6. Beck
Beck
Lyla fucking Morgan.
Sitting in my kitchen, talking to my dad about how she wants to come in and fix the ranch.
I was an asshole about it–there’s no other way to say it–marching out of the kitchen like I wanted nothing to do with her.
I know I owe her an apology for it. Hell, I owe her an apology for all the years I was a dick to her for no good reason other than I was afraid of the feelings she stirred in me, of the consequences of acting on them.
But that’s not the issue I’m mulling over as I stand out in the yard, gazing up at the stars. The problem is, I had finally stopped thinking about her. Finally, after years of being plagued by her, I started to think I’d moved on.
Then she showed up here, looking like that.
She’d changed out of her vegans taste better t-shirt in favour of something a bit more business meeting appropriate, though I think my dad would have gotten a kick out of it. He has an off-colour sense of humour under his gruff exterior.
Somehow the tight, dark jeans she was wearing had me struggling to avoid looking at her.
She had her feet up on the chair across from her, ankles hooked around each other, you'd swear I had some kind of foot fetish by the way I couldn’t stop looking at them.
But in all honesty, Lyla has exceptionally nice feet.
City girl feet. Feet that look soft and pedicured, not calloused and dry like my own.
Fuck.
I can’t be thinking about Lyla. Fucking. Morgan.
Not that way.
Austin would kill me in my sleep if he knew the things I was thinking about his little sister's feet. Fuck’s sakes.
I wouldn’t survive him long enough to tell him that I think about so much more too. That it isn’t the way she looks that has me digging my heels in about this whole job situation. It actually has very little to do with that.
Because I’m a man, but I know how to be a gentleman.
It’s the fact that when Lyla Morgan opens her mouth, she says exactly what’s on her goddamned mind. To hell with whatever anyone else thinks. I couldn’t help the smirk that slid across my mouth when she told me what she really thought about ranching.
Lyla is dangerous because when she jabs at me, I like it. When she pokes at me, it feels good. When she challenges me, the fire in her eyes set me ablaze.
The screen door on the porch slams shut, and Lyla stomps down the front steps toward her car.
The glow of the porch light behind her obscures her face, but I can see the shadows that outline her sharp scowl. I turn back to the dark expanse of sky, the stars that make me feel comforted by my insignificance in this world, and listen to the electric whir of her Prius as she turns it on.
Her tires crunch over the gravel for a second or two, picking up speed only to squeal as she comes to a screeching halt. My head whips in the direction of the noise. She’ll wear the tread off her tires in a week if she keeps driving like that.
She climbs out of the vehicle and walks around in front, the headlights lighting up the drive.
I can’t figure out what she’s doing, but I watch with curiosity and amusement as she bends down to the road, scooping her hands around something small, invisible from this distance.
A mouse, or a vole, or something. Something I wouldn’t have taken the time to stop for. Probably wouldn’t have even seen it.
Whatever it is, she carries it gingerly in both hands, stooping again at the side of the road to release it. She doesn’t look at me as she climbs into the driver's seat, shuts the door, and speeds off, tail lights growing dimmer as she reaches the end of the long driveway.
“She’s a handful,” my dad’s voice rumbles. He slowly makes his way down the steps and over to where I’m standing, matching my position with both forearms resting on the fence.
I blow a sharp breath out through my nose and tilt my head in acknowledgement.
“She’ll be good for the ranch,” he says, when I don’t respond any further to his first statement. “She’ll be good for you.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, my stomach twisting into a knot. I’m not stupid, nor blind. The ranch is suffering, our livelihood is suffering, there’s not much that could harm it further at this point.
The only thing worse than dealing with Lyla Morgan for a summer, and having to shove any thoughts of her to the far reaches of my mind, is the idea of losing the ranch.
My family’s life’s work. The Hollis’s pride and joy. Our lifeblood.
We didn’t have a lot growing up, especially after my mom left, but whatever we did have, my father worked himself to the bone for it.
As the oldest of my siblings, I always knew I’d be the one to take over when the time came.
Since my dad’s health has been failing him in recent years, my drive to preserve everything he’s worked for has only grown stronger.
So, my dad has a point. Lyla could be good for the ranch.
Whether she’ll be good for me is a different question entirely. The way I felt seeing Lyla at the rodeo and then again tonight, I’m fairly certain that allowing her to come and work with me on the ranch will be the death of me.
“Look,” he says, turning to face me now, the side of his face lit by the silver glow of the moon. “She’s a consultant. The worst she’ll do is have a look around, offer some advice. Whether you take it or not is up to you.”
