Chapter 9
Nine
Tessa
Istood in Ray’s kitchen in the silence left behind, hands braced on the counter, trying not to shake apart. The laminate edge dug into my palms, grounding me in a way the floor couldn’t. My knees felt unreliable. My breath uneven. My whole body vibrated with leftover adrenaline, anger, and grief.
He’d tried to buy the ranch. He’d been trying for years. He’d shown up at my apartment. Driven me home. Stood here in this damn kitchen as silent support.
And I’d let him. “Fuck,” I shouted, my voice reverberating off the appliances.
For a second, a single stupid second, I’d trusted him. He had been steady. Calm. A presence to lean toward when everything was unraveling. The kind of man who didn’t flinch from chaos.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again. And again. Repeated, insistent. Eventually, annoyance won over despair, and I dragged the phone out.
Colin’s name flashed on the screen; there were a dozen texts. Had he always been this annoying? No, he hadn’t, it was only when he couldn’t have me, he got like this.
The phone buzzed again, but this time it was Dani. I smiled as I answered.
“Oh my God,” Dani breathed, her voice softening instantly. “I’ve been dying from worry.” Her frantic voice should have made me feel better, but I couldn’t even muster a laugh.
I sagged into one of the kitchen chairs. It creaked under me, and the sound nearly undid me. Ray’s weight had made the same noise every morning while drinking coffee and complaining about the neighbours dog.
“He’s trying to buy the ranch,” I whispered.
Silence. Actual silence. No ranting. No threats. No immediate homicide.
Then Dani said, very calmly, “Which part of this sentence am I supposed to process first? The part where he tried to steal your family home or the part where he lied to you while being sexy and helpful?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing,” Dani snapped. “I’m homicidal.” She meant it.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “He’s been trying to buy it for years. Years. And Ray never told me. And now Wyatt just expects me to hand the place over to him.”
“Okay.” Dani took a breath so sharp I could hear the inhale. “Let me get this straight. Sexy rancher giant man shows up. Drives you across the prairies like some moody cowboy ride share. And then tells you he’s been circling the property like a vulture?”
“That’s exactly what I said,” I muttered.
“I hate him,” Dani declared. “I hope his sexy salt-and-pepper beard falls off.”
“He doesn’t have a beard.” I hate that I knew that fact.
“Fine. I hope his jawline gets slightly less sharp.”
“Do we have to go that far?”
“Yes,” she hollered into the phone.
I stared at the kitchen table, the old place mats Ray never let anyone replace, still sitting where he’d left them.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. “Dani, it’s too much.”
“Yes, you can,” she said instantly. “I know you can because you’re stubborn and angry and filled with rage right now, and that’s basically rocket fuel.”
“That’s not helpful.” My voice, oddly flat-sounding even to my ears.
“Actually, it is. You need to be pissed off, you need to fight. That ranch is rightfully yours.”
I swallowed hard. “The debts are huge.”
“Okay. And?”
“And the taxes are overdue,” I answered, thinking that would be the end of the conversation.
“Alright.”
“And there’s a lien. A big one.”
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Ray.”
“I’m so mad at him.” My voice cracked. “He didn’t tell me anything. He left me with all of this.”
“You’re allowed to be furious at him,” Dani said softly. “And sad. And confused. And overwhelmed. That doesn’t make you ungrateful.”
I put my head in my hands. Tears slid through my fingers. Too hot. Too fast. “I don’t know where to start.”
“You start by not trusting a tall, handsome, rugged man who hides financial betrayals.”
“Dani,” I sniffed.
“Fine. You start by breathing,” her words soft and mildly reassuring. I inhaled. Slowly. Painfully. It didn’t fix anything, but it stopped me from shaking.
“And then,” she continued, voice sharpening with familiar protective fire, “you’re going to tell that man to stay off your property unless the house is literally on fire.”
“I already did.”
“Good. Tell him again.”
“I don’t want to fight with him forever,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
“What did he do to your brain?” Dani demanded. “Did he hypnotize you with his forearms and cowboy hat?”
I frowned. “No.”
“You paused.”
I sighed. “Dani.”
“No. This is important. Did he use the forearms?”
I stared at the ceiling. “Maybe.”
She made a disgusted noise. “Ugh. Men.”
I wiped my face. “I need to figure things out, okay? Without him. Without Colin. Without anyone.”
Her voice softened. “You won’t do it alone. You have me.”
“You’re in Calgary.”
“I can be on your doorstep in two hours.”
Despite everything, I laughed quietly. “Please don’t drive here.”
