15. Stetson
FIFTEEN
Stetson
The county annex smelled like burnt coffee and toner, same as it had every time I'd been forced in there for ranch business.
Bryn had her folder clutched to her chest like it might get up and walk off without her—three weeks of paperwork, university letterhead, genetic data, all of it building toward the ten minutes it'd take some clerk behind a counter to stamp it received.
She'd barely slept the last two nights getting it right.
"You ready?" I asked.
"Been ready for three weeks." She adjusted her grip on the folder. "Just want it filed. Once it's filed, it's real. Nobody can un-file it."
I reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “You’re doin’ good protectin’ our land,” I murmured.
“Not the land,” she said. “The frogs.” Then she looked at me with a sly smile. “Maybe a little bit the land. Our land, after all.”
I couldn’t help it—smiled right back. She did that, turned everything sideways, made it feel like the two of us were in on a joke nobody else could see.
The overhead speaker stuttered: “Enviro filing, desk four.”
Bryn jolted upright and strode off, boots echoing the ugly tile. I followed, hands in my pockets. She had a way of walking like she already owned wherever she was going; the county annex was just another patch of terrain to trample and catalog.
At desk four, the clerk was the exact shade of gray as her cubicle, hair and cardigan both mousey, glasses too big for her face.
She took the folder from Bryn, then flipped it open.
“You’re the one with the frog thing,” she said, blinking at Bryn, then me.
“It’s been the talk back here. Some endangered animal, right? ”
I waited for Bryn to respond. Didn’t have to wait long.
“Smallest frog in North America,” Bryn said, and I knew right then the info dump was coming.
“Direct development, no tadpole stage. Only exists in about a hundred-yard section of one spring creek, and the headwaters are about to get claimed. So—” She tapped the line on her own paperwork.
“Critical habitat, imminent threat. The frogs have priority. It’s all in there. ”
The clerk kept her eyes on the page, nodding along.
“Okay,” the clerk said. “You’ve got the university signoff here, too?” She thumbed toward the third sheet. “And I see the county water survey. Good. Those are what they always forget.”
Bryn sat up a little taller. “I double-checked. Triple, actually. The department chair signed, and the county water survey is the latest one—last fall, covers drought conditions. I highlighted the key bits.”
The clerk grunted, tapping her fingernails against her keyboard as she skimmed.
“Looks like you did your homework. Most folks just dump a petition and expect us to chase down the rest. This’ll process faster if I can scan straight through.
” She glanced up, not bothering to hide the approval.
“You want a timestamped copy for your records?”
“Yes, please,” Bryn said, quick, then turned her gaze to me. Her shoulders stayed up, squared, poised for a fight that apparently wasn’t coming.
“Alright,” she said. “Thanks for the frog facts, Miss Donnelly. We’ll be in touch.”
And that was that.
Done and over with…after weeks of work and a hiking trip that resulted in maybe the biggest change my life had ever seen.
Bryn was talking excitedly as we left, explaining the bureaucratic processes that would happen next: “…and from there it goes to the district office, so if anyone tries to challenge the findings, it’ll already be on the agency docket,” she explained, holding open the heavy glass door for me.
“Honestly, I should’ve gotten that woman’s email so I could send her the field audio.
” Her phone was out, thumb twitching across the screen, half-listening as we stepped out into the parking lot glare.
That’s when I spotted my father.
He cut a path from the far side, walking like he’d never had a doubt the world would move aside.
He had on a black pearl-snap and jeans that looked older than me, boots scuffed at the toes, and a ball cap pulled down so you could barely see the eyes.
Cooper fell in step behind him, hands shoved in his pockets, head ducked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Bryn was still distracted, thumbs flying. “—do you think there’s a way I can get her personal email, or is that a violation?” Bryn asked, not slowing as she typed.
I put a hand to her back, gentle but insistent. We barely made the curb before Arlo was there, blocking the sun, blocking the whole damn parking lot.
His face looked the same as always: creased, confident, just a little smug, more than a little mean.
He stopped with boots squared, arms loose at his sides, not even pretending he was there by accident.
I felt Bryn stiffen beside me, but she just thumbed her phone dark and looked up, expression flat.
“Well, hell,” Arlo said. “Finally get to meet my son’s woman, huh?”
I didn’t answer. No use in encouraging him. He looked over at Bryn, then back to me, like he couldn’t decide if she was worth his words or not.
“She’s standing right here,” Bryn said, and stuck out her hand. “Bryn Donnelly.”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He took her hand, gave a deliberate squeeze—one that’d made plenty of grown men blink—and if she noticed she didn’t show it. She only tilted her head, assessing him.
“I’ve read your filings,” she said. “Impressive use of loopholes.”
Arlo barked out a laugh, but it was closer to a cough. “You told her about me,” he said to me.
“He did,” Bryn nodded. “Absolute garbage father and certifiable asshole. And he’s not the only one who says so.”
“She always this direct?” Arlo said, chin jerking at me like he was pulling a string through my back.