I shake my head, looking down at my boot where I’m absentmindedly scuffing the dirt. That’s not the worst thing Lyla will do.
“She’ll want to change things,” I say, trying to grasp at whatever straw I can think of to turn my dad off the idea of having Lyla work for us. “Drastically. She said so herself, her idea of fixing up a ranch is to strip it of every tradition we’ve ever held.”
Wade clicks his tongue. “That may not be such a bad thing, son.”
“What about your legacy?” I ask, waving my hand out toward the open plains, the land that my family has owned for generations, stewarded for just as long.
“You’ve tended this ranch with your own two hands, carrying on Hollis traditions for your entire life.
To come in here and change everything about the way we operate… ”
“The only thing left with any value is the land we’re standing on, Beck.
There won’t be anything left to preserve if we let the business go to ruins,” he says, brushing his hands off on his jeans before heading back to the house.
He turns one last time before he’s out of earshot.
“Don’t write off the idea of it just yet.
But so you know, you’ll owe her a face to face apology for the attitude you gave her tonight.
She’ll be staying at the Sage Brush Inn whenever you’re ready to tuck your tail between your legs and make things right. ”
I turn to the night sky, the stars sparkling overhead. It’s the thing I love the most about living out in the country, away from the lights of the city. Nothing obscures them out here, except for the odd cloud.
But tonight, there are none.
I search the constellations for answers, knowing there’s only one.
I’ve been tossing and turning for the last half hour since I got into bed.
It’s not like me. I’m normally asleep before my head hits the pillow, given my long days working out in the fresh air and the sun.
But tonight, sleep isn’t coming, and I think it has to do with the pretty brunette that was sitting at my kitchen table earlier tonight.
I wasn’t expecting her to ever come back to Sage Valley. She made such a big deal about how she’d gotten out of her tiny hometown, and over the years, everything I heard through the grapevine made it seem like she had found her place far away from here.
Honestly, that was the only thing that allowed me to move on, at least somewhat.
To stop ruminating over what could have been.
Because it was a fruitless exercise, and I’m not that kind of guy.
I don’t daydream, I don’t worry over the past, I don’t spend time thinking about things that serve no purpose.
Besides, my crush on Lyla was just that–a childhood crush. Something I should have outgrown a long time ago.
My hands are tied now, my dad said so himself. I either give the ranch one last fighting chance and work with Lyla, or I risk losing it forever. I’ve given it my best shot, I really have. It’s not like I haven’t tried to turn the ship around over the years.
Unfortunately, one of the more inconvenient side effects of my father’s health going downhill was his ability to make sound business decisions. There’s a lot that has fallen through the cracks, and I have to recognize that it might be beyond my scope at this point.
I try not to let the murky feeling of resentment build, because it wasn’t my dad’s fault.
I just wish he’d have told me how much he was struggling before it got to this point.
There are so many missed bill payments I wouldn’t even know where to begin, nor do I have the kind of cash on hand to shore them all up.
I decide to get up, the tossing and turning only adding to my rising frustration, and I head into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, shock my system into submission.
The cool water does help to clear my mind of all the swirling thoughts, the images seared into my mind of Lyla’s face as she pinned me with her gaze. Her plush lips pursed together as she assessed me.
Guilt roils around in my gut as I think about how I behaved tonight. I might be a practical thinker, logical minded, no nonsense kind of guy. But I’m not an asshole, and the way I treated Lyla, while not unforgivable by any means, had me sinking lower than the standard I hold myself to.
Let’s face it, I was less than hospitable.
My dad was right about a lot of things tonight. Mainly that I owe Lyla an apology.
Now that my mind is clear, there’s only one thought left that I can’t shake loose: Lyla is staying at the Sage Brush.
There’s nothing wrong with the Sage Brush, it’s a great motel for travelling salesmen, serial killers, or to rent out by the hour. I can’t say that it’s clean exactly, nor is it walkable to anything you might need in town, but they do advertise that they have deadbolts on all the doors.
My guilt is replaced by annoyance, anger even, that Austin wouldn’t find somewhere better for her to stay. It wasn’t realistic that she stayed with him, she wouldn’t want to bunk with the rest of the ranch hands. But surely there was somewhere better than that.
I don’t let myself think about what it means, what I’m about to do. But I creep out into the hall and open the linen closet to find some clean bedding, and then I head down to the nearest guest house.