Chapter 3
THREE
Hazel
After I get the ladies to their bird-watching appointment and arrange to have Grace take them to lunch and the local winery after, I make my way into town. Purgatory Falls, Colorado, is one of the most gorgeous places in the state, maybe even the country. It was founded in the 1860s but grew during Colorado’s silver boom over a decade later. Ramsey’s family had been one of the first to set a stake on the edge of town, but they hadn’t been the only homesteaders out here. The Briggs—my family, the Silvertons, and the McDaniels also made their homes here in the late nineteenth century, and the town still embraces its historical roots—one of the things that continues to draw tourists in by the busload. The other being the massive glittery casino on the edge of town.
Main Street is lined with historic storefronts, quaint cafes, and old-school saloons that have been converted in more recent years to appease visitors who want to feel like they’re stepping back in time. Flower boxes line the sidewalks and cloth banners dangle from the lampposts with advertisements for the upcoming fall Harvest Fest. It looks like something from a storybook, and thanks to the local bakery, Hotcakes, it smells like one too when I step out of my car.
One of my best friends, Marlowe, is the owner, and she grins when she sees me enter, nodding at me as she runs back and forth along the cases, gathering an order of breads and Danishes for Mrs. McDaniel. I nod back and make my way to the corner booth. There’s a little nook back there with a table and a perfect view of the town square, perfect for quiet people watching or gossiping with Marlowe in between customers. Late mornings are usually her quiet time before she gets a noon rush of people grabbing sandwiches and midday caffeine fixes, and I come here semi-regularly for a chat and early lunch whenever I can get away from the inn. I definitely need the escape today given the dark hulking piece of metal on my lawn. Marlowe raises a brow in question when she sees my face, and I must be doing a poor job of covering my resting I wish my husband was still in prison face. I throw my purse over the back of the wooden chair and pull my phone out, flipping through some emails while I wait for her to finish ringing Mrs. McDaniel up.
“I didn’t expect you today,” Marlowe says as her attention turns to me, and she takes the seat across from me.
“Well, it’s already been a dumpster fire of a morning, so I figured I deserved a break.”
“Uh-oh. Is Albert giving you grief about not updating the electrical again?” She looks at me thoughtfully. Albert, my maintenance guy, had his own list of necessary upgrades, above and beyond my cosmetic ones, that needed to happen if we want to keep the inn in running order, and somehow, his managed to be much more expensive than the new duvets and bathroom tile I’ve been coveting.
“It’s been okay this week. No major issues, but it’s on the list. As soon as I get the refinance to go through.”
“How’s that going? Have you talked to him yet?” Her lips press together warily.
It’s impossible for the Stockton brothers not to come up in conversation. They run the casino on land that backs up to the ranch, and it employs half the newcomers in town. They also own half the buildings on Main Street, the one car dealership on the edge of town, and they might as well have their names tattooed on half of the city council members’ asses for how much they do their bidding. Soon enough, they’ll be renaming the city after them.
But most of my friends are kind enough not to mention the youngest brother’s name, the one who ran off to the Midwest to make his millions far away from this little town he grew up in—and me. The only thing he owns in this town is my ranch and inn, but it’s enough to make my life hell.
“Funny you should ask.” Sarcasm leeches through my tone as I look out the window.
“It didn’t go well?”
“That’s an understatement. I came downstairs this morning to my Grannies with Gumption group peering out the window, tittering about some guy’s ass and thighs. This had me wildly confused because Albert and Sam aren’t exactly famous for either… and lo and behold, it’s Ramsey, fully nude and showering at the back of his RV on the lawn next to the ranch house.”
“Outside?” Marlowe’s face contorts with horror.
“Outside in full view of the dining room.” I sigh as I watch a group of tourists make their way down the street.
“So he did it on purpose. ”
“He claims he didn’t think any of the windows faced that direction.”
“Does he have eyes?”
“Who knows what he has anymore? But he’s here. And I can only imagine what that means.”
“Is he moving back?”
“Hell no!” I answer her sharply. The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and now my nerves can’t handle the idea. “He couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t he?” she asks reluctantly, drawing her lips to one side in contemplation. “I mean, if you’re still married and all the settlement paperwork didn’t go through…” The implication is there. Everything was his to start with, and Colorado law seemed pretty clear about the dispersal of assets in a contested divorce.
“I don’t know. I have my meeting with my lawyer this week. Yet another thing I can’t afford.” I sigh. “I can’t imagine him wanting it back. He couldn’t run away from there fast enough.” I feel sick at the thought of losing everything because he’s changed his mind.
