Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Hartley
“Brooks tried to tell me to put some extra nails in it, and said it’d be fine,” Bobby says, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “You’re lucky that I’m not easily persuaded. He could sell sand to a desert.”
I rest my arms over the bed of my truck, breathing in the sweet smell of spring. My father used to say it was the smell of life. Wet, loamy soil, mixed with the sharpness of fresh grass and the softness of blooming dogwood trees, is the scent of my childhood. It’s the scent of home.
“Oh, what the hell does Brooks know?” I ask, shaking my head. “Give him a pair of gloves and a hammer, and he’s suddenly a carpenter.”
Bobby snorts. “Well, that’s probably cheaper than having him think he’s a mechanic.
He swung by the barn yesterday while we were replacing the water pump in the tractor, and he tried to tell me it was the alternator.
He was sure of it. I had to pry a wrench out of his damn hands and summon the Holy Spirit so that I didn’t knock him in the head with it. ”
“Nobody has ever accused Brooks of having low confidence, that’s for sure.”
A warm gust of wind slips through the fields, rattling the weathervane at the apex of the barn in front of us.
A cloudless sky gives no place for the sun to hide, and it blazes down with all its late morning glory.
It’d be a damn good day to drive the back roads of Sugar Creek with the windows down or to sit on the front porch with a glass of iced tea. But there’s too much work to do.
And I must figure out where to put my new pig.
“It’s like he knew it—he knew his fate. And instead of just standing there looking cute, he chose life. He raced around the arena, searching for an out. He knocked over a farmer and a card table, and I swear the little thing nearly had a heart attack. It was so sad.”
A grin tugs at my lips. I want to be mad about Mira’s antics, but I can’t. This is a ranch, and we do have space. Besides, saving a baby pig is so Mira-coded that it’s kind of cute.
“Want me to run to the lumber yard and grab some boards?” Bobby motions toward the pile of rotten decking we just yanked from the barn’s loft. Although he’s in his fifties, he can nearly work circles around me. “I think ten, maybe fifteen boards ought to get us.”
I peer up at the neglected barn.
If I had any sense about me, I’d knock over the structure at the back of Blackbird Ranch and build something new.
Half the time, I expect the wind to do the job for me.
But this was the first barn on the ranch, hand-constructed by my great-grandfather and named after my great-grandmother, and I can’t bear the thought of tearing it down when it still stands.
It’s a relic from a time when people built things to last, not just until they got tired of them.
“Yeah. Swing by the feed store and see if they have any gates to replace the one leading into the barn lot, and grab some tar, if they have it. We’re gonna have to get up there and seal a couple of those seams before it rains again.”
“Your old man used to say that when he bought back the land your grandpa sold to St. James, he was going to expand Betsy Barn and run all the cattle out of here. If nothin’ else, your dad would love to see this back up and running again.”
The words land like a weight in my chest. My gaze drifts past Bobby, across the creek, and to the three hundred acres on the other side that my grandfather sold decades ago to stay afloat.
Land my father spent his life trying to get back.
Land that used to be a part of Blackbird Ranch.
Land that, according to Mira, Ed Beardsley is circling. And, if that’s the case, I’ll never have a shot at bringing it back into the Adler family.
A knot twists in my stomach so tightly that it almost knocks the wind out of me. I’ve tried my damnedest not to think about either one—Mira or Ed—since she left this morning. Both send a fire shooting through my veins, just for very different reasons.
“I’m gonna head to town. Text me if you think of anything else you want me to pick up while I’m there,” Bobby says.
“All right.”
I wait until he pulls away before I release the hefty breath holding in my lungs.
Mira St. James is the last person I expected to see today.
It’s been months since I ran into her at Piper’s Pizza.
We shared a pizza that afternoon and chatted like two people who’ve known each other all their lives.
We just made certain to keep things superficial and not dig too deeply into anything other than Lolly and pleasantries.
I hate that I love her. I hate it so much that sometimes I think I hate her.
There are moments when I tell myself that I’m going to move on—that I’ll finally find someone else to love, to have a family with, because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that we’ll ever be together.
But as soon as I get close to another woman, I do what I always do.
I put a little space between us, leaving room … just in case.
Just in case Mira ever comes home.
“Fuck.” I throw open my truck door and take off my hat, tossing it onto the passenger’s seat. The sun beats down on my head, but there’s something about the heat that feels purifying.
I climb into the truck and start the engine. Cool air races across my sweaty skin, causing me to shiver. As I put the truck into drive, my brother’s name flashes across the navigation screen.
“Hey, Gray,” I say after accepting the call. “What’s going on?”
“Headed to the Royals facility. I have a meeting there in an hour. You?”
“Sitting in my truck right now. Just sent Bobby into town for supplies. We’re fixing up Betsy Barn.”
“No shit.”
I grin. “No shit.”
Out of all the outbuildings on Blackbird Ranch’s five hundred acres, not one has more lore than Betsy Barn.
It was the premiere party spot back in the day.
Ol’ Betsy Barn saw more underage drinking and bonfires than any place in Sugar County.
