“Oh.”

  There is no ignoring the intention in his eyes or the innuendo of his words.

  “Good night, Knox.”

  Jack pushes the door closed behind him, but I stand there for a quick second, trying to decide what he meant.

  And how exactly it makes me feel.

  13

  JACK

  “What in the hell are you doing there, Jack?” My sister is as confused by the notion as I was when I packed my shit and headed here.

  “Drinking a beer.” I glance around at the evening crowd in Ginger’s. The regulars are here, but there seems to be more people than usual tonight due to some barrel racing competition a town over.

  “You jackass. Not the bar you’re sitting in . . . the town. Lone Star. Why are you there?”

  “I’m not explaining this again to you.”

  “Why? Because you don’t want me to tell you that you’re on the crazy train taking a job there? Or that you punched that ticket twice by adding on working for her. The promise you made was null and void the minute he died, Jack. You being there isn’t going to do anything to change that. Finish your beer, then go back and pack so you can come home. We need you here.”

  “Lauren—”

  “You have shit here to straighten out that needs your attention more than she does. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t run and manage and—”

  “You can manage for six months, Lauren. I’ll be back before the calves are born and the real work starts. I did this on our down time . . . or as much of a down time as the ranch has. I’m keeping my word, Lauren, to both you and dad.” I take a sip and watch a couple walk through the door, knowing the promises I made and the amends I need to follow through on so I can find the peace I’ve struggled with, aren’t things she’ll understand. “This is something I need to do.”

  “Jack.” My name is a drawn-out sigh.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” How could she? She’d been so lost in her bottle back then, so consumed, that there is no way she could have known what kind of standards my father held me to and the reasons I bolted the first chance I had. She’s ignorant to the life choices both of those things have led me to make.

  “It’s me you’re talking about. Epic screw up kid while you were off conquering the world to try to make your own name.”

  “Conquering isn’t exactly what I’d call it.” Escaping is more like it. Escaping from the relentless pressure to be who he needed and not who I wanted. “You believed Dad was as sick as he said while I shrugged it off. You were there for him when I wasn’t.” It’s barely a whisper, which the crowd eats up the minute it’s out of my mouth, but I know she hears it. Her silence in response says it.

  “Talk to me, Jack.”

  “You ever hear people say they need to get back to basics? That they need to figure out why they loved it in the first place?”

  “What’s the it you’re referring to?” she asks as I nod at Ginger and the bottle of beer he slides in front of me.

  “Ranching. The horses. When it was nothing more than simple schedules and the day-to-day. When your hands were dirty and your body was exhausted by the time the sun set. Building something up instead of tearing it down,” I say. “Before it became a burden, an obligation, and a privilege to be a Sutton all at the same time?”

  I think of everything I chased and everywhere I went so I could be anything other than a Sutton. I put so much into trying to escape the thumb he wanted to keep me under, only to be pulled back in.

  “I came here to keep my word to Dad, but I’m finding out that I needed more than that.”

  “What is it that you need that you can’t get here?”

  I blow out a breath and shake my head even though she can’t see it. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  “If it’s forgiveness you’re looking for, he already gave that to you, you know. Dad wasn’t mad at you for not dropping everything and coming back,” she says softly, and the guilt hits me just as hard now as it did when she told me he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up. “He knew you had to go and figure yourself out before the world started to expect things from you simply because you’re his son.”

  I swallow over the lump of emotion that seems to magically appear the minute I think of him. The hardass man I hated, only to figure out when it was too late how much I really loved him.

  “Guilt’s a nasty bitch to live with, Lauren.”

  “It’s hard for me too. I was here and saw him like that. I’ll have that image in my head the rest of my life while you are mad at yourself because you don’t. I’m not sure which one is better, so why don’t you come home so we can live with the guilt together?”

  The softness in her voice tells me she’s crying again, and I fucking hate that. I hate how his death has ripped our family to shreds. He was the rock. Now we’re just . . . rubble. I also know that she means what she says. If I go home, she’ll give less to her kids to make sure I’m okay, which is the last thing I need. Her changing her life for me when I probably wouldn’t have changed shit if she’d asked me to would only pile on more guilt.

  I’m too selfish. Too much of a bastard.

  This is part of my promise to him, though. The Knox ranch is killing two birds with one stone. Figuring out how to run that place on a shoestring budget so it can thrive instead of letting a bigger ranch swallow it is my own demon to fight.

  Figuring how to make amends in my own way.

  Dealing with someone else’s problems.

  Tate’s problems.

  “Jack-Jack?” Lauren says, using the nickname she gave me forever ago.

  “Yeah. Yes. I’m here.” My sigh eats up the silence on the line. “Just distracted, is all.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  My smile is instant. The scowl just as fluid right after. Isn’t that Tate though? A smile and scowl mixed with everything in between.

  “She’s off limits, you know that, right?”

