Chapter 12
twelve
Gage
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve never been the guy who just ups and leaves someone like that.
Not like I left Sloane.
Half-dressed.
Standing there like she didn’t matter.
The image won’t get out of my head, no matter how hard I try to shove it down.
The way she looked at me—
not angry.
not even surprised.
Just…hit.
And I did that.
I walked out like it didn’t cost me anything, like she didn’t deserve more than that.
The second the barn doors closed behind me, the regret hit so hard it nearly dropped me to my knees.
But I didn’t go back.
I kept walking.
And that might be the worst part of it.
I didn’t want to face anyone because of the shame I felt. All I cared about was getting out of there, but the regret hit almost immediately. The problem was I was already halfway gone, and I couldn’t take it back.
I hid in my bedroom and even avoided going downstairs out of fear of running into her. I still can hear the way the door creaked and closed, the slow ascent up the stairs, and shuffling to the bedroom across the hall where she sleeps.
Her usual assured, confident stride is gone—replaced by something slower. Heavier.
And I know I’m the reason for it.
But just because I feel guilty for how I left things doesn’t mean I trust her. She’s clearly learning things, but even if that is the case, where is her proof? Her words aren’t enough. I want to believe she’s being honest, but it’s just too hard to imagine.
Every woman I’ve let close has found a way to show their true colors, and those colors are muddy and dark.
By morning, the guilt hasn’t settled, but my job doesn’t stop simply because I feel like crap for what I did. Avoidance is the only thing I choose—because facing her right now would mean admitting how badly I failed her. And, I know what led to it.
The anger-fueled conversation, the constant bickering, and the complete disregard of my authority really got under my skin. To be clear, though, I don’t want to control Sloane; I don’t even want her to change who she is, but what I do want is for her to recognize how difficult this all is for me.
I’m not used to working alongside someone who inadvertently controls my livelihood. What she does with her side of things will drastically alter my life, and I’ve never liked having my life in someone else’s hands.
With Uncle Sam, it was different. I knew he had my best interest, and he was like the father I never had, but this is a whole different scenario.
I guess my communication really is shit.
I spent the rest of my morning doing all the manual labor tasks that the other ranch hands typically do. I get my hands dirty alongside Jesse and Mason and help Hank assess the final list of cattle issues before releasing them to the pasture.
I even fixed that cut in the fence Sloane mentioned.
It was a clean break, like someone used wire cutters in a smooth line straight down the middle. Just staring at the damn thing pissed me off all over again, but fixing it up alone made me realize how foolish I had been.
Would Sloane really sabotage the ranch like this? I hardly think so, especially not when she spent hours with me lining the posts and helping with the wiring. The truth is, the evidence doesn’t point to her—but I’m not ready to let go of the version of her I’ve been bracing against.
Why go through all that just to cut it a week later? Then again, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t have others helping her nearby.
Who am I kidding? That’s utter nonsense, even for me.
I’m picking stalls inside the horse barn with Mason, who quietly helps. I’ve got him glancing over at me, but he doesn’t make small talk. He’s a young guy, hardworking, but he’s immature. I mean, hell, I can recall myself at twenty-two, and I wasn’t any better.
He glances over at me again, and I huff, slamming the manure fork down into the shavings. “Say what you wanna say, boy,” I tell him, having had enough of his side eye.
His eyes widen slightly. “No, it’s nothing. I—” he stops short at seeing the way my stare grows tougher than stone. He sighs uneasily. “—Look, the guys and I just noticed you seem a little…tense lately,” he explains with a shrug.
I scoff. “Couldn’t possibly be the five-foot-seven, brown-haired, green-eyed thorn in my side,” I grumble under my breath, glancing away momentarily, and Mason’s mouth drops slightly. My eyes turn back to him sharply, and his mouth closes like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. We all really like Miss Carter. She’s really helpful, she’s always interested in how we’re doing, and she’s open to learning.” I roll my eyes. Great, this is exactly what I feared.
If she starts getting into all my ranch hands’ good graces, then getting rid of her will prove to be even harder.
