Chapter 10 #2
“I know the feeling, too,” Ryker admits with a sad look. “My timing with Averie is off… but I’m hoping I get the chance again someday. And when I do, I won’t blow it. But you?” He pauses, taking me in. “You’re blowing it every day you make her think you don’t care for her.”
I roll my tongue, letting out a deep sigh. “You’re far off the mark.”
“Am I?” He challenges.
My mouth opens, but the words don’t come out.
I want to tell him that he’s wrong, that I don’t care about Sadie, but that would be another lie, and lying is starting to weigh heavily on my heart.
Truthfully, I would’ve been devastated if she’d drowned in the river.
Had I not found her in time… and I’m terrified of that feeling alone.
Of wanting something I don’t know how to have.
His eyes soften. “I just wish you could stop blaming yourself for the past. She’s not Dakota, man.”
Anger builds in my core. First Alaska, and now Ryker… everyone’s need to remind me of my past grief is pissing me off. “I need to go.” I step to stalk away, but he wraps his arm around my shoulders, stopping my retreat.
“Look,” he turns me towards the mountains, gesturing to the tall pines on the other side of the lake. “You see… you’re like a pine tree.”
“I’m a pine tree?” I almost laugh. Is he high?
“Just shut up and let me finish,” he says, squeezing my shoulder.
I keep quiet, biting my tongue.
“You’re prickly at first, but softer with the right touch.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re strong,” he continues, unfazed by my scowl. “Steady. Not easily bendable in a storm. Now, Alaska… she’s like a river. Steady. Calm. Clear most days unless there’s a storm overhead.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’m slightly curious about what he’s trying to say.
“But Sadie,” he smiles with a pause. “Well, let’s just say she’s not a river.”
Steady. Calm. Nope, definitely not Sadie. She’s fire in a windstorm.
“Do you have a point to all this?” I ask.
“What does the pine tree need the most?” he asks me.
I stare at him blankly. “Water.”
“And?” he pushes.
“And this is the worst conversation we’ve ever had,” I glare. “And probably the weirdest.” Even for him.
He laughs. “Just something to think about.” He slaps my arm and grabs his fishing pole. Sitting back down on the deck.
“Something to think about,” I mutter under my breath, heading towards my truck.
I have enough to think about.
I’m a few minutes late for my meeting with Cole as I sit on the leather sofa in his office.
Bandit curls up next to me on the floor.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in this room—a room that I helped renovate two years ago.
A part of my healing process, or so my uncle encouraged me.
But sitting here now only reminds me of the past. Of the man I used to be. The builder. The dreamer.
A man I wish didn’t exist.
Damn, maybe I am depressed. How long have I felt this way?
My uncle enters, wearing a blue jean shirt, a cowboy hat, and dark jeans.
He briefly greets Bandit and me and then sits on the leather sofa.
Pouring two mugs of hot coffee from the driftwood table.
He grabs one of the mugs, sits back, and stares at me in silence, with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Eyes that look dark and hollow.
“Am I in trouble?” I swallow.
He shakes his head, pointing to a framed picture of the ranch hanging above the fireplace. The first photo ever taken of Lone Pine. A memento from our family’s history—or at least my mother’s. I’m only a Harlow because my trash father walked out the day I was born.
“Kit, do you know how long this ranch has been in our family?” he asks me.
“A hundred years or something like that.”
“Since 1901,” he proudly states. “Just four years after the founding of Aspen Hollow.”
Alright, so one hundred and thirty-six years. Close enough.
“Generation after generation of Harlow’s have been in my place,” he places a hand over his heart.
“Keeping our family’s legacy alive. Protecting these beautiful lands.
” He pauses, pointing to the large pine tree outside the window.
“That pine tree has stood there for over a hundred years, overlooking all of Lone Pine and its people,” he continues.
“A testament to the resilience and strength of our family’s heritage and all who came before. ”
Legacies?
Generations of Harlow’s?
“And that’s where—” he starts.
“Where Lone Pine gets its name,” I finish for him. “Is there a reason you’re telling me all this?”
