Chapter 10
TEN
Blackwood Ridge
Bennett’s House
The afternoon sun beat down on the black corrugated roof of the ridge house.
Bennett stood shirtless at the dark stone kitchen island, June heat clinging to his skin like a second layer.
Red clay dust and dried sweat from three hours of spraying the lower Merlot blocks coated him, but his mind wasn’t on the crop.
It was on the tall, sun-streaked blonde in the green Victorian down the hill.
“Jasmine Rouge, right? Very subtle for seven in the morning.”
Her cool, venomous executive purr echoed through the quiet kitchen.
Bennett dragged a rough, dirt-stained hand through his hair, letting out a sharp breath.
She’d looked like a ghost at the top of Mabel’s stairs, all bare legs and champagne-blonde hair, and then she’d nailed Vanessa’s perfume to the exact brand.
She wasn’t stupid. That was the problem. His gaze dropped to the edge of the island.
The manila envelope Eleanor Harper had passed to Aubrey—the one he’d tucked under his arm to get away from her—sat there undisturbed.
Bennett reached into his pocket, pulled out his worn buck knife, and snapped the blade open with a metallic click.
He didn’t want the land Mabel had left him.
He didn’t want the lake parcel. He wanted her back.
But as he looked down the ridge toward the sage-green roof hidden beneath the hemlocks, he knew he couldn’t protect her if he didn’t know what cards she’d dealt him.
He sliced the heavy paper seal and tipped the contents onto the stone.
A thick stack of legal deeds slid out, along with a smaller, square envelope of heavy cream stock. On the front, in Mabel’s elegant, unyielding cursive, was a single word: Ben.
Bennett set the knife down, traced the ink with his thumb, and pulled a single sheet of linen paper from the sleeve.
Ben,
If you’re reading this, then Eleanor has already frightened Aubrey half to death with legal paperwork, and you’re probably hiding up on that ridge pretending none of this concerns you.
It concerns you.
So sit down and read the whole thing before you start cussing me for meddling from the grave.
My original will left Blackwood to Anne. For years, I believed it was the least I owed my sister after everything that happened between us. But Anne stopped loving this place a long time ago.
Aubrey is not her mother.
She’ll try very hard to convince you otherwise. Lord knows she inherited her stubbornness honestly. But there’s something in that girl that belongs to these mountains, whether she understands it yet or not.
Blackwood has a way of getting into your blood.
Harold loved this land with everything he had. So do I. I believe Aubrey will, too.
Don’t let her run before she has the chance to feel it for herself.
And Ben… she is going to fight this place at first. She’s going to fight you too. That girl has spent too much of her life believing she was unwanted.
Anne did not always care for Aubrey the way she should have. I suspect you already see some of the walls Aubrey built because of it.
But beneath all that sharpness is someone far more fragile than she’d ever allow another soul to see.
And I need you to do this for me, Ben.
Protect her. Protect Blackwood.
You once asked me why I trusted you with this place when there were people with more money and prettier credentials willing to take it over.
The answer is simple.
Because you loved Blackwood for what it was instead of what it could give you.
You put your hands in this soil and gave this mountain pieces of yourself when you had nothing left to give anyone.
Somewhere along the way, you became the closest thing I ever had to a son. Blackwood became part of you, too.
I love you far more than I ever said aloud.
Mabel—
Jesus.
Bennett stared at the paper, unease settling low in his chest. The words blurred. For a second, he had to close his eyes to breathe.
A sharp vibration cut through the quiet.
His phone slid across the stone, the screen lighting with a number he didn’t recognize. Pennsylvania area code.
He snatched it up. “McCrae.”
“Bennett.”
Her voice wasn’t the smooth, corporate purr from the barn office. It was thinner now, tight with a kind of fear he’d never heard from her before.
“Aubrey?” His whole frame went tight, his hand clamping on the edge of the stone.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”“I’m—I’m in the kitchen,” she said, breath uneven in his ear.
Through the receiver, Bennett heard a sound that made his blood run cold—Moose’s full-throated guardian roar rattling the Victorian’s glass.
“The side door. The porch latch you told me about. Someone—someone tried to force it. Moose exploded, and I saw a shadow running toward the black barn.”
Bennett was already moving. He didn’t grab a shirt. He didn’t think about anything but distance. He snatched his truck keys off the hook, shoved his feet into his work boots by the door, and slipped his buck knife into his pocket, his heart slamming against his ribs.
“Aubrey, listen to me,” he said, heading out the front door and taking the steps two at a time. “Lock the internal kitchen door. Stay away from the windows. Do you hear me?”
“Bennett, I have a water flask, I don’t think—”
“Aubrey. Do what I told you.”
He climbed into the truck, turned the key, and yanked it into reverse, shooting down the ridge road.
“I’m coming.”
Headlights slashed through the dark, catching on white hydrangeas as Bennett braked beneath the porte-cochere. He was out of the truck before the engine settled, up the steps, boots hitting the porch as he slammed his fist against the heavy brass knocker.
“Aubrey! Open the door!”
The lock clicked. The oak door swung back, and Aubrey stood there in the amber foyer light.
She looked unraveled. Still in the sleeveless black top and tech pants she'd worn that morning, her ponytail was coming undone, loose strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide. Moose stood rigid at her flank, a low warning rumbling in his chest. One hand still gripped the deadbolt. Knuckles white.
Sweat still slicked his chest.
Bennett stepped straight into her space, chest heaving, bare shoulders gleaming in the hallway light. Black ink curled over one shoulder and down across his ribs—a stark line of vines and coordinates that looked carved into him rather than drawn.
He didn’t ask permission; his hands came up instantly, closing around her upper arms, fingers firm enough to feel the hard pound of her pulse. He scanned her face until he was sure she wasn’t hurt.