  “Why would you even think to say that?” I ask.

  “Your silence. That’s what made me think to say it.”

  “Lau—”

  “Don’t Lauren me, Jack. I know you better than anyone . . . and that silence after I asked you to tell me about her spoke volumes.”

  “She’s complicated.” And gorgeous and frustrating and so much I can’t figure out.

  “You like complicated.”

  I bark out a laugh at her insanity. “And you like to snoop.”

  “See? I told you that you liked her. You talk when you don’t care. You clam up and accuse when you do.”

  “I assure you there is nothing there.”

  But I remember the feel of her body beneath mine earlier. The heat of her skin. The nerves edging her laugh that fueled my need to leave the ranch and head to Ginger’s before I made a colossal mistake.

  Like knocking on her door.

  And what kind of dick does that make me out to be?

  “Last thing this family needs is you falling in love with her and never coming back home.”

  My laugh is loud and draws looks from those around me. “When’s the last time I fell in love with someone other than myself?”

  “Spoken like the true asshole you are.” She falls quiet for a beat. “I still don’t agree with you doing this, but I can hear something in your voice. Maybe this is what you need—the time there helping with the ranch, not her.” She laughs. “So, do what you need to do. Just promise me you’ll be back.”

  Five months plus some change. Christ. The countdown feels like a noose around my neck and a blessing all the same.

  “I will.” I gave my dad the same assurance and then didn’t hold to it. “I know what’s expected of me. You don’t need to worry.”

  “’Kay. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  When I end the connection, I take a long draw on my beer with my family front and center in my mind.

  The game playing on the flat screen drones above my head. The bar chatter ebbs and flows. Ginger’s laugh rings out more often than it doesn’t.

  So much noise, so many people, and yet, I’m lonely as fuck and brimming with regrets.

  “Is it true?”

  I glance to the woman who just slid into the booth next to me. She’s tall, her top’s as low as it is tight, and her eyes are hungry for attention.

  “Depends on the question,” I say without giving her another look.

  “Name’s Violet.”

  “Mmm.” I keep my head forward, eyes focused on the game that I really don’t care about.

  “You the new man up on the Knox ranch?”

  “You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know, now would you?” I lift a lone eyebrow and receive a coy smile from red painted lips in return.

  “You going to be the one to save that bush league ranch?”

  And who the hell are you?

  A person walks up and tries to insert themselves into someone else’s business if for no other reason than to start trouble. She’s definitely looking to start something.

  “It’s got good bones,” I murmur as I turn my attention back to the game and bring my beer to my lips. “All it needs is personnel with a little more experience, a lot more foals, and some of the clients I’ve been hired to bring on board to say yes. Oh, and winning the clients over from Hickman wouldn’t hurt either. Quite a few are taking interest,” I say, the last statement about our local competition a lie, but it sets the stage for the town to know we’re here to play hardball.

  Her slight double take is expected, and I bite back my scoff. Within an hour, the inhabitants of Lone Star will know I’m vetting some high-dollar owners who might possibly sign a contract with the Knox Ranch. Could be rodeo, could be barrel racing, could be a lot of things, but I don’t tell her anything more.

  It’s all about perception. Defining it. Containing it. Perpetuating it.

  “And your background?” Violet asks, suddenly way more interested in who I am than what’s in my pants.

  Who am I kidding? By the way she keeps adjusting in her seat so her knees brush against mine, she’s still interested in that.

  “I’ve dabbled in breeding here and there. Lots of time as a ranch hand. Some as a stable manager.” I offer a tight smile. “But mostly acquisitions.”

  I neglect to tell her I’m also part heir to one of the largest cattle ranches in the States. Sure, breeding cattle is different than horses, but that might draw attention to me I don’t want.

  “Where you from?”

  “Here. There. A bit of everywhere.”

  “True cowboy, then.” She laughs.

  “Through and through.”

  I turn my attention to a group singing happy birthday in the far corner. I know she’s waiting to see if I’ll buy her a drink. I know because I’ve watched her work the room over the past two weeks, only recently setting her sights on me.

  Snippets of conversation float my way when the singing and clapping are over.

  “The Donaldson’s struck oil. Now, how about that? Who knows what’s beneath that land of ours.”

  “Did you see Gaylord sold that heifer for a grand? A grand? It was worth a whole shit-ton more than that. He must be hurting.”

  “Jesus, this server is slow. Can’t a man drown his sorry ass in a beer without begging?”

  None of them hold my interest any more than Violet does.

  “If you’re planning on staying, then you’ll get used to all of us.” Her laugh is seductive and throaty and would do things to most men . . . but I’m not most men.

  “I’m sure I will.” Disinterest definitely doesn’t deter her.

  “Don’t worry, Sugar. If you’re like everyone else who’s worked up there, you’ll be down here nightly so you can manage to stay there as long as possible. Hell, why be alone with her when you could be down here getting warm with us?”

