.
“You look ridiculous,” he muttered.
But I’d seen it. Just for a second, before he’d looked away. Interest. Maybe even a hint of a smile.
“I met someone in town,” I said, setting the bags down on a nearby hay bale. “Evelyn. Works at the Nelson Ranch. She helped me pick everything out.”
Nick’s hands stilled on the fence post. “Evelyn knows about us?”
“She seemed to. Said we should come visit the Nelsons sometime.” I paused, watching his reaction. “She also said something interesting. About marriages of convenience and how love can grow if you nurture it.”
“Evelyn’s a good woman. But she needs to mind her own damn business,” Nick said, but there was no real anger in it.
I moved closer, drawn by something I couldn’t name. “Does it bother you? That people know?”
“What do you think?” He finally looked at me again, and I saw the conflict in those green eyes. Anger, yes. But also confusion. Maybe even curiosity. “This whole town’s gonna be talking about how I’m some queer now. Thanks for painting a target on my back.”
I reached out, grabbing Nick by the arm and turning him to face me. “If anyone,” I growled, “so much as says a nasty word to you, I’ll have them dealt with.” He stared at me, eyes wide with fear and surprise. “Nobody is going to hurt what’s mine, and that includes you.”