I shrugged. “Only with people who deserve it.”
Arlo’s hand dropped to his belt, thumb hooked under the buckle. His mouth twitched. “Stetson always did like the mouthy ones. His taste in women was the only thing he ever got right.”
I felt Bryn’s knuckles brush mine.
Then—for a woman who had consistently surprised me—she surprised me yet again.
She drew back her fist and clocked him.
Right there in the parking lot.
Arlo’s head snapped sideways—not that he couldn’t have taken it, Bryn was small—but because he was so damn shocked. He stumbled a step, hand flying up to his jaw, and Cooper’s mouth actually dropped open.
“Jesus Christ, woman—”
I stepped in front of her before he could return fire, knowing he was the type. He didn’t hesitate to hit a woman. My mom had told me as much.
“You lettin’ women fight your battles for you, son?” he snarled at me. “Always knew you were a pussy-ass little bitch—”
I actually had to hold Bryn back, her fists clenched.
“Let me go,” she snapped. “I’m not done.”
“You landed a good one,” I said. “Don’t push your luck on a second. He’s not worth it.”
Arlo straightened, working his jaw, blood at the corner of his mouth where his teeth had caught his cheek. He looked between us, ugly as sin.
“Cute,” he said. “The two of you. Real fuckin’ cute.”
“Damn right!” Bryn shot back.
My father spat off to the side, then shook his head like he still couldn’t believe what’d just happened. "You think that little piece of paper in there means anything? I've got lawyers who eat petitions like that for breakfast."
"Your lawyers can eat all they want," Bryn said, still trying to get past my arm. "Species is documented. Habitat's mapped. Filing's timestamped and on record. You want to fight it, you're not fighting me anymore. You're fighting the state."
"It's a damn frog."
"It's the only one of its kind on this planet.
Living in water you tried to steal from your own family.
" She finally stopped pulling against my hold, just glared at him instead.
"You never got it. Never once. Wasn't about the frog for you.
It's about winning. Congratulations. You lost. Today.
In a parking lot. To a woman half your size. "
Cooper snickered and Arlo’s eyes shot back toward him. He hushed up fast…but I caught the look he gave me, like he was curious if he’d picked the right side.
My father’s grip on the only son he had left was fraying fast.
Wouldn’t last much longer.
Arlo's eyes came back to me, something calculating in them now instead of just mean.
"You gonna keep this one?" he said, nodding at Bryn like she wasn't standing right there.
"Plannin’ on it."
"She know what she's signin' up for? Bein' with a Holt bastard, out on that land with a man who's got my blood in him?"
"She knows." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Knows better than most, since she's the one who told me it doesn't matter."
Something flickered across his face—not quite surprise, not quite anger. Gone before I could name it.
"Big talk," he said. "For a man who used to flinch every time I raised my voice."
"Wasn't flinchin'. Was learnin'." I held his eyes, didn't let myself look away first the way I would've years ago. "Difference is I learned what not to become. Don't think you ever learned anything at all."
He didn't have an answer for that. Just stood there, jaw working, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, looking older than I'd ever let myself notice before.
"This ain't over," he said finally. "The water rights. My case."
"Your case is dead," Bryn said. "You just haven't gotten the paperwork yet."
He stared like he was trying to figure out what to say…then he just grunted and strode past us, toward the office. Cooper hung back, amused.
“She’s funny,” he said.
“She is,” Bryn replied for me.
He huffed a laugh, then shoved his hands into his pockets and followed our dad inside. Didn’t know why he kept at it…didn’t know what was in it for him.
Wondered if maybe he was playing Arlo while Arlo thought he was playing him.
Bryn watched them go, some of the fire finally draining out of her shoulders now that there was nobody left standing in front of us to aim it at.
"He's going in there to file something else," she said. "I can feel it."
"Let him try. Timestamp's already on your side."
"I know. Doesn't mean I like it.”
I put a hand at the small of her back, steering her toward the truck before she could talk herself into following them inside to watch.
"C'mon," I said. "You did what you came here to do. Rest is paperwork and lawyers now. Not you."
"I hit your father."
"You did."
"Do you think that was too much?"
“Nope.”
I opened the door for her and she climbed in. I joined her on the other side.
“I just don’t want you to feel…emasculated or something like that—” she was saying.
I leaned across the center console to grip her by the jaw and kiss her hard.
She melted into it, surprised as she was, and soon our tongues were tangling in the damn parking lot. I didn’t care who was watching. She was mine. I was never letting her go.
She stared when we pulled back, her eyes searching mine.
“So…you don’t feel—”
“I feel like you’re a damn good woman and I fuckin’ love you, you goddamn spitfire,” I said with a smile.
She laughed, breathless, still catching up. "That's the most words you've said outside of bed all week."
"Told you. Runnin' low."
"You're never running low. You just ration it for effect."
"Maybe." I started the truck, pulled out of the lot, watching the annex shrink in the rearview. "C'mon. Let's go home before you decide he needs a second hit."
"No promises."
"Figured.”