  “Who said I was looking to get warm?”

  Violet pushes my beer toward me and taps the neck of her empty bottle against it. Her eyes never move from mine. “Every man likes warmth.”

  “You ever meet Knox?” Might as well ask.

  “Him or her.”

  “Both.”

  “Him. Fletcher could charm the panties off every woman and have every man inviting him over to their table for a drink.” Her smile tells me she has memories I probably don’t want to hear about. In addition to everything else he did, it wouldn’t surprise me if he cheated on Tate too.

  “He was a charmer then?”

  She nods, and my opinion of her, of this town, diminishes a bit more. Where they see charmer, I see snake-oil salesman. “Never really interacted with her. She ran the finances while he worked the horses. From what I heard, she never paid accounts. She never cared how it affected the families who owned the businesses. Typical snob who comes from money—always worrying about herself and not the little people like us.”

  “Hmmm.” It’s all I say as I lift a finger to the bartender, silently asking him to bring us fresh drinks. It’s the least I can do.

  “The husband even got in a fight with Jed at the feed store over it before he died. Huge shouting match out in the street. The owner was asking for payment because he was getting hit with fees or something. I don’t remember the words, but Fletcher said he was going to make her pay it and offered a certain percentage of interest for the trouble.”

  I trace the image on the beer bottle and try to figure why, in a town like this, men would take to another man like Fletcher, who seemingly allowed his wife to lead him around by the balls.

  That doesn’t sit well with me.

  Either that, or Tate has duped me.

  “And you know us women, we don’t take too kindly to other women who treat good men like cattle—brand them, cut their balls off, and treat them like a piece of meat. You know, like it seemed Tate did to poor Fletcher,” she explains, her voice never changing from its seductive drone.

  My laugh is loud on purpose just so everyone looks my way. “Seems to me like you’ve got an active imagination.”

  Her smile widens and voice lowers. “You want to head out of here so I can show you just how active it is?”

  “Thanks, Violet, but not tonight.” Or any night, for that matter.

  “Okay then . . .” She runs a hand up and down the length of my arm. “When you’re looking to leave there, I could help you get a job in oil. They’re more than plentiful around here if you know the right people.”

  “I take it you’re the right people?”

  “I’m a lot of people.” She slowly slides out of the booth, smile still coy and expression still playful as she presses a napkin into my hand. It no doubt has her number on it.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just getting a feel for the water, is all.”

  Hell if I haven’t been treading for way too long to know what it already feels like to slide under the water’s surface before begrudgingly fighting my way back to its top again.

  “How’s it feel?” I ask.

  “A little chilly at the moment, but I was just getting my toes wet. I have a feeling it gets warmer with time.” She offers me a wink and a soft chuckle before turning her back, hips swinging as she heads back to wherever she came from.

  I blow out a breath and turn back to the game that I don’t care about.

  Fletcher sure snowed this little town. Either that or Tate really is who they say she is.

  My money’s on the former.

  Hands down.

  I lift my finger and ask for another drink before I’m halfway through the one I have.

  Fire.

  Beauty.

  Pain.

  Fucking Tate.

  I’m going to need it if I have any hope of preventing myself from doing something I’m more than certain I’m going to regret.

  Like knocking on her door.

  14

  TATE

  Panic rifles through me as I stumble, still half asleep, to find out who is pounding on the front door. Groggy as I may be, my adrenaline has spiked to the point in which I can feel my heartbeat in my throat and all I can think is that the lights that hit the windows moments before weren’t Jack’s, but Rusty’s.

  “There’s been an accident.”

  I keep hearing Rusty say those words and reliving the feeling of the bottom dropping out from under me as I struggled to comprehend him.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “I’m coming,” I yell to whoever it is. Flustered and so wrapped up in the memory that holds me hostage, I don’t even look at who is on the other side of the door before flinging it open.

  “Jack!” I gasp in relief when I see him standing there. His hair is mussed, and his jaw is clenched, but it’s his eyes that knock every sense of panic out of my head. They’re intense as they pin me motionless, and anything else I was going to say dies on my lips.

  “Who ran the finances here?” No greeting. No hello. Just a stone-cold expression and a demanding question as he pushes his way past me and into my house.

  “What are you—Jack?”

  “I asked you a question. Who ran the finances when Fletcher was alive? You or him?”

  I stare at him, my thoughts bewildered. “He did.”

  His eyes are dark as they study and judge and question. “You didn’t know?”

  “Know what?” Alarm bells are sounding off, but I can’t ignore them this time around, so I let them blare in the background.

  “The overdue accounts in town. Did you know about them? Why didn’t you pay them? Did you—” He steps closer to me. The foyer is dark and the only light being from the kitchen at our backs, but his determination is undeniable. “Why didn’t you pay them?”