As lovely as it is to hear his stories. I have too much to do today, and I already know how much my uncle loves Lone Pine. Generational stories can’t be why he invited me here this morning.
He leans forward, staring at his hands. Sadness crosses his face, but he plays it off with a fake smile. “I’m just an old man. You know how much I love telling stories.”
Cole is sixty-four. He’s not old in my opinion. I lean forward. “What aren’t you telling me?” His eyes drop to the floor, his smile vanishing in a second. A rigid line creases his forehead. “Be honest, please.”
His blue eyes search mine, and he sighs with a deep wheezing sound. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I have lung cancer.”
The room spins.
My vision darkens around the edges, making me feel faint. It’s as if a phantom hand has punched me in the chest. There’s a million things I expected him to say, but I’ve got cancer, wasn’t one of them.
He continues, going on about how they found out four months ago, but he didn’t know how serious it was until recently. He’s in stage one, and thankfully, the cancer hasn’t spread to the lymph nodes, but the doctors are talking about surgery and possibly radiation therapy.
Everything that pours out of his mouth sounds like it’s underwater. My fingers tremble as I try to listen to every word, unable to process what this all means.
He grabs my hand. “I’m going to kick this, son.”
“And if you don’t?” I can’t imagine a world without Cole, and I don’t want to.
Sadness crosses his face. He inhales sharply, walking over to the large window, resting a hand on the timber wall. “I need to name a successor. Just in case.”
I now understand those popular stickers I’ve seen on cars. Fuck cancer. Fuck this whole situation.
I walk over to his side, working through his words. Technically, his next in line would be Cash… and that’s when it all clicks. This is the reason he’s back in town.
“So, Cash,” I sigh. Even as a kid, Cash hated the country. Hated the horses, the cows, the dirt. He left for the city as soon as he turned twenty-one. The only reason he’d want the ranch would be to sell it.
He turns towards me. “You.”
“Me?” I stare at him blankly, and then laugh, thinking he’s making a joke, but he just continues to stare at me. “You’re serious?”
“You’re a Harlow, Kit. More so than Cash ever will be. I want you to take my place… when the time comes.”
Me?
The room closes in around me. My throat tightens to the point of pain. I can’t think of the words to say. What he’s saying should feel like an honor, but it feels like a burden I never wanted. It’s all just too much.
He starts to cough and walks over to his desk, plopping down in his leather chair. “I know it’s a lot, but Annie and I both feel the same.” His words come out hoarse.
I can see it now, the sickness taking hold of him. The dark hollows in his eyes, the stress lines on his face. He’d been sick for months, and I didn’t even notice.
Maybe I didn’t want to see it.
His eyes find mine. “If I have to name a successor, I want to name you.”
The tip of my tongue forms Blake’s name.
He’s much more suitable for running a ranch.
Older. Wiser. The very definition of a hard-working cowboy.
Hell, even Ryker would probably do a better job than I could, but he wanted a Harlow.
His stories about generations of Harlow’s and legacies were all leading to this conversation.
He wants me, and there’s no way I can say no to the man who raised me, the man who has stood by me time and time again. What kind of an asshole would that make me if I said no?
He grabs a small golden picture frame, a photo of my mother and his younger sister, whom we both lost. “Elena would’ve wanted it too.
” He smiles at the frame, setting it back down.
“I know I’m asking too much, but you’ve always loved this place, Kit.
You’ll protect it in ways that no one else will. ”
A tug pulls at my heart.
Working at Lone Pine was always temporary. I never had a plan to stay… but then again, I never had a plan.
“However, it’s your choice, son,” he continues. “I’m not going to force you.” Well, I don’t see much of a choice. One that doesn’t make me feel like the biggest pile of shit. “And if you don’t want it… well, Cash will happily sign for it.”
“You mean sell it?” I arch a brow.
He nods. “Probably.” He stares at his weathered hands, rough and saturated in scars from living a life as a rancher. “I need a decision by Christmas Eve.”
In only five weeks, I’d have to make the biggest decision of my life. My entire world just got far more complicated.