Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Trust Me
Cash
She storms toward me like a dust devil, boots crunching over sunbaked gravel, her hair catching the breeze like fire behind her, the flush in her cheeks a warning flare. She definitely got my attention.
The late afternoon heat rises in shimmering waves off the ground, thick with the scent of fresh-cut wood and horses. Somewhere behind me, the rhythmic clang of a hammer hitting tin echoes from the barn roof. I’ve seen her mad before.
Hell, I’ve been the reason more times than I can count. But this time, something’s different. There’s fear in her eyes, sure, but underneath it, I see something deeper, confusion, hope, maybe even love.
I set down the saw and wipe my hands on my jeans just as she reaches me and jumps into my arms. We stayed that way for awhile. I think she just needed something or someone to hold her for a moment. I was glad to be that person.
“Tell me, tell me all of it."
I grab two glasses of lemonade from the cooler Harper dropped off earlier, and follow Avery up the porch steps.
We settle into the wooden swing that creaks under our weight, the kind of sound that feels like summer and old memories. The heat of her thigh just brushing mine sends a ripple of tension through me.
It’s not uncomfortable, just sharp enough to remind me how much I want this to be real. I don’t move. I let the silence stretch, hoping it says what I haven’t dared to yet. I hand her a glass. She takes it, but she doesn’t drink. "I want to know everything about my dad and you and this ranch"
“I didn’t tell you much before because you needed to figure it out on your own,” I say after a long moment. “This place, the work, your dad, that’s what matters. And now you are seeing it all”
She looks down at her lap, fingers tracing the condensation on her glass. “But you matter. This ranch, the money it's all part of who you are.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But I’ve seen what that kind of cash does to people. I didn’t want it to be what defined me. Not with you.”
She lifts her eyes, softer now, but still guarded. “You thought I’d walk away?”
I shrug. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’ve done a crap job of trusting you with the truth.”
We sit in silence for a beat, the porch swing rocking gently, the ranch spread out before us in warm, golden light. Emmy’s giggles drift on the breeze as she chases a chicken through the yard. It’s domestic chaos and peace all rolled into one.
“I found a letter,” she says suddenly. “In the study. From my dad.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah?”
She nods. “He said everything he did was for me. For Emmy. That he wanted me to build something real here.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I think that’s what he was trying to do, in his own way. He trusted me to look after this place, and you.”
“And you have,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Even when I didn’t make it easy.”
I chuckle softly. “You? Difficult? Never.”
She smacks my arm lightly, but she’s smiling now, the tension in her shoulders easing. And damn if that smile doesn’t knock something loose in my chest. It’s the kind of smile that says maybe, just maybe, we’re going to be okay. I’d take a hundred arguments if it meant ending up here.
“I don’t want secrets between us,” she says.
“Me neither.” I meet her gaze head-on. “So ask me anything. No more hiding.”
She studies me for a long moment, then leans back against the swing, sipping her lemonade. “Okay. First question, why on earth are you still working on this ranch if you’ve got more money than God?”
I grin. “Because this ranch gave me everything that mattered. your dad took a chance on me. This land gave me purpose. And now,” I glance at her. “Now it’s about more than work. It’s about you. Emmy. Us.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So you’re a rich, rugged cowboy who builds things, cooks, takes care of my daughter, and doesn’t brag about it?”
“Sounds exhausting when you put it like that.”
She laughs, the sound like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. Then her eyes gleam with mischief.
“Well, I’m thrilled for you,” she says sweetly. “Truly. But if you turn out to be secretly royalty too, I’m gonna need a tiara.”
I bark out a laugh, the tension melting into something lighter. Real.
The sun dips lower, painting everything in amber light. And for the first time, maybe ever, I let myself believe we might just get this right.
She doesn’t ask anything else for a while, and I let the silence sit between us like an old friend. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s thoughtful. Honest.
“I don’t talk about my past much,” I begin, my voice low. “Mostly because there’s not a lot worth remembering.”
Avery turns her head, eyes searching mine. I push forward.
“I grew up just outside of town. My dad worked the rigs until it broke him, bad back, bad habits. He started drinking, a lot. My mom worked two jobs just to keep food on the table.
I learned early that nothing comes easy. That you can bust your ass and still come up short.”
I pause, watching Emmy climb the porch steps and dart past us with a feather clutched in her hand, completely unaware she’s keeping me grounded.
“When I met your dad, I was fourteen. He caught me fixing up my neighbor’s old truck, asked if I wanted a real job. I figured I’d last a week. Ended up staying.”
Avery listens quietly, her fingers lightly tapping her glass.
“I saved everything, lived lean, watched the markets, and inherited a rundown stretch of pasture my grandfather left behind. Everyone said it was worthless, but I took a chance, sank a rig, and struck oil. Just once, but it was enough to change everything.”
"But I didn’t want to leave this place. It’s where I learned who I was. Jack gave me a second chance at life, my dad was a mean drunk and not someone you wanted to hang out with."
