Chapter 2 Lucas
lucas
One of the reasons I’m so good at hockey is that I anticipate my opponents' moves before they make them. But here, for the first time in almost twelve years, the woman I’ve been dreaming of seeing again stands before me in a white tank top and black athletic shorts.
And absolutely nothing could have given me the upper hand in this situation.
She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Her curly hair lies braided over her shoulder, face free of makeup, and her honey brown skin glistens in the light of the setting sun.
She looks different, older. A line sits between her brows, making her look more serious than I remember her being.
But the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, thinking I was just some helpless ranch hand, I’d know those mischievous brown eyes anywhere.
“The polite thing to do would be to say hi back…” My eyebrow lifts, the very one she’s been laser-focused on for the last thirty seconds. Yes, I’ve been counting. We’re now at thirty-five Mississippi’s, and I’m starting to think I broke her. But then she starts to turn away.
“Hey, Goldie. Nice to see you again,” I say in my best feminine voice, the joke landing flat, even to my own ears. My smile fades as her nose wrinkles over the bridge.
Years of praying she’d come back, years of working my ass off around here to keep this place in good shape when she didn’t, and it’s her who finds me in the same spot I saw her last. Part of me wonders what she wants. Did she come back to claim the ranch, or walk away for good?
Lord knows she hasn’t had any interest in it the past decade. Which begs the question, why now? Why so close to her twenty-fifth birthday, to the deadline, and why did she never reach out like she said she would?
“I’ve missed you.” The words scrape against my throat on their way out. Her eyes narrow, and my jaw clenches to keep me from saying anything else.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, her voice the kind of calm that comes before a storm.
“I live here.”
Her jaw slackens, but she quickly schools it, crossing her arms, curling one around the opposite elbow. Her drink sits long forgotten at her feet. “Come again?”
“Gladly.” I throw her a wink.
“Does that usually work for you?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve never tried it on anyone else.”
“Lucky me,” she mumbles.
I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. It’s clear that she isn’t thrilled I’m here. Why, though, I’m not sure. I, however, don’t share the same sentiment. “Ms. Anna left me the ranchhand’s house.”
I watch as tension coils through her, her body straightening like she’s preparing for battle as she marches to the railing. “Nana left you part of the ranch?” she spits. The vitriol dripping from her takes me by surprise.
My heart plummets to my feet, and my hands flex at my sides while I try to piece together this Scarlett and the one I’ve loved since I was eleven.
They’re not the same person, this isn’t her, this isn’t my Lettie.
And to be honest, I’m not sure what to do with that.
“Yeah,” I breathe as I slide my finger into my dad's ring that hangs from my neck, searching for something familiar to hold on to. “The back acre.”
The storm brewing in her eyes catches the light of the setting sun just right, illuminating the amber ring around her pupil. “What?” she says through gritted teeth.
I take in her features, committing as much to memory as I can in case this is all I ever get of her. “Lettie.”
“Don’t you Lettie me, Lucas.” Her hands fly through the air. “You didn’t think to tell me you lived here? That, I don’t know, the entirety of the ranch wasn’t actually mine?” She scoffs, backing away. “Typical freaking man.”
My body goes rigid. “And how exactly would you have liked me to do that?” I lace my fingers together, letting my hands dangle over the rail. “Carrier Pigeon?” Her silence amps up my annoyance, but it’s the rise of her freaking chin that does me in.
“You sure as hell didn’t give me any other options,” I seethe. My fingers lift, putting my next words in air quotes. “It’ll be more fun this way, Goldie.” I awfully imitate her younger voice. “You’ll get a letter or a call from me one day, and it’ll be the greatest surprise ever.”
I let out a mocking giggle, thinking back to all the times I ran to the mailbox, hoping for the letter that never came.
I ground the heel of my hand into my chest, the part that hurts anytime I think of it.
No, she doesn’t get to play the victim card.
Not when it’s her who’s been silent all this time.
“You promised, Scarlett.” I pause, trying to keep myself from shattering in front of her. “You promised you’d come back.” She holds my gaze, still looking down her nose at me like I’m scum on her shoes. “Why didn’t you?”
Finally, her head drops, hands sliding into her back pockets as she says, “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” I push.
She huffs, blowing a piece of hair out of her face like the question annoys her. “Because I’m not that girl anymore. She died when Nana did, Lucas,” she says, her voice breaking over my name. “What are you doing here this late, anyway?”
I chuff, shaking my head at her deflection. I’ll let it go, for now. “I fixed the fence for Miller. Pony duty is part of my nightly chores. So working.”
