Chapter 31
“You don’t have the whole story,” I hear John murmur as I slip inside the house. His voice carries from the living room, low and stead, like he doesn’t want it overheard.
“She’s young, John,” Sutton answers, her tone sharper, but laced with something that sounds more like worry than anger. “He isn’t telling her everything about this life. She has no idea who he is or what it means to stand at his side.
I slow in the entryway, hovering near the arch that separates me from them. My hand brushes the wall, steadying myself as I lean close enough to catch their words.
“What do you expect me to do, Sutton?” John sounds tires, almost frustrated. “She isn’t much younger than you were when we married.”
“I knew exactly who your family was, John,” Sutton replies quickly. “That’s the difference. He’s keeping her in the dark. He won’t tell her anything and he won’t let us tell her either.”
“This is Colter we’re talking about.” John’s voice drops, carrying weight. “Not one of the men. I can’t force him to speak. Even as her father, I can’t break his order. His word is law.”
His word is law. The phrase sticks in my mind, sharp and unfamiliar. I thought Hudson was John’s boss?
“What if you spoke to Hudson?” Sutton presses, quieter now. “He isn’t thrilled with Colter’s silence either. He could force his son to tell her. Someone has to protect her.”
My mind wanders back to last night. The man in the bathroom. His pointed words that someone had paid him to get rid of me. Why? Because someone saw me with Colter? Is he that important that someone would target me because of him like he keeps warning me?
“She’s already the most protected person in the county,” John insists. “Despite what happened last night. No one could do better than the family. You’re letting your feelings for her complicate the way things are done. That’s dangerous.”
“Of course I am,” Sutton snaps, her voice trembling. “Peyton is your daughter. She’s been alone and hurting, even if she doesn’t recognize it. I know how that feels because I was her once, before you.”
Silence stretches, heavy but not hostile. Then John sighs, long and weighted. “Colter is the one in charge.”
“Not yet.” Sutton’s voice is softer now, but certain.
John pauses, and when he speaks again, there is no hesitation. “Hudson’s already announced he’s stepping down at the end of the year. Loyalties are shifting. Colter’s the boss now.”
Boss. It makes me think of an oversized cartoon villain smoking a cigar in an oversized chair.
Despite the imagery, the word hangs in my mind, catching on all the unanswered questions that have stacking up since I met Colter.
I stay still, pressed into the shadow of the hallway, careful with every breath.
Pieces shift. Rattle. Start to align, even if the picture is still blurry. The way people in town go quiet when his name comes up. The respect, or was it fear?, that follows him like a shadow.
And now this. Boss.
I thought Hudson was simply the rich owner of several ranches.
I thought Colter was simply his son, next in line—a man with too much arrogance, too much control, but still answering to someone else.
But John doesn’t talk about him like he’s another ranch heir.
He talks about him like he’s the one with all the answers.
The one who says when the light turn greens.
Sutton releases a shaky exhale. “Then he needs to start acting like it. Keeping her blind helps no one. She deserves to know what she’s in the middle of.”
John doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches so long I wonder if he’s even going to. Then, finally, his voice, low and resigned. “When he’s ready. He will tell her. Not before.”
The words settle deep in my chest, solid and certain.
So, Colter decides. About me. About everything. And no one, not even John, dares push him otherwise.
E lean back from the archway, careful not to let the floorboards creak under my feet. My heart thuds against my ribs, too loud, too quick, like it knows something my brain isn’t ready to name.
Boss. Protected. Law.
None of it makes sense, not fully. But it feels like I’ve been standing in a house with the lights off, stumbling over furniture in the dark and for the first time, someone’s cracked the blinds open to let the outline of the room show.
I don’t know what to do with it yet. I only know one thing for certain: Colter Shaw isn’t the man I thought he was. He’s something else entirely.
And whatever that something is, I’m already tangled up in it.
Not wanting to hear anymore, or to risk getting caught eavesdropping, I back out of the hallway and back to the front door, where I open it and slam it shut with more force than necessary, acting as if I have just arrived.
Footsteps start toward me, and I take a deep breath, put a smile on my face, and try to act as if I hadn’t spied on their conversation.
