Chapter 11
I wake an hour before everyone else, dog-tired, having tossed and turned all night. By the time everyone comes down the stairs, I am on my fourth cup of coffee and helping Shiloh place everything on the table.
It’s Saturday, and I know work doesn’t stop on a ranch because it is a weekend, and I was prepared for John to send me out to the barn this morning. Instead, he surprises me by saying Sutton is going to take me out shopping.
“You’re going to need more appropriate clothes,” he says as he loads up his plate with enough food to send me into cardiac arrest if I attempted to eat it. “Sutton noticed you only came with one suitcase. Martin said he gathered everything with your name on it from your old apartment.”
His voice isn’t accusing or hard when he says it.
Makes his words even more of a gut punch.
Clothes were never on the list of priorities in my household.
I squirrelled away money whenever I could, but it always went toward making sure our rent was paid, and we had food in the fridge.
My mother cared more about her next fix than having a roof over our head or caring if we ate.
Every few years or so, she would have a month, maybe two, of being sober. Usually after one of her junkie boyfriends left her and she no longer had the hook up. But, like clockwork, she’d find another dirtbag to support her habit and the cycle began all over again.
“Yeah…” I mutter awkwardly. “Um…” A lump grows thick in my throat, making it hard to swallow.
“It okay,” Sutton murmurs, her eyes gentle as she gazes at me. “I was a foster kid. All my belongings had to fit in one trash bag, or I couldn’t keep it.”
Her words hit harder than they should. I’d been in and out of the foster system a few times when I was younger, but then my mother got smart.
She registered me as being homeschooled and paid a friend of hers to fill out the necessary paperwork.
From sixth grade through high school, I became responsible for my own education, submitting proof of completion.
It was hard at first, but the library offered enough resources, and when I was old enough to get a job, I bought more complex material
“That settles it.” He takes a sip of his coffee. When his eyes meet mine, his gaze softens slightly, his voice slightly hoarse. “Sutton will take you to town for a new wardrobe.”
I purse my lips slightly to keep the swell of emotion at bay. “Thank you.”
John gives me a sharp nod before turning to Lee to discuss the day’s agenda.
An hour later and I am riding in the backseat of a large SUV the President of the United States would be jealous of. It even comes complete with two of John’s ranch hands. Odd thing for a rancher’s wife to be riding around in.
“They’re here in case we find ourselves in any trouble,” Sutton says dismissively when I ask why we are being sent with an escort.
“What kinds of trouble does a ranch wife find herself in?” Disbelief colors my words. “I thought we were clothes shopping. Not stalking dark alleyways looking to take down drug dealers.”
One of the men in the front snorts but casually covers it with a cough, thinking I might not notice. Suttons chuckles.
“Colorful choice of words,” she drawls. “Black Diamond and your father are very powerful, and there are a lot of people who want to see his power dimmed.”
There is something no one is telling me.
I did my due diligence before arriving at the ranch, making sure to google everything I could about him and Black Diamond.
Sure, they’re powerful in the world of horseracing and livestock, but not much else.
Hudson Shaw is a billionaire ranch owner and a single father.
Nothing dark. Nothing deep.
The same for John. Ranch owner, works for Black Diamond, widowed single father before he married Sutton a little over a year ago. It’s all I could find. No private social media or scandals in the headlines. They are almost cleaner than Keanu Reeves, and that man is a saint.
Which is a huge red flag.
No one is sparkly clean.
Except Keanu Reeves.
The SUV hums down the long stretch of country road, the windows slightly cracked to let in the crisp morning air.
I shift in my seat, pulling the seatbelt away from my neck, and glance at the two ranch hands in the front.
One of them taps a finger idly against the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon like we’re heading into a war zone instead of the local shops.
I lean closer to Sutton. “Be honest with me. Do we really need an escort to go buy jeans?”
Sutton smirks without looking up from her phone. “Merely a precaution.”
“Precaution,” I repeat under my breath, watching the landscape blur by. “Right.”
Something prickles at the base of my neck. A sensation I know too well. One that’s kept me alive more times than I care to count. The math isn’t adding up.
The careful anonymity of John Denver’s online presence. The low-level threat woven into the escort’s casual appearance. The way people around here glance over their shoulders a little too often.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” I ask, voice quieter now, more measured.
Sutton finally looks over. Her expression softens a little, but there’s a flicker of hesitation and calculation before she speaks. “It’s not my place to give you details. Just know… sometimes, power makes enemies. John’s been doing this long enough to know a soft target gets hit first.”
“Soft target,” I echo, letting the words settle like dust in my chest. “You mean me.”
Sutton doesn’t deny it.
The SUV slows as we approach the edge of the small town.
It’s quaint, charming, the type of place where everyone probably knows everyone else’s blood type.
If I didn’t know better, I’d believe the postcard version of this life.
But I do know better. And I’ve learned the prettier the surface, the uglier the secret underneath.