It’s also where one of our friends lost the title to his car in a poker tournament during Gray’s senior year, where I had my first kiss with Mira in the loft, and where Brooks hid out when he ran away from home.
We thought we were so slick back then—like we were really pulling off stunts in secret. Now I realize that Dad knew all about them. Most of them, anyway. He just thought we were safer if we acted up at home rather than on the roads or around people who could take advantage of us.
“I love to hear it,” Gray says. “What brought this on?”
“We need more space. We have shit everywhere, and the disorganization is making me crazy. I figured I either had to tear Betsy down or fix her up, and I don’t have the heart for the first.”
“You always were a baby.” He chuckles despite ribbing me. “No, really, I think it’s a good thing. It’ll be nice seeing her take on a new life.”
I take a breath, deciding whether to tell Gray about Beardsley or not. Typically, I wouldn’t bother, but now that he and Astrid are living on the ranch in the offseason, it only feels right to loop him into things like this—things that would ultimately affect him, too.
Before I can get the words out, he speaks again.
“I called you for a reason,” he says, pausing to take a deep breath. “Astrid and I sat down last night and had a long talk. And … yeah. I think it’s time to hang up my rugby boots.”
“You’re retiring?”
“I’m filling out the paperwork today. I’ll finish the season out, but then that’s it.”
Retirement? I smile, running a hand over my jaw. I expected a reason for this call because Gray doesn’t call to chitchat. But retirement? That’s unexpected. “Congratulations, Gray. You’ve had a helluva career. You should be proud.”
“Oh, shut the hell up.” He chuckles, unable to take a compliment. “Astrid wants to renovate the cabin and live full-time on the ranch, if that’s okay with you. We want to settle down and raise a family.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “This is your home, too. You don’t have to ask my permission.”
“Well, I know it’s my home in that I grew up there, but it feels like it’s yours. You’re the one who has busted his ass for the last eight years to keep things running while I ran off with a ball. You have every right to tell me to kick rocks.”
“I don’t really want Mom to haunt me, but thanks.”
Our chuckles are soft, mixing in reverence for a woman I know we both miss more than we’d ever admit.
I smile as I drive out of the field and onto the dirt road that winds through the ranch.
I can imagine Mom’s reaction to Gray’s news.
She would’ve been thrilled to hear him say that he’s settling down—her wild child finally finding peace.
And she would’ve been over the moon to hear about talks of grandkids.
The thought of my parents missing out on this stage of life hurts.
I think about them a lot. But, then again, I’m surrounded by their life in every way that matters.
My home was theirs. I work the same land my father did, and the men who I sign checks for once answered to him, too.
There’s not a corner of my life my parents didn’t touch, and for a long time, that brought me peace.
Carrying on the Adler legacy is a privilege. I just didn’t realize how much of myself it would cost.
I shift in my seat. “While we’re talking about the ranch, I want to clue you in on something.”
“All right.”
“I found out this morning that Ed Beardsley has been talking to Lolly.” I force a swallow. “I heard she said she wasn’t going to sell to him, but we both know how convincing he can be. And even the strongest people can cave when millions of dollars are flashed in their faces.”
The line goes quiet as my words sink in.
“Anyway, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it if Lolly does decide to sell. But I just wanted you to know,” I say.
“Yeah, thanks.” I hear the lump in his throat. “I’m pulling up to the Royals facility now. I’ll call you later.”
“Sounds good.”
“Bye.”
He ends the call before I can hit the red button on the dash.
I drive through the ranch, turning off the air and rolling down the windows instead. I have every intention of heading straight to the house for lunch. Instead, I stop by the barn and find myself peering into the stall holding Pigasso Pigglesworth.
He grunts when he sees me.
“Sounds like she got the best of you, too,” I say, resting my arms over the stall door. “It’s kind of what she does. She swoops in, makes a mess, but steals your heart in the process. Then you might not see her again. Prepare yourself for that.”
I get another grunt, as if Pigasso has already figured this out.
“She means well,” I say. “The woman has a heart of gold, so don’t take it personally when she leaves you in the dust.” I laugh as the piglet begins to squeal. “I know. It sucks. But the one thing about her is that she never pretends otherwise. She never pretends that she’ll stay.”
A smile touches my lips as I think back to seeing her this morning. My gosh, she’s beautiful.
Her hazel eyes were a bright green today, meaning she was keyed up and excited.
They’re browner when she’s calm and in the morning when she wakes up.
Her hair is darker, showing off her clear, smooth skin.
In a few months, when the weather is hot, she’ll have blond highlights from the sun. And those curves—damn those curves.
“I have so much work that I turn a lot of it down. People keep saying that AI will put me out of business, but they don’t realize that a computer can’t generate the emotion of a real human being—which is great for me because the money is good. It keeps me from having to settle down anywhere.”
An ache ripples through me, following a groove cut through my chest by the thousands of other times I’ve had to accept reality.
Mira St. James will never be mine.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Cathy: Lunch is ready.
Me: I’ll be there in a second. Thanks.
I give the pig one last look, then head toward the house.