Sutton peeks around the corner of the living room, her eyes scanning me fervently before her eyes land on mine.
The tension she is holding in her shoulders immediately eases and she gives me a soft smile.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Peyton,” Sutton says a bit too cheerfully.
“Peyton,” John greets me as he steps up behind Sutton. “I hope you had a good time at the gala.”
“Umm, yeah,” I mumble awkwardly, my hand rubbing nervously at the back of my neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
John shrugs as he steps around his wife and goes to the coat rack to grab his hat. “Colter let me know that you were with him. He says he is also picking you up tonight before dinner.”
If he knows about what happened at the dive bar last night, he doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, okay,” I say and shrug. “He didn’t really give me a time so…”
John slides his hat on, adjusting the brim like it gives him an excuse not to meet my eyes. “He’ll let you know. Colter runs on his own schedule.”
My lips twitch into something that might pass for a smile, though it feels brittle. Yeah, I’ve noticed.
Sutton steps forward, fussing with a strand of hair that’s slipped from my bun like she can read the nerves I’m trying to hide.
“We’ll be here if you need anything before then,” she says, her voice soft, her gaze too sharp.
She knows something, or suspects I know something, and the air between us hums with it.
“Thanks,” I murmur, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
John clears his throat, drawing Sutton’s attention back to him. “I’ll be at the south pasture if you need me.” His eyes flick to me for the briefest moment, steady, unreadable, before he pushes out the door. The screen slams shut behind him, cutting the tension in half but not dissolving it.
It leaves me with Sutton, who doesn’t look away. Her smile wavers, almost falters, before she catches it and presses it into place again. “Coffee?”
I nod, because refusing feels like admitting too much.
She turns toward the kitchen, and I trail after her, the silence stretching thin between us. My mind keeps circling back to what I heard, every word etched sharp as glass.
Boss. Protected. His word is law.
I don’t know how long I can keep pretending I don’t know.
I take the coffee because it gives me something to hold, something to anchor me. But as soon as I can, I mumble an excuse about being tired and slip away, the mug still warm in my hand as I climb the stairs.
My room is quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air vent. I set the mug on the nightstand, pull my laptop from my bag, and crawl onto the bed. My fingers hover over the keys for a moment before I finally type it in.
Shaw family, Texas.
The results load fast, too fast and too neat.
Article after article about horse racing championships, glossy photos of sleek thoroughbreds, smiling trainers, and men in suits shaking hands in front of prize ribbons.
Pages full of local news about ranch expansions, charity donations, livestock auctions, county fairs.
Clean. Polished. Picture-perfect.
I scroll further, digging deeper, but it’s the same everywhere. Business accolades, magazine spreads on “The Legacy of Shaw Ranch,” Colter’s name tied to rodeo wins and land acquisitions. Even the family portraits look staged, their smiles curated for the camera.
No whispers. No scandals. Nothing that explains the weight in John’s voice when he said his word is law.
I chew my lip, leaning back against the headboard, the glow of the screen casting pale light across the room.
Boss. Protected. Law. If Colter really is who John says he is, then he’s not some arrogant ranch heir with a bad temper and too much control.
He’s something more. Something bigger. Something the internet doesn’t touch.
Or maybe something it’s been scrubbed clean of.
Frustration gnaws at me, low in my chest. I slam the laptop shut harder than necessary and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
No answers. Just more questions.
The only certainty is that if I want the truth, I won’t find it online. I’ll have to get it from Colter himself. And something tells me… he’s not going to make that easy.
Several hours later, I sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed, the laptop closed beside me. My thoughts spin, darting from one puzzle piece to another: Colter, John, Hudson, the men in the kitchen, the way Sutton sounded… so worried.
The words from earlier still echo repeatedly in my head, heavy with unspoken meaning.
And yet when I try to imagine it, Colter Shaw, the man I’ve been entangled with, as some kind of kingpin, it doesn’t make sense.
He’s a man who laughs too loud, who teases too sharp, who makes my skin feel too hot and my chest too tight.
The idea of him commanding entire operations, of bending people and situations to his will, is almost surreal.