Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
KASEY
Ice-cold beer floods my throat as I chug from the bottle I’ve just pulled out of the fridge.
It’s not even noon yet, but after last night’s bullshit medley of nightmares, I fucking need it.
The carbonation burns all the way down to my stomach, and I revel in the heat of it, in the discomfort.
The reminder that I’m awake, that I’m standing here breathing.
I’ve been working all morning, my sweat-soaked shirt proof of every stall mucked and horse fed.
Rhett got started with breaking the first of three new horses at first light, and after helping me in the main barn, Wells began tinkering under the hood of our old tractor to see if he could get it running again.
I almost told him not to waste his time with it, but I know he’s eager to help make a difference wherever he can.
Plus, if it means we don’t have to keep dragging the corrals by hand anymore, I’ll be fucking glad for it.
Even Sawyer came out this morning, face still swollen with sleep.
He’s never enjoyed cowboying like the rest of us, but he's also a damn good brother and knows we need the help. I found myself watching in awe as the most timid and reserved of us all spent the morning hours installing a whole new irrigation system in the pasture. We usually get enough rain to keep things green for the mustangs we have out there, but we’ve lost a few good trees of late and there are large patches of yellowing grass, so the added water will be a huge help.
It’s only lunchtime and the day has been packed with so much forward movement that it’s hard not to feel wisps of hope. Like maybe if we just keep working hard and doing our best, the universe will help to balance out some of this crazy.
A knock sounds at the door, and I frown.
I was just with my brothers—everyone except Brooks, anyway—and they don’t usually make a habit of coming to my cabin during our self-imposed lunch breaks.
If my mom needed something she’d just call my cell from the house phone in her kitchen.
I glance toward the door, wondering who could be on the other side. Maybe something’s wrong, or . . .
Fuck, what if it’s the cops?
Anxiety plummets through me, and I feel my stomach nearly fall out my ass.
I look around my kitchen at the unwashed dishes in the sink and the crumbs on the counter from the buttered toast I made when I woke up this morning.
Should I try to tidy up a little in case they’re about to arrest me?
It’s not like I’d get out any time soon for murdering a man, and I’d hate for someone else to have to clean up after me here.
Relax, some deep part of my mind tugs. It’s probably nothing.
I sigh, gazing at the front door, hating that I don’t know who’s on the other side.
Maybe it’s just Brooks . . . I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, not after he asked everyone for space.
I don’t blame him—the family’s been all over him and the boys these last few weeks, and I’m sure it feels like too much sometimes.
I know he’s okay because I see his truck roll down the long drive in the mornings when he takes Liam and Noah to school, but he hasn’t really come out of his cabin otherwise.
I’m trying like hell to respect what he asked for, but it’s not easy.
I know Mom’s checking on him, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm him and make anything worse.
He should be able to grieve the loss of his wife with their children however feels best without all our meddling.
Still, it gnaws at me that I can’t do anything to help ease the pain of what he’s going through.
It’s not like there’s a playbook on any of this shit.
I set my beer down on the counter and head for the door, but instead of finding my older brother on the other side—or the cops—there’s a frazzled and very wet Ava framed in the doorway. Looks like the sky finally opened up to let down some rain.
I close my eyes as a small groan escapes me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She narrows her sharp blue eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Oh good, so you already know I’m not interested.
” I shoot her an artificial smile before stepping back to push the door closed—I don’t have the capacity to handle this shit right now.
But the door thuds against something, and I look down to find a pointy toe in its path, leading to a sharp heel.
“Those things aren’t going to help you in this rain,” I say.
“No shit—I’m practically a drowned rat out here. Can you let me in, please? We need to talk.”
“No,” I say firmly.
“Kasey—”
“What is there for us to possibly talk about?”
Her eyes narrow further. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that your family is about to lose this place?”
Irritation lances into me. “We’re not losing anything.”
“Okay, so what’s your plan then?”
My silence is deafening.
“Look, I’ve seen the terms, Kasey. There isn’t much wiggle room around any of the parameters. You or one of your brothers needs to be married to legally inherit the land, or your uncle stands to take it.”
