Chapter 13 Oil, Inheritance, and His Other Life
Chapter thirteen
Oil, Inheritance, and His Other Life
Cash
Last night should’ve been enough to quiet the noise in my head.
But even now, with the memory of her soft skin and whispered words lingering like smoke, there's a part of me that can't stop waiting for the other boot to drop. Like I finally touched something real, and now I’m terrified of breaking it. The barn. Her kiss.
The way her body folded into mine like we were made to fit. It wasn’t just sex, it was something else. Something bigger. Like a promise whispered in the dark. That maybe we’d turned some corner. But now, the light of day’s washed it all bare, raw and unsure again.
The hill behind the ranch house rolls out like a golden carpet under the morning sun, the light filtering through the pecan trees in that hazy, golden-hour way that makes everything look softer than it is. But there’s nothing soft about the storm I can feel in the air, just don't know why yet.
I stand with my hands braced on the railing, watching Emmy chase a butterfly down by the fence line.
Her laughter echoes faintly, a reminder that not all parts of my life are built on lies.
Just… most of them. By the look on her face, somethings brewing.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Avery coming across the yard towards me looking very serious.
“You gonna say something,” Avery says to me, “or do I have to start guessing which oil rig made you rich?”
Her voice isn’t angry. But it’s tight. Confused.
Which is worse. It stirs something sharp and restless in my gut, guilt, maybe, or that gnawing fear that I’ve already messed this up beyond repair.
Because the confusion in her voice isn’t just about the money.
It’s about trust. About whether the man she opened up to last night is the same one standing in front of her now.
I turn slowly, every muscle in my shoulders tense like I’m about to get tossed. “How did you find out?”
She holds up the folder I hoped she wouldn’t see.
"I went to the bunkhouse to see if you wanted breakfast, this was lying there open on your desk in the bunkhouse.
" Inside is deeds, mineral rights, drilling contracts. Now she has seen proof of the double life I’ve been living since I struck oil on a parcel of land I inherited from my grandfather.
Her eyes are bright and curious, scanning my face like she’s thrilled for me or mad I didn't share this part of my life. I'm not sure which.
“It’s not what you think,” I say, even though I have no damn clue what she thinks.
She has the folder tucked tight under one elbow. “Please explain it, Cash. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been pretending to be some struggling ranch foreman while secretly rolling in enough oil money to buy half the county.”
I rake a hand through my hair, the weight of it all threatening to crack my ribs open. “I didn’t pretend. I just didn’t volunteer the information.”
“I'm thrilled for you but, why?”
Her question hits hard, because the answer is tangled and raw.
“Because money changes the way people look at you,” I say. “It turns everything into a transaction. Suddenly you’re not the guy who’s worked this land his whole damn life, you’re a bank account. A walking opportunity. And I didn’t want that. Not from you.”
Her expression falters for half a second before she resets it. “So you just thought lying by omission was better? That I wouldn’t care about the truth?”
I take a step toward her. “I care about you, Avery. More than I should. And I knew if you saw that side of my life too soon, it would build a wall between us. I wanted, needed, you to see me for me. Not for the money.”
She’s quiet, staring at me like she’s trying to reconcile two versions of the same man. The one she kissed behind the barn. And the one who’s apparently sitting on a private oil fortune.
Emmy squeals in the distance, chasing a rabbit now, her tiny legs a blur of motion. The innocence of it makes this all feel heavier somehow. Like I’ve corrupted something sacred.
“I wanted to build something real with you,” I say, softer now. “Not because I could buy your loyalty or make your problems disappear. But because you wanted me. Just me.”
Avery blinks, and I swear I see the confusion swirl with something softer, relief, maybe, or pride. Like she’s still trying to catch up to the idea that the man in front of her is both the ranch hand she’s been falling for and someone with more zeros in the bank than she imagined.
She hugs the folder to her chest and lets out a stunned laugh. My chest tightens at the sound, half joy, half disbelief, and I find myself holding my breath, unsure whether she’s about to cry, laugh harder, or walk away.