I’d imagined this moment a million times over the past decade, but not once did it look like this. No, in my fantasy land, she ran into my arms, tears streaming down her face as she apologised for leaving me behind when she swore she never would.
Maybe there’d be a kiss or two. Heck, maybe we’d just pick up where we left off behind the house I currently live in. Her declaration of love when she was fourteen is woven into the fabric of who I am today, burned in a way I’ve never wanted to heal from.
But now, I’m questioning everything. Did I make it all up? In my desperate attempt to make someone, anyone, stay, did I put her on a pedestal? Dreamt up a future that included her, but was too blind to see that wasn’t what she actually wanted?
Anger swirls with confusion, wrapped up in hope that refuses to die where she’s concerned.
“You fixed the fence?” she says after a beat.
I take a deep breath, desperate to get rid of the tension in my chest. So I wiggle my brows, defaulting to my favorite coping mechanism, cracking jokes. “I’m very good with my hands.”
Her lips tick up at the corner. It’s small, but I caught it. “How long have you been here?” Her questions are sharp, calculated. Her new, icy demeanor fit for someone in a courtroom, not a ranch in central Florida.
My fingers anxiously drum against the wood of the railing. “Nine years.” Her face gives nothing away, so I take that as my cue to continue. “Look, I always hoped you’d come back. But if it bothers you that I’m here, I can find an apartment or something.”
My foot taps in rhythm with my fingers, uncomfortable in the silence.
“You’d just leave?” Her brows pull low over her eyes, and her head snaps back like she’d been slapped, and there’s something about the way she carries herself now that stings.
Like she doesn’t think her feelings deserve to be taken into consideration, like she doesn’t believe I’d step aside for her.
Sighing, I run a hand over my face, stopping to scratch my beard before letting my hand fall to the side. “Yeah, Lettie.” I pause when the crease between her eyes deepens. “I’d just leave. Move in with one of my teammates until I find my own place. Not a big deal.”
It is a big deal. The ranch is the last piece of paradise I have.
One I hoped I’d always have, whether she was here or not.
The thought of leaving the home I built leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
It was supposed to be my forever home, but I’d give it up for her.
I’d do anything for her, and that might be my downfall.
“Teammates?”
My eyes slide to hers just in time to see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth.
My hand shoots toward her through the rungs in the rail. “Lucas Monroe.” I sing, “Forward for the Tampa Bay Hawks.”
Her shoulders tense.
“I did it,” I say quietly. “I kept up my end of our deal.”
Her eyes turn glassy as she focuses on the corral over my shoulder. “I know,” she whispers. “Proud of you,” she says, a slight tremor in her voice.
She might as well have shoved a stake through my heart with the violent way it squeezes. The day we made that deal rolls like a movie, my throat tightening as I struggle to take a full breath.
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Goldie?” she asks as we stare up at the sunflowers swaying in the early afternoon breeze.
I give her a little hum before my hand finds hers, something I’ve done a lot this summer.
I hope she doesn’t mind. “It’d be pretty cool to go pro in hockey.
I only started playing a couple of years ago, but it’s fun.
I’m pretty good at it. I mean, I think I am.
That’s what my coach says anyway.” I start to ramble, before cutting myself off.
It’s a nervous habit, I don’t like the silence, it makes my skin itchy.
“What about you, Lettie Girl?” I ask as I turn my head to look at her.
She smiles. “I want to run the ranch one day. This is my happy place, well, it’s my happy place as long as you’re here.”
“Make a deal?” I ask, and she smiles as she nods. “I make it pro, you take over the ranch. We’ll be hockey ranchers raising babies to love cows and pucks.”
She squeals with laughter, feet kicking in the air. “You got yourself a deal, Goldie!”
She didn’t shake my hand before I dropped it.
My brain tells me to run, that we aren’t safe with her.
Big red flags wave, telling me that I’ll be left behind again, but this is my person, the one who was always supposed to be in my corner.
But she already left once, and history repeats itself, doesn't it?
“Thanks,” I mumble, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace.
The silence stretches again, the two of us locked in a stare-off, and I can’t help but wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
Does she wish she could turn back time, stay in my arms a little longer?
Does she replay our nights spent by the bonfire over and over?
Or did our memories and all the plans we made die with Ms. Anna?
“I’m gonna head in.” She breaks the silence. “You got this?”
I want to roll my eyes at the question, let her know I’ve had this for years while she's been doing whatever it is she’s been doing.
I shake my head, taking a deep breath while untying the lead and heading toward the stables.
To my surprise, the pony follows without putting up a fight.
I shoot her a side eye, and I swear the furry little jerk smiles like she knew exactly what she was doing.
I’m really losing it if I think the animals are meddling in my love life. Well, lack thereof.