“Give it time,” Sutton says softly, like she can sense the spiral I’m heading down. “I know this isn’t easy. I know how… overwhelming it can feel when everything shifts from under your feet.”
I look out the window, watching as we pass a diner, a feed store, an old church with peeling white paint. “I’m not sure time’s going to fix whatever this is.”
“It won’t,” she says, with a small, wry smile. “But it helps.”
We pull into a parking lot outside what looks like a boutique straight out of one of those lifestyle influencer videos.
It has rustic wood beams, flower boxes, overpriced denim in the window.
Sutton gives the ranch hands a brief nod as they step out first, scanning the lot like we’re being hunted by something more dangerous than a clearance sale.
I hesitate before getting out.
“You coming?” Sutton asks gently.
I nod, but the knot in my stomach tightens. Something about this whole setup smells wrong.
Too polished. Too perfect.
And I’ve learned when people work this hard to look clean, it’s because they’re already covered in dirt.
The boutique smells like leather, cedarwood, and something faintly floral—probably one of those overpriced candles by the register.
The floors are reclaimed wood, the walls lined with distressed shelves holding jeans, boots, and every kind of plaid known to man.
It looks as if Pinterest threw up in here.
Sutton smiles at the woman behind the counter, who greets her like an old friend, then steers me toward a rack of denim.
“Alright,” she says, clapping her hands together. “We need to get you jeans that actually fit, boots that don’t look like they’re plotting to kill you, and a few shirts that won’t get you heatstroke by noon. As well as a few summer dresses and event gowns.”
I eye the price tag on the first pair of jeans and nearly choke. “I think I’d rather die in the boots.”
She laughs. “John said not to worry about cost.”
The way she says it makes me feel even worse. I swallow hard and shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “This feels… weird.”
“Because it is,” she admits, giving me a gentle look. “But you’re family now, whether you like it or not. And family takes care of each other.”
I want to tell her family—real family—doesn’t exist in my world. But I keep my mouth shut. There’s something about Sutton that makes it hard to snap. I know she means well.
Still, old instincts are hard to kill. My only family chose the needle over me. I’ve learned everything comes with a price and a string attached.
I trail behind her as she pulls clothes from racks with practiced ease. She doesn’t push when I barely give opinions. Only hands me options with a soft smile, filling her arms with denim and cotton, soft flannels, and to my horror, dresses.
After a while, I find myself in a dressing room, stripping off my sweat-soaked shirt and pulling on a fresh one. The fabric is soft. Too soft. It makes me itch in a way that has nothing to do with the material. Like I’m wearing someone else’s life.
“Everything okay in there?” Sutton calls through the door.
“Yeah,” I answer, voice flat. “Still alive.”
Her laugh is muffled. “Take your time.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at me looks like a stranger—dressed in crisp jeans, a flowy blouse, hair pulled into a messy knot.
For a second, I let myself imagine it: a version of me which belongs here. A version that wasn’t raised on fear and disappointment.
But it’s gone as fast as it comes.
I exhale sharply and change back into my own clothes.
By the time we check out, Sutton piles the bags into the arms of one of the ranch hands while the other walks a slow circle around the SUV, eyes sweeping the parking lot.
“Still expecting an ambush?” I ask, unable to keep the bite out of my voice.
Sutton’s mouth tightens. “It’s protocol.”
“Right. Protocol for what, exactly?”
Her eyes flick to mine, but she doesn’t answer as she opens the SUV door and gestures for me to climb in.
The drive back is quieter. Tension hums beneath the surface, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in from every angle.
I stare out the window, one hand resting on the shopping bags by my side and wonder how long I’ll be able to pretend this is normal.
And how long before whatever they’re hiding finally comes crashing down on top of me.
Another few hours later and we pull back into the ranch.
While in town, Sutton had stopped into her salon, where they trimmed up my hair before sitting me down for a manicure and pedicure.
I don’t care much about how soft my feet are, but it did feel nice and relaxing.
Until they brought me backed to be sugared and plucked.
The afternoon was almost over when we finally left town, and now it is near on dinner time.
I’m ready to be done. Sutton is talking nonstop about how much fun she had.
Apparently, she doesn’t get off the ranch as much as she used to.
I mostly stayed quiet on the ride, spending most of my time staring out the window and giving one-word responses.
It isn’t that I am ungrateful. I don’t see the need for all of this.
Also, my social battery nearly depleted itself after the boutique and now is fizzling out on empty.
I enjoy Sutton’s company, but I’ve spent most of my life as an outcast. The drug addicted stripper’s daughter.
A pariah. I’ve never had friends to shop with or spend time with.
Hell, even if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to afford a shopping trip to Wal-Mart, let alone a mall where most people shop.
That was always fine with me, but now… now angers creeps into my mine at my mother for everything I missed out on, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
I don’t know how to feel about a lot of things right now, and it leaves me confused and hurt, but even worse, it leaves me where I’ve always been.
Alone.