The shuffling of boots sounds behind us, and I turn around to see Jesse waltzing inside with a purpose. He walks up to us and then hands me a piece of paper with writing on it.
“I was out checking the levels this morning. They’re low, like real low,” he says, causing my eyebrows to furrow. That’s not possible. That water main was serviced not long ago.
I look it over, and he’s right. The chart we created to check the water levels has drastically changed over the last year, but only recently has there been a dip this significant.
The levels are so low that there may as well not even be water coming out of it. Which is exactly what she’d been warning me about—even if I don’t like how she went about it.
I look back at him and hand it back. “It’s probably the dry season. Just focus on the rest of the chores. I’ll see what I can do about getting additional water,” I explain to him, and he nods, with no additional questions.
It’s one of the reasons I like Jesse. He never questions me; he just does his work and allows me to run the place. It’s a welcoming change from the rest of the people here.
As I finish up the last stall, my phone vibrates in my pocket. My screen lights up with Francis Gallard’s name, our accountant. What the hell is he calling for? I look up at Jesse as he brushes one of the horses.
“Jesse, take over. I got to take this,” I tell him, and he steps away to quickly grab my manure fork so I can walk out of the stall and into the office.
I take a seat at the desk and lean back in Uncle Sam’s fancy wood-stained chair. “Francis, what can I do for you?” I answer as he clears his throat.
“Good morning, Gage, I hope I got you at a good time,” he says, and though I appreciate the pleasantries, I know he wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t have something urgent to share.
We aren’t in the middle of tax season, and I routinely send him receipts and other financial records, so there really is no other reason for him to call me unless there is something bad.
“As good a time as any,” I reply, and he sighs softly. “Based on that reaction, I sense you’re not calling to find out we overpaid on our taxes and are getting a massive return,” I add as Francis chuckles lightly.
“I wish that were the case, Gage, but I was running through the records you sent over from your uncle,” he begins, and that’s another thing, Francis isn’t our longtime accountant, he isn’t even in the town limits.
Uncle Sam had been using the town accountant for decades, but the poor guy is so overworked from all the other ranches and businesses in this town that we weren’t getting a fair assessment.
Francis is based out of Midland. Highly respected, and he’s really helped clean up the records for us, but there are a ton of them, so he’s always finding new pieces inside the records.
“Go on.”
He sighs once more. “Well, it looks like he put a lien out for the western part of the property about twenty years ago. I assume that when the recession hit, he was doing anything to keep the ranch afloat.
The problem is it makes that part of the property more vulnerable,” he explains as I lean my head back.
Jesus Christ, what else did you do behind my back, Uncle Sam?
My jaw clenches. “So what does it mean if it is vulnerable?” I ask, even though a part of me has an idea. I just hoped I’d be wrong.
“Well, buying pressure is a big thing, so for example, with your uncle’s passing, if there are any litigations in place in his will involving that piece of the land, it’s null and voided,” he explains, and I close my eyes, dread settling over me.
Basically, I still retain ownership of that land, but if Sloane decided, on the off chance, she wants to sell that piece before the six months, she could do so without my permission.
We’re already a couple of months in, and this could be her out, but it’d be at the cost of me losing a significant portion of my family’s land. This is the worst-case scenario. Is it possible I could buy her out before someone else does?
“Let me make a call, and I’ll call back if I have any questions. Thanks for letting me know,” I tell him, hanging up the phone and immediately dialing Monty’s number. If I can trigger the buyout before this, then maybe I can still save my ranch.
“This is Monty,” he answers, and I roll my eyes.
“Monty, it’s Gage Hollis. I got a question for you,” I tell him, going over what Francis told me about the lien and what that means for that piece of land. He doesn’t cut me off, but instead returns to his copy of the will.
“Well, according to the will, he laid out that the two of you need to cohabitate for six months until it triggers a buyout. Whether she triggers the buyout with someone else is a completely different situation,” he explains, and I slam my fist on the desk.
“So you’re saying if some bigwig suit comes up to her and strikes a deal for that piece of land before the six months, she can legally sell, but if I provided an offer to buy her out before the six months, it would be voided?” I ask, and he’s silent for a moment before sighing.