Chapter 2 #2
“Don’t even think about it, Lee Denver,” a muffled shout comes from behind the screen door leading into the house. “I ain’t going to bail you out this time when old Man Sheppard closes the clink on you.”
I startle when the screen door burst wide open, and a tall man wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, a dirty white T-shirt, and a black cowboy hat storms down the stairs in an angry huff.
“Mind your own business, Pace,” the man snarls as he barrels ahead, not bothering to watch where he is going. “Ain’t no one asking you for nothin’.”
I manage to barely move out of his war path as he marches past me, climbs in his truck, and speeds off.
Well, that is more excitement than I was expecting for my arrival.
The guy on the porch, the one called Pace, slams his hand against the porch railing and curses.
He’s dressed in the same manner as the one who stormed away, only cleaner.
He’s older than me, with darker hair, but when his eyes flash to mine in surprise, I see the same blue staring back at me. It’s uncanny.
“Who the hell are you?” he snarls, his hands clutching at the railing, causing the wood to creak under the pressure. Taken aback by the hostility in his tone, I gape at him for a moment, no sound leaving my parted lips. “You get hit with the stupid switch or what?”
The what now?
“Pace Denver, you shut your trap right now,” a voice calls from behind the screen door.
It’s lighter and feminine. A few seconds later, a girl, about the same age as Pace, tosses open the screen door and walks out onto the porch.
She can’t be any more than 5’3 but she stares down the man before her with her hands on her hips as if he wasn’t more than half a foot taller than her.
“That is not how your father taught you to greet guests.”
Pace smirks and shakes his head, clearly amused by the girl.
“Papa taught me to shoot first and ask questions later,” he tells her. “But after I shot the mailman when I was ten, he took it back.” The girl’s eyes widen briefly before they narrow into slits, and she reaches out to punch the giant man in the stomach.
“Such a liar,” she mutters when he roars with laughter. I stand in the driveway, my top teeth chewing awkwardly on my bottom lip while I wait for the two of them to finish their banter. After a few more choice words to Pace, she turns her attention back to me. “You must be Peyton.”
Swallowing the lump of anxiety in my throat, I nod my head, unsure of what to say.
The girl smiled broadly and makes her way down the porch steps, her arms opening as she nears me.
“Um…” I step back when she reaches in to hug me and draw my arms against my stomach. “Sorry, I don’t like—hugs,” I finish lamely, toeing the ground with my shoe. My refusal doesn’t damper her smile. She simply holds her hands up as a sign of peace and takes a step back.
“It’s okay,” she laughs. “I forget not everyone is a hugger like me. Welcome to Broken Ridge Ranch. I’ve been waiting all day for you to arrive.”
She has?
“Are you like—my sister?” I know John has children, but I’m not sure how many, and he sure as hell didn’t take the time to tell me their names.
It is easy to infer Pace, the man on the porch, and the other guy, Lee, are my brothers.
Even if I hadn’t heard their names, it is hard to dismiss the uncanniness of how much we resemble one another.
Almost as if we could be triplets. But this girl—she doesn’t look anything like Lee or Pace.
Her hair is an ashy blonde, and her eyes are hazel.
Pace cackles from the porch, one hand covering his eyes while the other holds on to the porch railing as his entire body shakes from the laughter. “Oh shit,” he huffs, wiping at his eyes as he straightens and gets himself under control. “I knew this was going to be good.”
The girl shoots him a scathing look, but it’s gone when she turns back to me.
“No, I’m Sutton,” she introduces herself. “I’m John’s wife.”
Wife?
While I can say my father is certainly a decent looking man, youthful and fit for his age, he is in his mid-forties and Sutton doesn’t look much older than twenty-five.
“Oh.” My disappointment must seep through my mask because Sutton’s face falls and Pace’s laughter stops short. When I dart my gaze back to him, he is back to scowling at me. “Umm…it’s nice to meet you.” I paste on a smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“You, too.” Her smile reappears but it’s tighter than it was before, less warm. “And up there is Pace. But you probably already know that with all the shouting. He’s your brother.”
