Chapter 13
thirteen
Sloane
The effects of what happened between Gage and me weigh on me for the remainder of the week—every day stretching longer than the last, until by midweek I can barely breathe in the silence.
We avoid each other like the plague, and for good reason. I know if I speak to him at all, I’ll lose it.
I’m still furious after everything—how he could treat me like I was something disposable, tossed aside once he got what he wanted. I know men like that exist, but never in my life would I have pegged Gage to be one of them, no matter how much he dislikes me.
Moping isn’t going to fix anything. Talking to him is out of the question—but doing nothing isn’t an option either.
The more space between us, the better. At some point, we’ll have to talk—that much I know—but I shouldn’t have to keep being the bigger person. He’s a grown-ass man. He can act like one.
Unfortunately, after being around him as long as I have now, I’m not confident he ever will. I don’t know him well enough—but I know someone who does.
That afternoon, when I pull up the graveled path to his Aunt May’s home, flashbacks to the night of the community barn party wash over me. That night felt different. Like I was finally getting past the broody exterior and seeing the man behind the scowl.
What happened to that guy?
The one who didn’t want me dancing with anyone else but him.
And weirdly enough, I want that man back. Not because of the jealousy—but because of the way he claimed me without hesitation, like the idea of anyone else touching me never even crossed his mind.
But if he wants to be that man, he needs to be consistent. And he needs to stop playing games.
Gage feels like a puzzle made of half-finished pieces—enough to hint at a picture, not enough to explain it.
He may never tell me anything himself, but if I can learn even a sliver of his past, maybe I’ll understand him better.
Not enough to excuse what he did—but enough to make sense of it.
Because unless he gets on his knees and owns what he did—really owns it—I’m not letting this go anytime soon.
I walk up the steps, letting out a shaky breath before knocking on the blue, wooden, paint-chipped door. I don’t have to wait long before Aunt May opens it with a beaming smile.
“Well, Miss Carter, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she says, and I smile softly, blushing slightly under her compliment.
“Hello, I’m sorry for showing up unannounced, but I was wondering if I could talk to you about the ranch,” I say, wringing my hands together nervously. I’m not even sure why I feel on edge, but everything has felt this way since I walked onto the Hollis property.
She steps aside to let me in. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” she says, and suddenly I relax—though I’m not sure why. There’s a quiet assurance in her tone that makes my delay in reaching out feel expected rather than strange.
Aunt May has never given me a sense of deceit. She’s been kind and warm since the moment we met, a stark contrast to her nephew. Everyone else has been welcoming, which only makes me wonder why Gage won’t work with me when I’ve already stated I’m not here to steal his ranch away.
I take a seat, and she brings me some tea and a little bit of cobbler. Honestly, over the last couple of days, I’ve been holed up in the main house, scarfing down the last cobbler she brought as a way to mend my hurt—something I probably shouldn’t even have more of. But screw it, I’m still hurting.
I take a bite, and the flavors immediately coat my taste buds. I hum in response, and she smiles softly at me. “Now, what would you like to know?” she asks, folding her hands as I swallow my bite and place the fork down.
“Honestly, anything. How long has the ranch been in the family? How am I connected to all of this if you even know?” I ask, and she nods—and that’s when I realize I came to the right person.
“Hollis Ranch started with my great-great-grandfather. Back then, the technology was obviously nonexistent, so everything was done from scratch.
He bought that plot of land with hopes of building a future for his family, then his children’s families, and so on. He even built that main house on the current plot. It’s had some refurbishments over the years, of course, but the foundation is the same,” she explains, which makes a lot of sense.
Gage has always said that his family’s legacy is incredibly important to him, hence why allowing someone like me—an outsider—into the fold of it all places that legacy on the line. That has always made sense to me.
I never doubt for a moment that it’s the biggest threat to him, but it still doesn’t explain where his deep level of mistrust comes from.
“When Samuel took over, he had so many plans—too many, if you ask me—but they’re what brought the ranch up to date and kept it with the times. When Gage moved in, he took him under his wing and taught him to keep evolving, saying it was the only way to keep the ranch thriving.”