"He let me stay here in the bunkhouse as much as I wanted. That meant a lot to me, I felt I owed him everything I could give him on the ranch.”
Avery reaches over and covers my hand with hers. It’s a small gesture, but it knocks the wind out of me.
“You’re not who I expected,” she says.
I huff a soft laugh. “Trust me, neither are you.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Thank you for telling me.”
I nod. “I should’ve done it sooner.”
Her eyes glisten, catching the last of the sunset. “You ever regret not leaving?”
I glance out at the wide expanse of land stretching beyond the fence line, glowing with golden promise. Then back to her.
“Not once.”
Avery shifts beside me, her body stiff, like she’s working up the courage to jump off a cliff she can’t see the bottom of. The porch swing creaks beneath us, but the air is thick with something unsaid, buzzing louder than the cicadas.
She takes a sip of lemonade, then sets her glass down on the wooden armrest. Her fingers toy with the condensation trail, not meeting my eyes.
“I was going to take an advertising job in Austin,” she says finally, voice low. “The one I’d been working toward for years.”
I nod, silent, waiting.
“I was ready to sign the contract the same week I got the call about my dad’s will. I hadn’t talked to him in months. Maybe a year. We’d fought the last time Emmy and I visited.”
She draws in a breath and presses her lips together like she’s trying to hold something in. But it still slips through, raw and honest.
“He wanted me to come back. I told him I couldn’t, wouldn’t. That I had a life, a plan. That Emmy didn’t belong in this dusty little town.” She laughs, but it’s brittle. “Guess I was wrong about a lot of things.”
I want to say something, but I can tell she’s not finished.
“I’ve always run,” she continues. “When things got hard, when people got close. I thought if I stayed detached, I couldn’t get hurt. It made me feel strong.” She finally turns to look at me. “But I wasn’t strong. I was scared.”
Her eyes glisten in the fading light. “Scared of failing. Of not being enough for Emmy. Of letting people in and losing them anyway. It was easier to throw myself into work than face what I didn’t want to admit.”
I nod slowly, the weight of her words settling over me like a blanket soaked in rain.
“I didn’t keep in touch with my dad because it hurt to be around him. Every time I saw him, he reminded me of what I gave up. And now that he’s gone, I’d give anything to have one more damn phone call.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and she quickly wipes a tear away with the back of her hand. “He tried to leave me pieces of himself, letters, notes, memories. And I ignored all of it until now.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, grounding us both.
“You’re not the only one who’s scared, Avery,” I murmur. “But you don’t have to run anymore.”
She swallows hard, her shoulders trembling with the effort to stay composed. Then she squeezes my hand.
“I don’t want to,” she whispers. “Not from you. Not from this.”
We sit like that for a while, quiet, connected, wrapped in the kind of truth that doesn’t need fixing. Just feeling.
The air between us hums with everything we’ve just laid bare. No secrets. No bravado. Just raw, unvarnished truth hanging in the golden dusk like the last ember of a fire refusing to burn out.
Avery leans back against the porch swing, eyes on the horizon, but I can see her shoulders soften, see the way she’s let something go, even if just for now. It’s in the way her hand rests in mine without tension, like it belongs there.
Like maybe it always did.
“Sometimes I wonder,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, “what life would’ve looked like if I’d stayed. If I hadn’t left all those years ago.”
I shift closer, the wooden swing groaning slightly beneath us. “Maybe you had to leave first to find your way back.”
She turns her head, our eyes meeting. There’s no deflection this time. No sass to hide behind. Just Avery. Brave and vulnerable and heartbreakingly real.
“I don’t want to waste any more time,” she murmurs.
My chest tightens. “Then don’t.”
She stands suddenly, stepping away from the swing, and I think for a heartbeat she’s going to bolt, retreat into whatever fortress she’s lived in for the past decade. But then she stops, turns, and holds out her hand.
I take it.
We don’t speak as we cross the porch, as she leads me around the side of the house where the moonlight falls soft across the wide yard.
Crickets sing in the tall grass. The scent of hay and wildflowers drifts on the breeze, but all I can focus on is her, her hand in mine, the nervous rise and fall of her chest.
We stop beneath the windmill, the same one I used to sneak under as a teenager when I needed to breathe. She looks up at me, her features half in shadow, half in light. And I swear I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the mess of emotions playing across her face.
“I used to come here for comfort and quiet, just look out over the ranch from this spot," She looks up at me suddenly, I’m scared,” she whispers.
I nod. “Me too.”
And then I pull her in.
Her arms wrap around my waist like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in, strawberries and sunshine and something purely Avery.
Her heartbeat thunders against my chest, fast and wild, syncing with mine like they’ve always been meant to meet here, in this exact moment.
“I’m here,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods against me, her fingers fisting in the back of my shirt. “Good. Because I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“You’re not alone.”
And we stay like that, wrapped up in each other, hearts exposed, the whole world shrinking to the space between us. No more running. No more pretending. Just her and me and the promise of something real.