“This is insane. You’ve got money, real money, and you’re still out here fixing fences like it’s your only option?” Her voice lifts, full of honest disbelief. “I mean, I’m happy for you. I really am. But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
I exhale hard. “Because this place, this land, it’s not about money for me. It’s home. It’s legacy. My granddad taught me to work with my hands, not throw cash at problems. And after what happened with Jack, walking away would have felt like betraying something bigger.”
She stares at me, her eyes searching. “You could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have cared.”
“I know that now,” I murmur, stepping closer. “But in the beginning? I didn’t know if I could trust what we were building. Or if you'd walk away once the truth showed up.”
She exhales sharply, then lets out a dry laugh. “Well, I’m thrilled for you, Cash. Really. Rich, rugged, and emotionally constipated, you’re practically a romance novel cliché.”
Her smirk softens the sting, but it still lands like a playful jab. “Next time you decide to drop a financial bombshell, maybe give a girl a heads-up. Or at least a mimosa first.”
The tension breaks with her joke, but there’s still a quiet buzz in the air. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s everything we’re both still trying to figure out.
Later that afternoon, Harper suggests we take the horses out. Just an easy ride across the property before the sun goes down. Emmy’s already bouncing in her boots, too excited to sit still, and Avery hesitates just long enough for me to notice. But she agrees.
The four of us saddle up and head toward the back pasture, the quiet thud of hooves muffled by soft earth and the fading chirp of cicadas settling in for the evening.
The sky is brushed in strokes of orange and lavender, casting everything in that golden hush that makes you feel like the world’s holding its breath.
Even the horses seem to sense it, their pace steady and unhurried as if they, too, remember this land the way it used to be, letting the rhythm of hooves and breeze do what words can’t.
Emmy’s giggles trail behind us as her pony kicks into a little trot, and Harper hums some old tune under her breath, swaying slightly in her saddle like she was born in one.
Avery rides beside me, quiet. Too quiet. I glance her way now and then, wondering what’s running through her mind. Is she reliving old memories or second-guessing everything between us? The silence feels fragile, like a thread stretched too tight, and I don’t know whether to pull it or let it be.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, then wipes at her cheek. “Yeah. Just... this trail. I haven’t been back here since I was a kid.'
I glance around. The sun slants low across the ridge, casting golden light through the wildflowers and tall grass. The old windmill squeaks in the distance, and the scent of mesquite and sun-warmed earth fills the air.
“My dad used to take me out here when I was Emmy’s age,” she says, voice shaky. “We’d stop under that oak tree up ahead and ate peanut butter sandwiches.”
She pulls her horse to a halt beneath the same tree, looking up through its thick branches. “I used to think the world ended past this fence line. That everything important happened right here.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she laughs softly as she brushes it away. “God, I didn’t think this would hit me like this.”
I don’t say anything. Just sit still, letting her have the space. The memories are thick here, hers, mine, and her dad's. And for a minute, none of the secrets or money or baggage matter.
Just her, on this land, rediscovering something she didn’t even realize she missed.
Harper and Emmy catch up to us, Emmy proudly waving a wildflower bouquet she picked. “Mama, look what I made you!”
Avery grins and reaches down for it. “It’s perfect, baby.”
She glances over at me, eyes still damp, but glowing now. “Thanks for this, Cash.”
I tip my hat. “Anytime.”
We sit there a moment longer, the horses shifting beneath us, the breeze lifting Avery’s hair just enough to catch the light. She glances back at the tree, then toward the hills stretching into the horizon.
“I want this place to feel like home again,” she says, voice soft but steady. “Not just for Emmy. For me too.”
I nod, feeling something settle deep in my chest. “Then let’s bring it back. The way it was. Better, even.”
She reaches across the space between us and rests her hand on mine. “Together?”
“Always.”
The next morning, we’re up before the sun. There’s too much work to do and none of us want to waste the momentum we’ve built.
Harper shows up in ripped jeans and an old ballcap, sleeves rolled high like she means business. Emmy’s trailing behind her with a plastic bucket and a determined look that’s pure Avery. The kid’s ready to work, and no one’s telling her otherwise.
We start with the barn. Dust thick enough to write your name in clings to every surface, and the scent of hay and old memories hangs heavy in the rafters.
I climb into the loft while Avery and Harper tackle the tack room below, reorganizing old bridles and saddles with a surprising amount of gusto.