“How old was Gage when he moved in?” I ask, having learned from Hank that Gage has been living on the ranch for quite some time, but never getting the full story.
Hank loves to talk, but he’ll never share Hollis history since it isn’t his story to tell. Thankfully, Aunt May falls outside of that code, so I’m sure I can get what I need out of her.
“He was around seven.” She looks away and takes a small sip of her own tea. She licks her lips, deep in thought.
“His mother was the wild child of our family, and his daddy was no better. Samuel and his wife couldn’t have kids, so they offered to take Gage off their hands—which they happily agreed to—but only after his grandparents couldn’t do so anymore,” she explains.
Hearing that suddenly feels like getting punched in the stomach.
He is abandoned by his own parents, sent to live with his uncle, and never leaves the ranch. No wonder he’s so deeply attached to this place. It isn’t just about legacy; this has been his home since he was a kid.
Hearing it now reframes everything I thought I understood.
The mistrust could easily trace back to the moment his parents decided he was a burden.
That kind of thing doesn’t just go away.
It doesn’t make it okay how he treats me—but at least I understand him a little better.
“Do you know anything about how I connect to all of this?” I ask, knowing that my family name wasn’t just placed in that will out of chance. There is a reason for it—especially if Daisy remembers my father coming into the café.
Aunt May looks up, her eyes brightening once more. “Just before Samuel took over, our parents were hitting snags with their land, and they were honestly concerned about the government taking ownership of the place, claiming it was on government property or what have you.”
She stops to take another sip of her tea before continuing.
“Anyway, your father helped our parents avoid sanctions for environmental purposes. Gosh, that had to be around twenty-five years ago,” she explains, her words settling over me as I slowly start painting the picture.
When I was five, I started seeing my father coming home less and less. He’d always tell me that he was doing good things for good people, but he’d always come home to me, even if it wasn’t that night or the night after.
I still remember the time when he was gone for a whole week and I couldn’t talk to him.
My mom would always tell me that he would call when he could, but phones weren’t so great where he was.
It made sense. Back then, cell towers and phone lines weren’t run as extensively as they are now, so I shudder to think what Bell River’s ability to contact anyone within a ten-mile radius looked like in the nineties and early two-thousands.
This puts it all in perspective for me—well, maybe not everything. I don’t want Gage’s aunt telling me deeply personal things about him that he wouldn’t want me to know—understanding him shouldn’t come at the cost of betraying him.
I’m curious, of course, but the last thing I need is to put her in a position that makes Gage resent her.
As far as my name being in the will, I understand it better now. Samuel isn’t giving me part ownership of the ranch for anything other than as a thank-you to my family.
Clearly, my father knows about it, but I still wonder why they didn’t place it in his name instead of mine. My father anticipates that one day I’ll take over his company—a small environmental consulting business—but I don’t anticipate this being my first task.
Despite gaining deeper insight, there is still so much I don’t know. I think those answers will have to come from Gage. I wish it weren’t the case, but like this entire experience, it’s going to be a long, fought war between the two of us, and there’s no telling how it’s going to end.
When it’s time for me to head back, I feel more confident returning to the ranch. I can finally see the attachment I’m meant to have.
My family may not have generations of legacy here, but my father helped save this place once before, and it’s my own legacy obligation to make sure it’s saved once more.
Later that day, as soon as I return, I see Gage with the ranch hands in the pasture. He fixed the fence; no surprise, maybe he took what I said to heart. Whether he still believes I had something to do with it means very little to me, but what does matter is checking the water main.
I walk past the men and reach into the bed of Gage’s work truck for the tools. They stop what they’re doing to watch me, but I ignore them—mostly Gage.
I haul the tools to the water main that Gage mentioned is behind the main house and kneel down. I inspect it and check over the monitoring system, the gauge line, and scrape away the calcium buildup. That obviously won’t solve the issues, but it will certainly help keep the line from corroding.
