CHAPTER 3
FORD
“Boss,” Bo calls out from the other side of the barn while I’m brushing my horse, Peaches. “That was Rosalie. Mrs. Conners and Miss Crystal are up at the house. They’re asking to see you.”
I want to groan and then I want to ignore the man. But I know I can’t. It certainly won’t make the problem go away.
“Thanks, Bo. Tell her I’m on my way.” Once he hangs up, I nod toward Peaches. “Can you make sure she’s taken care of?”
He strides my way and takes the brush out of my hands. “No problem, Boss.”
After tipping my hat in his direction in acknowledgement, I don’t even try to keep the frustration out of my voice, “We’ll go out and check out the fences you found later, since we’ve been interrupted.”
As I stride out of the barn, I take a deep breath and try to find some semblance of peace. I know it’s not going to help at all. Nothing is going to help.
Not with the two women I have waiting for me. I’m surprised they decided to make the trip. I made some phone calls to find an interior designer to work on Mom’s house project.
What more could she want? I didn’t argue with her about her plan to go to New York and shop with Crystal.
I might dread getting the bill, but we can afford it.
I can’t imagine spending money the way she does, and being able to afford it doesn’t make it right to me, but I gave up trying to reason with the woman a long time ago.
I just hope she’s not here with some scheme to redecorate this house. Not when she hasn’t lived here in years.
Damn it. Maybe it’s time I change things up around here.
I’m not sure if putting it off is working anymore, not when she could sweep in at any minute and pretend like she cares about Sagebrush.
Everything—the land, the business, the house—was given to me when Dad passed. Mom doesn’t know and thinks she has a stake in it all. The vacation home in Lake Tahoe is hers, which is why I never discouraged her from moving there.
If she were to find out she doesn’t own the house? I certainly don’t want to witness the tantrum that would follow.
Hell, I don’t even want to deal with her attitude if I were to point out that she showed up without any warning and interrupted my day. Hopefully, I can keep my mouth in check.
It’s not easy when I don’t recognize the woman anymore, and don’t like the example she’s setting for my sister at all. Crystal used to love the ranch.
She’d get on a horse and inspect the fields and the fences right along with me and Dad. He never dismissed her interest or involvement because she’s a girl. He certainly wouldn’t have been the first rancher to do it if he had. But he didn’t.
I think when he died, Crystal felt like she didn’t have any choice but to attach herself to mom and start to model her bad behavior.
One of the only regrets I have in life is not being there for her when she needed me the most. Maybe, if I would have made the time, things would have turned out differently.
Or maybe not.
I’ll never know now, but I have to wonder if maybe I’ll get my sister back one day.
The sister who lived in her worn boots and was able to connect with the wildest of horses.
She loved being one of the first people to greet the calves after being born while hating that they’d end up at the slaughterhouse before too long.
But it’s the life and Dad never sugarcoated any of it.
I step inside the back door and straight into the kitchen. When Rosalie glances my way, she looks relieved and annoyed. I don’t blame her. It’s not like Mom and Crystal are her problem.
No, they’re mine. My head starts to pound right behind my eyes.
She has tea and a few pastries ready to be served. While I appreciate the effort, I’m sure it’ll be wasted on the two ladies waiting for me.
I hold the door open to the kitchen for Rosalie and murmur softly, “I’m sorry. I would have warned you if I had known myself.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Ford,” she assures me. “I can handle the two of them.”
I think she mutters something else under her breath about ungrateful women, but she doesn’t repeat herself and I don’t ask her to.
The moment I step into the drawing room, I want to run away. This room is the one I hate the most. Every piece of furniture is dainty and looks like it’ll collapse if I so much as look at it wrong let alone sit on it.
Mom and Crystal look right at home sitting on chairs with floral patterns that make it look like it belongs in a castle and not a ranch in Nevada.
I haven’t stepped foot into this room in a long time.
I think the last time was because I was looking for a new bottle of Hammon Whiskey and figured I would find one in the bar.
I was right, the bottle was acquired, and I haven’t thought about the room since.
“Ford,” Mom’s tone is choreographed excitement and indulgence. I have no doubt it’s for Rosalie’s benefit because it certainly isn’t for mine. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Come, let me look at you.”
Even though I don’t want to, I stride across the room and land kisses in the air adjacent to both of her cheeks.