“Yeah, but now after everything… He might have changed his mind. Prison can change people. Let alone the kind of things he went through…” Marlowe looks at me thoughtfully.
She’s the romantic of our friend group, so she’s always had a soft spot for Ramsey’s tortured soul. The fact that he went to prison because he murdered the guy who was trying to kill his teammate and friend had her all atwitter when it happened. Frankly, it had the whole town lauding him as a hero and happy to answer media calls about Stockton’s humble beginnings in Purgatory Falls. Not that they were very humble. Unless you consider organized crime, theft, racketeering, and three thousand acres humble.
“Well, he can’t come back. It’s mine now, and I’ve moved on. I’m getting married in six months, and the last thing I need is him around fucking everything up.” It’s that simple. It has to be.
“Did he look as good as he does on TV?” Marlowe can’t seem to control the small smirk that spreads as she asks the question. For being the sweet one, she still loves to stir things up. I give her a sour look in return, and she holds up her hands. “I’m just asking, objectively. Inquiring minds and all that.”
“The grannies certainly thought so. I thought he was going to give them a heart attack with the way they were clutching their pearls over him.”
“And you?”
“He was covered up by the time I got outside.” It’s not a lie. The fact that I noticed that he’s in the best shape of his life and has a couple dozen more tattoos than I remember doesn’t need to be mentioned.
“You know I’m not gonna tell anyone, right? Won’t even whisper a word to Dakota or Bristol.” She raises a brow at me skeptically. Our two best friends would run wild with the truth I’m about to admit.
I sigh and she just watches and waits patiently for me to say the thing she already knows is true.
“He looked good— really good,” I admit bitterly. “It’s not fair.”
“I mean… he was in the pros and then in prison. Lots of time and incentive to be in the gym.”
“He has more tattoos too. And the scruff.” I huff and shake my head. “Too bad it’s all wrapped up in that package.”
“I thought we liked that package enough to marry it,” she muses.
“And then we hated it enough to divorce it,” I counter. “I feel sorry for the next woman who falls for it.”
“Touché. When is the new divorce happening then? ”
“Not quick enough. I’ll probably have to play nice to get him to hurry up and re-sign everything. But then, hopefully, he’ll be on his way.” That was the only upside to him being in town. He’s here, and I can sit down with him, redo all the paperwork, and get it turned in without any of the cross-country back-and-forth that we had the last time.
Marlowe’s mouth twitches, and then she turns and looks out the window, leaning on her hand and trying to cover the way her lips betray her otherwise serene face.
“What?” I ask flatly.
“Nothing…”
“Just say it.”
“I just think you’re being a little na?ve if you think he drove a thousand miles just to fill out divorce paperwork.”
“What? You really think he’s going to stick around He hates it here.?”
“I think he’s not playing football anymore, and this is his hometown. His family’s here. His ranch.”
“ My ranch.”
“Technically his.” She tilts her head.
“He doesn’t want it. And his family? The brothers haven’t even spoken in years to my knowledge.”
“To be fair, your knowledge of what he’s been up to isn’t very extensive. Maybe the whole prison and near-death experience changed things for him. Even if the relationships are all strained, maybe he’s got a mind to mend them.”
“Like it changed him the last time?” I ask because it was violence and death that had driven us down the road to divorce in the first place.
“I mean, last time it sent him running away. This time it might have sent him running home.” Marlowe gives me a look that tells me I should reconsider my preconceived notions. “I’m just saying… consider the possibility and prepare yourself. He might stick around for a bit.”
“Not if I can help it.” I’d make the man’s life a living hell if he tried. No way does he get to disappear for five years, move on with his life, and then come back home and take it all away again because of a clerical error.
“You do know how to push his buttons,” Marlowe notes, and I offer a wry grin in return that makes her shake her head. “All right. Then we’ll have to keep you fueled for the rebellion. What’ll it be—turkey or ham?”
“Turkey, please. And cold brew? I need something to wake me up before I go back. I barely slept last night, and thanks to him, I didn’t get my second cup.”
“One turkey on farmer’s bread coming up. You can grab the cold brew for yourself if you want.” She nods to the small fridge.
We spend the rest of my late morning break chatting about our new business ideas and making plans for the weekend. It’s a much-needed break from my current reality. But when the line at the door starts to get longer, she has to say goodbye, and I have to face reality.
“Go find out what he wants. Better to rip the Band-Aid off than be stuck wondering.” She raises her brow, and I sigh but reluctantly nod my head. I might as well learn what my fate’s going to be and how long it’s going to involve Ramsey Stockton.
