Ranch Enemies

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Big City Exit, Small Town Trouble

Avery

The armadillo was just the beginning.

One stiff, sun-bloated warning sign that this ranch, and the man standing beyond it, were going to be a whole lot more trouble than I planned for.

I hit the brakes a little too late, my SUV fishtailing in a puff of gravel as the Texas heat distorted the air above the cracked dirt driveway.

The thing was already long gone, stiff and sad in the middle of the lane like a roadkill welcome mat.

But the real problem? He was standing just beyond it, arms crossed, wearing that same god-awful scowl I remembered from gym class.

Cash Bennett.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.

“Mommy, what’s that smell?” Emmy pipes up from the backseat, nose wrinkled.

“That, baby girl, is the scent of cow crap, disappointment, and masculinity in denial,” Harper answers before I can. She’s in the passenger seat, sipping her iced coffee like we haven’t just stepped through a time warp.

Painted Sky Ranch. My dad named it after the sunsets we used to chase, fiery streaks of pink and orange smeared across the sky like watercolor dreams. It used to mean dusty summers and long rides with him, chasing daylight through the hills, our laughter echoing off canyon walls.

Now the name sits on my tongue like a dare I didn’t mean to take.

Like a memory that’s been waiting in the heat, aching to be touched.

The driveway stretches ahead of us like a scar through the weeds, lined with dry mesquite trees and patches of wild sunflowers struggling to thrive in the baking heat.

Fence posts lean at odd angles, held together by rusted wire and the occasional patch job of baling twine.

A pair of buzzards sit atop the entrance arch, eyeing us like they know drama is about to unfold.

The house appears through the heat shimmer, an old two-story farmhouse with peeling paint that once might’ve been cream, now a faded shade of regret.

The porch is half-collapsed on one side, its support posts sagging like tired shoulders.

A wind chime made from old spoons and washers tinkles faintly in the breeze, eerily cheerful against the backdrop of abandonment.

Weeds vining around the porch posts like they own the place and not letting go.

I cut the engine. No one speaks.

This place used to feel bigger. Alive. Now it looks like it's holding its breath, waiting to see if I’m going to run again.

I suck in a breath as the gates to the barn yard come into view.

I hadn't been back here since I was seventeen, since the day I swore I was done with this place for good. My hands grip the wheel tighter, knuckles pale against the leather. There’s a memory right at the edge of my mind, riding shotgun, me and Dad riding the fence line, my laughter tangled with the wind as he taught me how to steer with my knees.

I shake it off. Nostalgia is a liar.

It looks even smaller than I remember. Drier.

Sadder. The house leans slightly to one side, like it's exhausted from trying to stay upright all these years.

The wooden fence circling the yard is warped, the paint sun-bleached to a color somewhere between "weathered dreams" and "abandon hope.

" The porch shingles sagging like they've been holding their breath since the day I left.

And then there's Cash.

Same faded Stetson. Same rigid jawline. Same intimidating build in a T-shirt that probably started the day white and is now a work-stained roadmap of hard labor and attitude. His eyes, shaded by the brim of his hat, track every move I make.

Harper whistles low. “Damn. Black Stetson, broad shoulders, and those dark brown eyes? He looks like the cover of a cowboy calendar, July, to be exact. That man could hurt feelings without even opening his mouth. Like, emotionally damage someone with a smirk.”

She leans closer to the window. “And that walk? Swagger for days. If you weren’t already enemies, I’d be throwing you at him like a lasso in heat.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. “Don’t encourage the enemy.”

“Too late,” she mutters. “I’m already mentally writing fan fiction.”

He hasn’t moved an inch since we pulled up.

I open the car door, swinging my feet out onto the dirt, and immediately regret not changing into boots. My designer flats are about to get an intimate relationship with cow pie. Emmy’s already bouncing to get out of her car seat, her tiny hands slapping at the window in excitement.

“Stay here with Harper for a second, Em. Mommy needs to handle something,” I say, shooting Harper a look that says please keep her alive and also maybe protect me from a cowboy brawl.