“Fine. But I’m on standby. And if you see Wyatt again, I want you to picture me beside you holding a frying pan. We’ll go, Mary-Anne and Wanda, if we have to.”
“Dani—”
“Nonnegotiable.”
I let out a long breath and leaned back in the chair. The house hummed around me, the refrigerator still rattling, floorboards popping under temperature changes, dust drifting in the sun like tiny ghosts suspended in the air.
“Can you stay on the phone?” I whispered.
“As long as you need,” she said instantly. “I’ll even do my dramatic monologue voice if you want.”
“No monologues.”
“Fine. But I have them ready.” She kept talking, ranting, occasionally dropping something I could hear crash in the background.
She filled the silence with sarcasm and threats and wildly inappropriate jokes.
She told me she’d hex Wyatt’s truck. She told me the forearms were probably fake.
She told me I was too smart to fall for cowboy sorcery.
It helped more than anything else could have.
When we finally hung up, I wasn’t fixed.
But I didn’t feel as alone. And I wasn’t about to roll over.
I wiped my face, squared my shoulders, and pulled the first stack of overdue bills toward me.
The envelopes felt heavy, the paper stiff.
Debt. Taxes. Notices. Things left unopened, ignored, shoved in drawers.
Wyatt Hargrove might have plans for this ranch. But this land was Ray’s. Ray was all I had aside from Dani. And I wasn’t letting anyone, bank, buyer, or cowboy, take it without a fight.
I had just opened the first envelope when the knock came. Sharp. Three beats, and my entire body tensed. Not again. I was not doing Round Two with Wyatt.
I stomped to the door and flung it open, and stared right into the face of Marla Fincher.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she gasped, hand flying to her chest in dramatic slow motion. “You look terrible.”
I blinked. “Marla?” She was in her sixties. Floral dress. Pearls. Makeup done like she was attending church. She didn’t wait for an invitation, just brushed past me, carrying a casserole so aggressively cheesy it could suffocate a grown man.
“I made a lasagna,” she said. “Ray hated it, but grief makes people hungry for carbohydrates, dear.” Marla set the casserole on the stove and turned to me with watery eyes. “I’m so sorry, darling.”
Before I could respond, another knock came. I turned slowly. I opened the door again, and Todd Halpern stood there. Wearing his feed store jacket and holding a pie tin.
“Your uncle always liked my wife’s apple crumble,” he said gruffly. “We figured you might need it.” Behind him, Mrs. Kowalski from the quilting group peered past him like she was casing the joint.
I barely had time to register the sight before Todd shuffled inside, murmuring condolences while trying not to trip over his own oversized work boots.
“Oh,” he added, “we told a few folks you were here.”
“Why, why would you do that?”
Todd shrugged. “People want to help.”
Another knock. This one is fast and urgent. I opened the door to find three more people: Jeanine, her husband, Mark, and someone carrying a crockpot the size of a toddler.
Jeanine brushed past me, sniffing loudly. “Tessa, sweetheart, why didn’t you call us? We would have come sooner.”
“I—”
Mark set the crockpot on the counter with a grunt. “Bison stew. Figured you’d be hungry.”
“I’m… not,” I stuttered.
“You will be. Grief is an appetite.”
“What is wrong with all of you?” I whispered. But they weren’t listening. People kept arriving. Knock after knock after knock. Condolences, casseroles, and unsolicited advice are pouring into the house like a flood.
Within fifteen minutes, Ray’s kitchen was full.
Three pies, four casseroles, a Tupperware container of muffins, a tray of Nanaimo bars, a crockpot full of soup, eight condolence cards, unsolicited hugs, and more busybodies than should legally be allowed on one property.
It felt like a fucked up scene from the twelve days of Christmas.
Someone started making more coffee, and someone else reorganized the fridge. Then someone rearranged Ray’s boots by the door “for tidiness.” I stood in the middle of it all, dizzy from grief and noise and the scent of six different baked goods.
Jeanine squeezed my arm. “Do you need anything, dear?”
Yes. For all of you to leave. My brain screamed, but that’s not what came out of my mouth. “Water,” I croaked instead.
“Of course. Sit, sit.” But I didn’t sit. I started to move toward the back door, needing air, needing escape, and then I saw Wyatt’s truck drive into the yard and park near the barn.
Inside the kitchen, Marla clapped loudly. “Everyone, let the girl breathe!”
The noise swelled, voices overlapping, plates clinking, casseroles warming, busybodies consoling each other about how devastated they were. I pressed my back to the wall and dragged a shaky breath into my lungs. This was too much.
All of it.
I pressed myself deeper into the wall, palms flat, breath thin and high in my chest. The kitchen had always been small, but now it felt microscopic.