“Steal it, you mean.”
“It’s not theft if it’s done right.”
I scoff. “How the hell have you seen the paperwork?”
She shrugs. “I found some things on my father’s desk. I guess Huck’s been ripening him up to strike if needed.”
A dart of white-hot anger shoots through me. “I fucking dare either of them to step one foot on this ranch.”
“Easy tiger.” Ava throws her hands up. “My point is you don’t have a plan that’s going to solve anything. Throwing punches won’t stop this from happening, it’ll just make matters worse. Let me in. Let me help.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Dammit, Kasey. Just let me in the goddamn door!” she shouts.
Her raised voice catches me off guard. I give her a long look, trying not to notice the way her hair sticks to her cheek or the flush that blooms beneath it. “I almost forgot how bossy you are,” I grumble.
“Thrilled for an opportunity to remind you that I always get what I want.”
The words nearly crush me. “Yeah. You sure do.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s not what I—”
“Just come in so we can get whatever this is over with.” I move out of the way to give her room to pass.
She swallows and looks at me. And then she steps inside, carefully moving around me so that no part of her touches any part of me. “Nice place,” she says lightly, eyes roaming around the living room.
I try not to let myself feel the weight of what it means to have her inside my cabin.
It might be her first time in this living room, but it sure as hell isn’t her first time on the ranch.
We used to spend hours together in the game barn, drinking stolen beers and smoking stolen cigarettes.
I used to peel her clothes off in the dark and fuck her on the old couch by the beer pong table.
I wipe the memory from my mind, anchoring back to the here and now.
“Thanks,” I say, walking straight for the kitchen.
I don’t want her to sit down on this couch and get comfortable.
I don’t want her in the same room as me for any longer than necessary.
I’ll hear whatever she wants to say and then bid her one big fat adieu.
Thankfully, she trails behind me and sidles up to the counter. “Drinking already?” she asks, eyeing the open beer. The tip of her nose is red, matching the flush still lingering in her cheeks. I catch her shoulders shaking with a shiver.
I frown, ignoring her question. “Do you want some coffee? Might warm you up.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.”
Turning to brew a mug, I say, “Let’s have it then.”
I hear her snort. “I’ve already told you. Marriage is the quick fix to all your problems.”
A wave of heat climbs up the back of my neck where I can feel the weight of her eyes on me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as another memory crashes over me: lying with her on a patch of warm sand, a gold band pinched between my fingers and my heart in my throat.
It’s there and gone in an instant, a mere scrap, but it rips that old wound wide open.
I almost hate myself for it—another slip.
I don’t say anything as the coffee drips into the old ceramic mug, trying to force myself to tamp down the effect of her being here, inside my home.
Never in a million years did I think I would see her again, let alone be making her a fucking cup of coffee in my kitchen like she didn’t utterly destroy me all those years ago.
When the mug is full and the dripping ceases, I pick it up and carry it to the fridge to pull out the creamer. “Sugar?” I ask, the word pistoning through me.
“No thanks,” she says softly.
I set the coffee and a carton of creamer down in front of her, reaching in the nearest drawer for a spoon. I drop that down too, and it clangs loudly against the counter. Ava flinches.
“Shit, sorry,” I mumble.
Inky black lashes fan across the tops of her cheeks. “It’s okay,” she says, keeping her gaze on the mug. She wraps both hands around it, pulling it in close. “So . . . Marriage, Kasey.”
“Marriage,” I repeat.
“I can’t think of a better way to handle all of this.”
I roll my jaw, watching as she lifts the mug to her lips to blow on the steaming liquid. “I really don’t understand why you’re here, Ava.”
“I’m trying to—”
“Help, yeah, I get that. But why? Why do you care?”
She rears her head back, like I’ve slapped her. “I know how important the ranch is. Of course I care.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ava—I don’t even know where you’ve been for the last decade. And now you’re just . . . here. Trying to right the wrongs in my family.”
She eyes me curiously. “I’ve been in Miami. You never asked around?”
I scoff. “Asked who? Your father?”