I shut the door, adjust my sunglasses, and march across the yard like the city girl I absolutely am. Cash doesn’t speak until I’m ten feet away.

“You’re late.”

My laugh is sharp. “And you’re still an ass. Looks like some things haven’t changed.”

That jaw tightens. Just a twitch, but I clock it.

“I figured you’d chicken out.”

I resist the urge to cross my arms like a mirror image. “I figured you’d have the place cleaned up a bit.”

“This ain’t the Ritz, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly how I pictured homecoming either.”

Behind me, Emmy barrels out of the car, tripping over her tiny boots as she runs full tilt across the gravel. “Horseys, Mama! I see horseys?”

Cash’s brows lift slightly. I see it, just a flicker, before he smothers it under his usual glare.

“This is your daughter?” he asks, voice low.

I nod, standing a little straighter. “Yep. Emmy. She’s five. And she’s staying.”

He looks at me, then at her, and then turns on his heel like the conversation’s over.

And just like that, I remember exactly why I hated this place, and why I’m going to make damn sure it’s mine.

Cash disappears into the barn like my presence is a busted fence post he plans to fix with a set of pliers and a bad attitude. The tension in his shoulders radiates all the way back to where I stand, dust clinging to my calves and temper already bubbling.

I follow him, because apparently I enjoy making bad decisions today.

The barn smells like cedar, hay, and sweat. It’s cleaner than I expected, which is irritating for reasons I don’t want to explore. He’s already at the far end, arms deep in something mechanical, pretending I don’t exist.

“Do you plan on ignoring me for the next 364 days or is this just a welcome special?” I ask, voice echoing across the space.

Cash doesn’t look up. “I didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask to inherit a broken-down ranch and a walking bad mood, but here we are.”

He wipes his hands on a rag, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes are darker than I remember, stormy, unreadable.

“You don’t belong here, Avery.”

My spine goes ramrod straight. “Funny. The legal documents say otherwise.”

He tosses the rag onto a nearby shelf. “Your daddy loved this place. He built it up from nothing. He didn’t run off to the city every time it got hard.”

The comment hits low. He knows it. I know it. The barn goes silent except for the rhythmic thud of Emmy’s boots outside, startled chickens, and the distant call of a crow.

“You think I wanted to leave?” I whisper, suddenly furious. “You think I just packed my bags and forgot this place ever mattered?”

Cash shakes his head, slow and disappointed. “You never looked back, Ave. Not once.”

It stings more than it should’ve. More than I want it to.

I don’t realize I’ve stepped closer until we’re toe to toe, heat sparking between us like a live wire.

“Well, I’m here now,” I say, voice low. “And you can glower all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second, a flicker, a fracture in the armor, and then it’s gone.

“You last a month,” he says flatly. “Tops.”

I lift my chin. “Wanna bet?”

He brushes past me, shoulder just barely grazing mine, and for the briefest second, the air between us crackles.

“I’ve got work to do,” he mutters.

And just like that, the silence in the barn feels like the loudest thing I’ve heard all day.

The house creaks like it’s bracing for my return. As Harper wrangles Emmy upstairs to find her a room that doesn’t smell like mold or mothballs, I push through the front door, eyes scanning what’s left of my father’s legacy.

The wallpaper is curling, its once-pale floral print now yellowed and stained like old tea.

The wood floors are scarred with gouges and worn smooth in patches from decades of boots and hooves and maybe the occasional temper tantrum.

A ceiling fan groans with every rotation, stirring up the scent of dust, mildew, and memories that cling like cobwebs.

To the left, the living room sags with mismatched furniture, a corduroy couch with a patch stitched into the arm, a rocking chair missing a slat.

The fireplace is stuffed with newspaper from a decade ago.

Above the mantel, a crooked photo collage is layered with grime: faded faces of rodeo wins, Sunday dinners, my mom, dad and me, and happier days that feel like someone else’s life.