Rosalie starts to serve the tea while I sit, as gingerly as possible, in the sturdiest looking chair.
In this room, that’s not saying much since the legs are spindly and look like they could snap in two at any moment.
I certainly don’t shift my weight around in the chair. No, I don’t like this chair in the first place, I sure as fuck don’t want to have to replace it.
When I look at my sister, I hardly recognize her. She had brown hair when she lived at Sagebrush. Now, it’s dyed blonde and looks dry. It reminds me of tinder, and I can only hope she doesn’t get too close to an open flame.
Talk about a disaster.
“Crystal,” I greet her, trying to hold out a little hope that the sister I remember is still in there somewhere, “it’s good to see you. I hope you’re enjoying yourself in Tahoe.”
She smacks her gum and glances down at her nails before looking at me. The vapidness in her eyes guts me.
“Things are great. I’m dating a guy who works in finance in California. He was on a ski vacation when I met him. It was love at first sight.”
Mom beams at my sister like she just admitted to finding a cure for cancer before tittering, “You certainly snagged you a good one.” She looks at me and leans forward conspiratorially, “He’s making mid six figures and has room for advancement.”
I nod slowly, but it does nothing to help me process the conversation. Is that what she thinks love is?
It’s not the kind of love I ever want to find.
I’ve always looked forward to finding love that lasts.
One that will be there when the years are lean and the land holds back some of its treasures.
One that will be there when life feels bountiful because it is.
I’m not talking in terms of money, because ranch life is unpredictable, I’m talking about bounty where it counts.
Laughter filling the house. Sunset kisses and smiles over breakfast. My life being filled with love instead of loneliness.
That’s the kind of love I’ve been waiting for all my life.
When I first cooked up this vision in my head, I thought it was the kind of love, the kind of marriage, my parents had. Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe I was just looking at things through rose colored glasses.
I’m still waiting to find that love. Now, though, I’m not sure if it exists at all.
For some reason my faceless, nameless, letter writer comes to mind. It would be silly to love a woman I don’t even know.
But you do know her. You know her better than you know anyone.
The reality is that she’s not here. She’s choosing to remain a mystery.
And I’m still waiting.
I’ve never been in a relationship. The girls back in high school saw me as the future owner of Sagebrush Ranch. They saw bagging me as some sort of status symbol.
I sure as fuck wasn’t interested in that. It’s not like I had the time to date them either.
But without a girlfriend, or any interest in those girls, I find myself now a 25-year-old virgin. Thankfully, people don’t ask about my sexual habits and it’s something I’ve been able to keep to myself. I’m not sure I’m in any rush to change it either.
Unless Sunflower’s identity is revealed.
Keeping my voice neutral isn’t easy, but I manage as I tell Crystal, “I hope he makes you happy.”
She blinks at me a few times, like she doesn’t understand the words I said. And how fucking sad is that?
“That’s not why we’re here,” Mom interjects and I’m almost grateful for it.
“Okay, then why are you here?” I can’t help but ask the question, but I’m not sure I really want to know.
When Rosalie hands me a cup of tea, I meet her gaze and mutter, “Thank you.” I look toward the women who have crashed into the middle of my day, “Are you ladies staying for dinner? Rosalie will need to know to plan accordingly.”
Mom scrunches up her face and shakes her head while Crystal scoffs, “You want us to eat here? Everything you all eat here is full of carbs and fats. I can’t eat anything here. I have to keep to my strict diet if I’m going to fit in my wedding dress.”
My eyebrows shoot up toward my hairline as my head snaps toward my sister. I replay her earlier words, and she definitely didn’t say she’s engaged. She said she’s dating him, not getting married to him.
“What do you mean, fit into your wedding dress? Did the guy you’re seeing ask you to marry him?” I sound confused as hell because I am.
“No,” Crystal laughs like I’m just the silliest thing, “nothing like that. But I need to be ready when he asks. I already know which designer will make me a one-of-a-kind couture dress.”
Mother smiles at her with pure indulgence. I can almost feel the money being drained out of the bank. But I won’t fight her on what she wants.
“As you know we’re going to New York in a few weeks. The Tahoe home will be redecorated when we’re gone.”
“Yes,” I try not to sound like I’m snarling at the woman, “I remember your phone call.”