She pauses, her eyes drifting toward where Lee drove off moments ago. “The hotheaded one is your other brother, Lee.” She waves her hand dismissively. “He’ll be back when he gets hungry.”
“Hungry or bored,” Pace mutters from the porch. “Whichever comes first.”
Sutton ignores him, turning her attention back to me with a softer expression. “Do you want to come inside? I can show you to your room, or we can sit for a bit and get you something to drink. Totally up to you.”
I glance toward the looming house. Its grandeur feels suffocating now that I’m so close.
I’m used to cramped spaces and low ceilings—not marble-tiled foyers and vaulted ceilings.
My instinct is to decline, to run the opposite direction, but the tightness in my chest reminds me I don’t have the luxury of turning away. Not anymore.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “A drink sounds good.”
Sutton offers a gentle nod, then gestures toward the porch. I follow her up the steps, my sneakers scraping against the worn wooden boards. As I pass Pace, he doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the weight of his stare like the heat of the midday sun, unrelenting, skeptical.
Inside, the air is cool and faintly scented with lemon polish and something heartier. Bacon, maybe, or roast beef. A massive staircase curves upward in the entry hall, and the floor is so clean I can see my warped reflection in it.
Sutton leads me through the main hall and into a sprawling kitchen with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back pastures. The view would be breathtaking if my stomach weren’t twisted into knots.
“Take a seat,” she says, nodding toward a long rustic table that has been carved from a single slab of tree trunk. “I’ll get you a sweet tea.”
I slide into one of the chairs, the legs scraping lightly against the tile. My fingers twitch on the table surface, unsure of what to do with themselves.
“You don’t have to be nervous, you know,” Sutton says as she pulls a glass from the cabinet. “We’re not as scary as we look.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You sure? Because Lee nearly ran me over with his attitude.”
She snorts. “Lee takes some getting used to. But underneath all that gruff bravado, he’s decent.”
I nod, though I don’t believe her.
She sets the glass down in front of me. “Here. Best sweet tea in Llano County—swear on it.”
I take a cautious sip. It’s ice-cold and tooth-achingly sweet, but somehow comforting.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend.
A beat of silence passes. Sutton watches me carefully before speaking again.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she says gently. “Being uprooted, having to deal with all this… family stuff. But I hope in time, you’ll find it’s not all bad here.”
I glance at her, unsure what to say. Her kindness feels foreign. I don’t know how to accept it.
Before I can respond, heavy boots stomp across the porch again. The door swings open, and my father steps inside.
His eyes sweep the room and land on me.
“Well,” he says, setting his cowboy hat on the table. “Looks like the girl made it after all.”
I stiffen, the chill from the sweet tea suddenly doing little to cool the heat rising in my chest.
Sutton steps between us, her voice calm but firm. “John, don’t start. She just got here.”
“I’m not starting,” he mutters, but he doesn't take his eyes off me. “I’m stating the facts.”
“Facts,” I echo, standing slowly. “Like the fact you didn’t come to the funeral? Or how you couldn’t even be bothered to pick me up? Those fact?
His jaw tightens. “Watch your tone, girl.”
I hold his gaze, my spine stiffening. “I’m not girl. My name is Peyton. You’d do well to remember that.”
A tense silence stretches between us before John snorts and grabs his hat again.
“Stubborn like her mother,” he mutters before turning on his heel and walking out the back door.
Sutton winces. “He… doesn’t mean it like it sounds.”
I look at her, the familiar sting of rejection biting into my chest. “Yeah. He does.”
There is something I’m missing about his relationship with my mother. Her version of events doesn’t fit with what I’ve seen and been told. I’ve always known there are two sides to every story, but all I’ve ever heard is my mother’s side.
And I’m beginning to think most of it was a lie.