I step back and check the piping system on the tank. There could be a blockage, so I get to work using the wrench to unscrew the pipe on the tank, but when I do, I look inside and spot something strange.
An additional pipe leading into the water stream?
I keep the initial pipe off and walk along the path from the tank to where the pipe would lead.
The path extends down the hill away from the ranch and up to the property-lined fence.
In the distance, construction rigs stand idle, and I wonder if the pipe extends that far.
I walk back to the water main and render it incapacitated. I haul the tools into the forest and get to work on the old main.
According to the gauges on the line leading to the back of the house and the tank system, whoever is running an illegal pipe to the Hollis tank is bleeding the ranch dry of water. The question is: who is it, and what can we do about it?
Since I know Gage will never do it, the only option is to do this myself. I know how this will look if he finds out. But letting the ranch bleed dry while I wait for his permission isn’t an option either.
If I can redirect the water into the forest line using the old main, we can manage the water better. Whoever serviced the initial water main knew it would be redirected—so I’m changing that.
I spend a few hours fixing the piping on the old main and flushing out any debris that has settled into it over the last year. Rerouting the pipe took longer than I expected, but the moment I clicked the main on and heard it roar to life, I knew it was the correct call.
Now, I can’t avoid it, though.
I need to talk to Gage about the illegal diversion of the water. That’s the only thing I care about right now. Whatever crap is between us is so unimportant, but this needs to be addressed.
That evening, I find him in the kitchen drinking a beer alone. When I step inside the house, he looks up at me and we share an uncomfortable look. I would rather avoid him, but he has a right to know.
“Listen, I need to talk to you,” I start, and he clears his throat.
“Yes, I need to talk to you as well.”
I hold my hands up, not wanting to get into anything that has to do with me and him. I don’t have the energy or the care right now for it. It always ends up the same, and right now, my focus is on the ranch. Anything else to do with Gage is secondary.
“That will have to wait. We have bigger problems,” I tell him, tossing the levels down on the table and then showing him photos I took inside the tank before I sealed it.
“The levels were getting lower over the year because someone is illegally diverting the water off the property. I’m betting it’s being sent to whatever is being built across the way,” I explain to him as he looks at the log.
He licks his lips, and I watch as his face visibly changes, as it always does when I try to tell him anything.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sticking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong, asking questions about the water main, and now you’re planting evidence. I’m starting to see a pattern here,” he says. I shake my head, stunned, and I don’t know what comes over me.
Maybe it’s all the pent-up frustration and anger, but I completely lose it anyway.
“What would I have to gain by sabotaging this place? My father busted his ass to save it!
Did you know that?” I ask him.
His eyes suddenly soften.
“Two and a half decades ago, when he could have been home with me, his daughter, he was here saving your legacy! I am trying to do the same now, but how can I do anything when I have you telling me I am this malicious person out to ruin it!” I yell, tears streaming down my face as I let everything out that I’ve been holding back for months.
“I’m tired, Gage! I’m so fucking tired!”
He deflates and nods distantly. “There’s a lien on the western part of the ranch. It’s a fairly large piece,” he admits, and I’m honestly surprised he’s even telling me about it.
He holds his hand out and then drops it on the table. “If at any point you want to leave, take that piece and sell it,” he says, and I shake my head in disbelief.
He’s giving up.
Why is he giving up now?
Why isn’t he holding on tighter to this ranch?
Why isn’t he choosing me?
If staying means being treated like a threat instead of a partner, then leaving may be the only way I preserve what my father helped build.
I sniffle, stepping back, nodding slowly. I understand what he’s trying to do. It’s always been about getting rid of me—and now this is his opportunity.
He’s getting the out he sought. The only difference now is that it means sacrificing a piece of his land, but I guess to him, that’s a small price to pay to get me out of his hair.
“Consider it done,” I tell him, walking away from him to head upstairs. Before the night is even over, I open my laptop and start the preliminary paperwork to begin the process of opening my share for sale.
And it will draw attention.
Fast.