When I get back to the ranch, I pull down the long dirt and gravel drive, parking in the lot in front of the barn . I want to check to make sure the trail ride the guests took this afternoon was a good one and check in on one of the rescue horses that just got here earlier this week. But when I walk across the lot and into the stables, Kellan, the trainer, and Eli, his assistant and the barn manager, are missing. Instead, I see Ramsey, dressed in all black, with a baseball hat on backward, leaning into one of the stalls, smiling and talking like he’s catching up with an old friend. When Wolfsbane lifts his head over the gate and lets Ramsey run his hand over his nose, I realize that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Wolfsbane is still his after all these years. His parents bought the horse for him for his seventeenth birthday, not long after Ramsey found out he was getting a football scholarship. They’d offered to upgrade his truck and buy him a sports car, but he’d asked for the massive Friesian instead.
I’d been tempted to sell him more than once. The price he’d fetch on the market would keep the rescue horses fed and watered for at least a couple of years, and he’d never been happy after Ramsey left. Giving every other rider but me trouble, and even with me, he’d pout about the fact that I wasn’t bringing Ramsey home to him. We couldn’t use him for lessons or trail rides, and I didn’t get to ride him nearly as much as I would like.
But I felt like I needed Ramsey’s permission to sell him, and I wasn’t about to be the one who broke the silence between us after we signed the papers five years ago. So Wolfsbane had stayed, first to listen to me cry and scream and commiserate about what an ass his owner was and then to remind me never to put either of us in the position of being left again.
“You miss me? I missed you, buddy. We’ll have to go for a ride later. If your mom lets me. She’s pretty pissed at me after this morning. But you’re not, are you, bud? You’re happy to see me.” Ramsey leans his head forward, bringing him forehead-to-nose with Wolfsbane, talking to him in a sweet voice. One I’ve only ever heard him use on Wolfsbane and the dog he had as a kid. It makes me smile despite myself as I try to keep my approach slow. I can tell Wolfsbane is eating up every moment of the attention from him, and I hate to interrupt. I can feel sorry for the horse even if I don’t feel an ounce of it for the man.
“I see you two are getting reacquainted,” I say as I get closer. Ramsey doesn’t even startle; he just glances back over his shoulder.
“Yeah. The big guy and I have some catching up to do.”
“Is he in a forgiving mood?” I ask, running my hand down Wolfsbane’s nose as he extends his head and neck in Ramsey’s direction for more attention.
“Seems like he might be.” Ramsey looks over him thoughtfully as he nudges his shoulder again.
“You can ride him later if you want. Kell can help you get him saddled.”
“I can still saddle my own horse, Haze.” There’s a scoffing click in his throat as he shakes his head. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“Well, it’s been a bit. I have no idea what you get up to in the city.” I shrug, and Ramsey looks back over his shoulder again to study me.
“Or around here.” He smirks as his eyes travel over me. “Finally got the blue hair I see.”
His eyes run over my long hair. I’m naturally a brunette, but when Bristol dyed hers, she convinced me to do the same. We spent her birthday down in the city last month getting it done. While Marlowe and Dakota got theirs highlighted, I opted for a dark brown at the roots that fades to a cerulean blue at the tips. I’ve been threatening to do it since I was a teenager and figured it was now or never.
“Yeah. Bristol and I got it done for her birthday.” I shrug.
“Hers blue too?”
“No. She got a rose-gold color. It looks pretty on her with her green eyes. ”
“You’ve got lots of new tattoos,” I note as I look at his arms, where a geometric pattern swirls around his elbow and meets a bee with a crown. I guess this is our version of small talk.
He shrugs. “The guys and I sometimes go get ’em done for fun. Win a game. Get a bonus. Gotta spend it somehow.”
“I think those guys normally buy houses and cars, don’t they?”
“Some. A surprising number of us are smart enough to save it. You never know how many good years you’ll have in the league.”
“Fair enough.” I don’t want to touch that subject with a ten-foot pole yet. I only know what I heard on the news, but it’s obvious he isn’t playing this year. Though I imagine that’s not the whole story.
As much as I want to avoid the next discussion, I do need to start getting to the point. Ripping the Band-Aid off like Marlowe suggested.
“I assume you’re not here just for fun. It’s too long of a drive for that. So what is it you want, Ramsey?”
He turns to me, his eyes running up my legs and over my body until they meet mine, and the smile on his face turns ominously dark. I don’t even need him to say a word to know—Marlowe was right.