“You okay?” he rasped. “Did they touch you?”
Aubrey’s breath hitched. The faint trace of citrus and vanilla clung to her skin, ruined at the edges by fear and sweat. She tried to pull back, but her hands weren’t entirely steady.
“I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin on instinct. “I told you, I’m fine. I just… Moose saw them. They were at the glass.”
Bennett looked down at her—at the tight set of her mouth, the blown pupils, the blonde hair slipping loose from its tie. This was the woman Mabel had trusted him to protect.
A flicker of grim humor cut through the leftover adrenaline when he noticed she still had a stainless-steel water flask clenched in one hand like a weapon.
He let out a controlled breath, his hands sliding down her arms to her wrists, more to steady than to tease.
“You gonna survive, Princess?”
Aubrey froze. The nickname landed hard.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, trying to yank her wrists free. “You are unbelievably condescending. There was a prowler on my porch, and you’re standing here bare-chested acting like this is some joke.”
“I’m not joking,” Bennett said, voice low but steady. He let go, giving her space. “And I’m not taking it lightly. You called, I came. Now let me do my job.”
He stepped past her into the house, buck knife already in his hand as he whistled low for Moose.
“Stay here,” he said over his shoulder, his face hardening as he headed toward the back porch. “I’ll check outside.”
Humid air on the back porch wrapped around Bennett like a damp towel. The afternoon heat had lingered into night, leaving the mountain quiet except for the rhythmic hiss-click-hiss of vineyard sprinklers spinning in the lower blocks.
Moose didn’t hesitate. The moment Bennett shoved the glass-paned sunroom door open, the Great Pyrenees surged past him, white body low to the decking, nose glued to the wood.
Bennett stepped out carefully, his work boots nearly silent on the weathered boards. He kept the buck knife low in his hand, eyes sweeping the shadows and the black, undulating lines of vines beyond.
“Moose,” he murmured. “Find ’em.”
The dog padded to the bottom of the steps, ruff bristling. No roar this time. Moose dropped his nose into the mud at the base of the stairs, inhaled deep and long, then let out a soft, high whine. His heavy tail gave a single, uncertain flick.
Bennett’s chest went tight. He dropped to one knee in the dirt, ignoring the damp red clay on his shins. The ground was still soft from days of rain.
He tilted his phone, using the faint glow of the screen to light the mud beneath the window latch. A single, clear footprint stared back at him—not the deep tread of a work boot or a sneaker, but a flat, smooth-soled shoe. Not something anyone working in a vineyard would wear.
He touched the edge of the print with his thumb. Fresh. The sides were still sharp, not yet sagging back into the muck.
Whoever Aubrey had seen hadn’t been in her head. Someone had stood right here, inches from the glass, trying the latch.
He straightened slowly, eyes tracking the dark slope toward the black barn. Nothing moved. Whatever figure had bolted for the outbuildings was long gone, swallowed by vines and night.
He thumbed his phone, considering whether to call Burke. A prowler at Blackwood on the heels of a will reading was exactly the kind of thing the sheriff would want to log. It was also exactly the kind of thing that would spread through town.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Bennett backed up the steps, pulled the sunroom door shut, and dropped the deadbolt with a solid, final click.
Aubrey was waiting exactly where he’d left her. She’d set the water flask on the entry table, but her arms were locked tight across her chest, her gaze fixed on him.
“Well?” she asked, her voice aiming for cool control but landing shy. “Did you find anything? Did you see them?”
She stood under the amber chandelier, hair slipping from its tie, looking strung out and exhausted. If he told her there had definitely been someone at the glass, she’d bolt before morning.
“Just a sign of something passing through,” he said finally, keeping his tone flat. “Could’ve been a stray dog nosing the latch.”
Aubrey looked toward the dark glass.
Maybe I did imagine it.
God knew her nerves were shot.
But she'd seen a man.
She looked back at him.
"No," she said quietly. "I know what I saw."
“A dog doesn’t have shoulders and a head, Bennett. I saw a person.” She took a short step toward him. “I am not making this up. I’m not some hysterical heiress spooked by old floorboards.”
He didn’t move back.
“You want to run this place, Langford?” he said quietly. “Then listen to the man who actually walks this perimeter. The doors are locked. Moose is inside. You’re safe for tonight.”
Her breath came out in a rough exhale. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, shoulders sagging as the last seventy-two hours finally dragged at her bones.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she said, voice low. “The master bedroom… I can’t sleep in there. It feels haunted.”
A hard knot pulled tight in his chest. Beneath all that sharpness was a woman trying damn hard not to show how shaken she was.
“You’re not sleeping in there,” Bennett said, the edge gone from his tone, replaced by something rougher and final. He reached out, his hand closing gently around her elbow, steering her toward the stairs. “Guest wing. Lock your door.”
Aubrey hesitated halfway up, looking back over her shoulder. “What about you? Are you going back to the ridge?”
He glanced at the linen sofa in the living room, then back at her.
“No,” he muttered. “I told you—I lost a bet with a dead woman. I’m on the couch.” His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Now get upstairs, Princess.”
This time, she didn’t bother correcting him. She turned and climbed the rest of the way, her steps slow with exhaustion.
Bennett watched until she disappeared into the dark of the upper hall. Then he dropped onto the edge of the sofa, eyes on the black windows facing the vineyard, one hand resting on Moose’s head as the dog curled against the rug.
Out beyond the glass, sprinklers hissed and clicked in their endless rotation. Somewhere between the house and the barn, a fresh footprint was cooling in the red clay.
They might not be calling the sheriff tonight.
But in Bennett’s mind, the perimeter had already changed. Whatever this was, it wasn’t random anymore.