I notice a picture of Emmy in a wooden frame sitting there proudly. I had sent this picture to my dad after she was born.

It looks like the place gave up waiting for someone to care.

I spot a stack of paperwork left on the entryway table, an envelope with my name scrawled in Dad’s looping handwriting. My chest tightens.

It’s not a letter. Just a legal packet. The will.

The will spells it out clearly. One full year of residency, no exceptions. A modest portion of the estate funds is released now, the rest is locked away until I last the full term. No early exits. No leasing the land. No shortcuts.

And then there’s the kicker, Dad named Cash Bennett as co-manager of the property for the entire year.

Equal say in operations, financials, and, God help me, any improvements I want to make.

Like a built-in babysitter I can’t fire.

Like Dad’s final joke, wrapped in a legal contract and sealed with a smug grin from the grave.

I grip the back of the chair to steady myself. The man knew exactly how to manipulate me from the grave. One year. One full year at Painted Sky Ranch.

And Cash? He comes with it, apparently. No clause about that.

Truth be told, I’d never planned to come back.

Not after everything that happened, the blowout fight with Dad, Mom’s sudden passing, and the humiliation of being dumped by a man who told me I was too much the minute I told him I was pregnant.

He wanted me silent, submissive, and small. I gave him none of those things.

So Emmy and I made our own life. It wasn’t easy.

I built it with duct tape, grit, and late-night tears she never saw.

I was in Advertising and pretty much running the biggest agency in Austin, waiting on my partnership.

Me, they want to make me a partner. It's a dream I have been working towards. And now? Now I’m being handed a legacy I didn’t ask for, but maybe… need.

"Well, this place is... a vibe," Harper announces, stepping into the kitchen doorway with a bottle of cleaner in one hand and a bandana already tied around her head like a vintage housewife turned homicide detective.

"Upstairs smells like raccoon pee and the ghosts of bad decisions. Emmy’s thrilled. "

I exhale a laugh, even as my stomach twists. “Glad one of us is.”

Harper narrows her eyes. “How bad is it?”

I hand her the folder. She flips it open and lets out a low whistle. “He really wanted to make sure you didn’t run. This is practically a hostage situation.”

“No kidding.”

Emmy yells something incoherent from upstairs, followed by a thud and a giggle. The sound wraps around something fragile in my chest and holds it steady.

I walk through the house like I’m chasing ghosts, touching the walls, remembering fragments of things I thought I’d forgotten.

The creaky floorboard in the hall. The chipped corner of the staircase where I once slipped chasing my dog.

The old kitchen table still pushed against the window where I used to do my homework while Dad poured coffee and muttered about cattle weights.

One of the photo frames on the mantel catches my eye. It's crooked. I reach out and adjust it. It’s me at nine, holding a blue ribbon next to my dad and his old gelding. His hand rests on my shoulder, his smile wide and proud. That day had felt like magic.

“Maybe he knew,” I murmur, my fingers trailing along the chipped edge of the old table, the wood cool and familiar beneath my touch. “Maybe he knew the only way I’d ever come home was if he forced me like he knew what was best for me. Maybe he did. ”

My voice catches at the end, quiet and uneven, and I blink against the sudden sting behind my eyes. I press a hand to my chest, anchoring myself, as if the walls might fall in if I let go.

Harper leans on the doorframe. “You gonna stay?”

I look out the back window. The pasture is overgrown. The fences are sagging. There’s a part of the barn roof caved in like the whole place is surrendering. Weeds snake through the cracks in the walkway. But beneath it all, I see the bones of something good. Solid. Worth fighting for.

Emmy pads softly into the room, her stuffed horse tucked beneath one arm. “Mama, do the horsey's sleep in the house, too?”

I smile, crouching beside her. “No, baby. But maybe someday soon, we’ll have a whole barn full of them again.”

I square my shoulders.

“I’m not just staying.”

I meet Harper’s eyes, heart thudding. “I’m going to fix it. All of it.”

And I’m just stubborn enough to show Mr. Cash Bennett what I’ve got.