Chapter 12 #2
“Unfortunately, yes. Your uncle was clear in his will, Gage. He will not allow you nor Miss Carter to buy one another out. Now, the lien is something I was unaware of, but that doesn’t change the conditions placed on the two of you involving each other,” he explains further, which by this point, if I could grip my phone any tighter, I’m certain I’d have broken it.
Why is my uncle doing this to me? What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of crap? He was a pain when he was alive, but in a different way.
He was a pain because he cared. In some weird way, he used his nagging to teach and help me become the rancher I am today, but I’m seeing now just how sneaky he truly was.
He kept all of this from me and left me to clean up his damn mess.
To make matters worse, he brought this woman into the mix. As irritated as Sloane makes me, it was obvious she didn’t know anything about this place, the history, or even who my uncle was. She was thrust into a situation, just like I was, but still found a way to work around the problem.
And if she knew about this lien, who is to say she won’t take advantage of it, allowing her to have her out? Maybe it’s for the best anyway. She can finally leave the ranch, and we never have to see each other again.
I sigh deeply, texting Francis back, requesting information on where I can find the lien information. Uncle Sam had so much to go through, so the last thing I want to do is sift through it all if I don’t have to.
Once I have the information I need, I can figure out the rest. If telling Sloane will make it easier for us both, then maybe that’s what needs to be done. And every minute I don’t tell her, I’m choosing control over honesty.
I don’t have to wait long for him to get back to me, and I begin to sift through my original copies of the paperwork. Once I locate the lien information, I’m able to see just how significant the lien is.
It’s a good portion of the land, but it’s the western patch down the hill where Sloane stated she found an old water main station. I haven’t bothered checking that out to confirm it, but again, she’d have no reason to lie about it.
I rub my chin and sigh deeply. That’s a lot of pasture to lose, and at some point, expansion was in mind, but it’d be difficult to do without those additional acres.
What do I do?
Do I give it to Sloane and give her the out, and cut my losses? Or do I stick this out and hopefully buy her out when the six months are up? I have a lot to think about, but it won’t be figured out tonight.
I close up the office and step out after turning off the light.
As soon as I walk out of the barn and close it up, the orange hue from the fire pit bathes the otherwise dark ranch. The stars stare brightly down below along with the moon, but it’s the orange hue that makes the stillness of the ranch truly shine.
A lone person sits beside it, wrapped in a knitted throw.
I stand by the barn doors out of distance, staring at the woman who has consumed my every moment, awake and asleep.
I wish I knew what I could do or say to make this all disappear, but honestly, after everything I did yesterday, I wouldn’t blame her for selling to the first buyer.
I’d deserve it. Every bit of it.
When did I become this man?
My stomach churns as I think about how she must’ve felt. I didn’t need to look at her then—I can see it now.
She looks broken. I did that.
Was it worth it? Hell no.
Because none of this is worth seeing, this usually confident and strong woman completely broken due to my communication and trust issues.
She sits there staring into the fire, her face completely blank and emotionless. I should go over there and apologize. I should grovel for forgiveness—but not for the reasons people would think. I should because I want her to see me differently.
I want her to see I’m not a cruel man. I didn’t even do that to my exes who burned me far worse than Sloane has. Hell, Sloane hasn’t burned me—not yet—which somehow makes this whole situation worse.
I take a few steps toward her.
Close enough to fix this.
Close enough to ruin it completely.
My chest tightens, every instinct in me pushing forward—and I stop anyway.
There is no way I’m going to talk to her.
Not when I don’t trust myself to say the right thing.
I can’t.
My words will fail me. This isn’t the time—or the conversation—to get it wrong, not when I have a large piece of land on the line. That guilt is eating away at me like a flesh-eating parasite. I’m numb, and even then, I can’t just walk up to her with quiet confidence and express remorse like that.
Admitting I’m wrong to myself is a whole lot different than acknowledging it to the person I wronged, and I screwed the pooch bad here.
No, I need more time.
Eventually, I know I’ll have to speak to her again. She needs to know about the lien, but I also know I can’t ignore her forever. Six months is still a long way out, and never saying a word to each other in that time would be damn near impossible.
I walk up the steps, taking them quietly so I don’t disturb her, and step into the main house. As soon as I close the door, I glance back—and wish I hadn’t.
She’s looking toward the house. Toward the door I just walked through.
Neither one of us can see the other, but somehow, I think we both know we’re staring back at each other.