“He loves me.”

  “It isn’t you he loves. Let’s be clear on that.”

  “When did you become such an asshole?” The words are out before I can stop them, hurt fueling my words and overriding all sense of decorum.

  “Watch your tongue, Tatum. You will speak with respect. You will—”

  “Honey. Please. Why don’t we—”

  “Not now, Beverly,” my dad says, cutting off my mother’s first attempt to speak and motioning for her to stay where she is without ever once looking her way.

  I meet my mom’s eyes, and the tears sliding silently down her cheeks mirror mine. But hers are because she knows what she’s about to lose, and my tears are because I already know that all hope is lost. My decision has been made.

  “I’ve lived my life under your thumb for twenty-three years. I’ve only dated guys you’ve deemed good enough. I went to the schools you preferred when I wanted to go elsewhere. I’ve done the social activities you approved of.” I draw in a breath and prepare myself to leave. “I can’t do it anymore. I need to live my life and make mistakes and—”

  “You mean ruin your life?”

  I grit my teeth until they hurt as our contempt eats up the oxygen in the room.

  He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see the woman I’ve become or the dreams I want to take a chance on. He doesn’t know that, when I’m with Fletcher, I truly feel free to be the person this house and the Valor rules stifle. He doesn’t know that I’m pregnant and terrified of how in the hell I’m going to be a parent when I don’t even know how to be an adult yet.

  “I’m an adult,” I say to the contrary of my thoughts.

  “You sure about that?” He chuckles. “He’s using you. Plain and simple.”

  “And how would you know? You’ve never even taken a second to try to get to know him!”

  He shakes his head, the disappointment rolling off him in waves and slamming into my own disbelief doing the same. “I don’t have to.”

  “Just like I don’t have to get your approval on who I date.”

  “Fine.” That one word is like absolution and motivation at the same time. “Then go, Tate. Walk out that door and away from us. Find whatever it is you think we’re holding you back from, but we won’t be here to rescue you when it goes to shit or to shovel money your way when he’s used it all up. It’s your decision. Us or him.”

  My eyes flicker between my mother and him as I try to process why it has to be this way. As I try to understand why I have to choose in the first place. Why can’t I live my life the way I want and still be their daughter? Why can’t I spread my wings but know I have their nest to land in should I need to come back home?

  But I know I don’t have a choice.

  If I stay here, they’ll never accept this baby.

  If I leave, I know I’ll be loved without restrictions.

  Hell, if they don’t accept Fletcher now, they sure as hell aren’t going to once they know I’m pregnant.

  “Don’t you have anything to say, Mom?”

  She opens her mouth and then closes it as my heart breaks in two. Her eyes tell me she’s sorry, but the subtle shake of her head tells me she isn’t going to stand up for me.

  I look one last time around the home I grew up in. The big oak tree out front that used to be perfect for climbing. The granny flat out back they expected me to live in. The rolling green lawn I used to spend hours staging photography sessions on but that now seems so small. A house filled with an overabundance of rules and loyalty but still loaded with love and warmth.

  Unlike it is right now.

  My father lifts his eyebrows as if to ask me if I’ve made my choice.

  Swallowing over the emotion clogging my throat, I take a moment in the stifling silence of our house and nod. “I’m sorry you’re being this way.” I bite back the sob restricting my throat. “I’m sorry you’re making me choose. I’m sorry you refuse to love me when I don’t follow your rules.”

  “This isn’t about love, Tate.”

  “Yes, it is.” I think of the baby I already love even though I’ve never seen him or her.

  “You’re making a mistake that I won’t be able to fix,” he says.

  “I’m no longer yours to fix.” Tears course down my cheeks as I take a few steps to the door before looking over my shoulder at them. The people who used to be my whole world and who are now telling me love comes with conditions. “Bye.”

  It’s all but a whisper.

  The screen door shutting behind me is ten times louder.

  But it feels like a sonic boom in my heart and head.

  It feels as if I just made the worst mistake and best decision all at once.

  And when I cross the driveway and climb into the truck beside Fletcher, I can’t look at him. I can barely breathe let alone think, so I say the one thing I can, “Drive.”

  1

  JACK

  Six years later

  It’s pretty enough.

  That’s my first thought when I sit on the initial stretch of gravel driveway and stare at the expanse of ranch in front of me. The split rail fence stretches farther than I can see on both sides of me. The main house has a worn brick exterior, pitched roofline, and a covered verandah that wraps around its front. The pastures are green, and the stables large enough, but where the house looks worn, they feel more neglected than they look.

  Drive the car, Sutton. Walk the walk, and talk the talk. Fulfill the promise you made, and then get the hell out of Dodge with a clear conscience and maybe a few months of vacation before you have to step into shoes you never expected to fill.

  I glance up at the entrance, take in the sign hanging from the wood arch that says Knox Ranch, and notice the broken hinge of the opened gate in front of me. There are two cameras with frayed electrical cords and cracked lenses positioned on either side of the structure that tell me they’ve definitely seen better days.

  It seems this place has too.

  Easing off the brakes, I head toward the house with my chuckle of disbelief riding on the breeze as it blows in the rolled down window.

  Beyond the split rail is a field of long, golden, prairie grass that runs into trees billowing at its edges. There are just a few horses milling inside the fences, but there aren’t any ranch hands working, no other trucks taking up space in the driveway, no one sitting in the shade to take a respite from the heat.

  I take my time unfolding myself out of my truck and ambling up the walkway while I wait to feel something.

  Anything.

  But there’s nothing more than impatience, resentment, and a sense of duty to fulfill a promise I never should have made.

  “Who’re you?”

  I hear her voice before I see her. Contempt paints its edges in a way that matches how I feel most days lately.

  It should be my warning to walk away. That keeping my word isn’t worth the damn trouble. That my hunch about what type of person she is, is dead on.

  Since when do I listen to warnings, though?

  “I’m here for the job.”

  I don’t know what I expected Tatum Knox to look like, but when she steps into the open doorway of the house, it definitely isn’t this: petite, wary . . . goddamn gorgeous.

  Her spine straightens so that all five foot nothing of her stands proud while her eyes, those light-gray eyes narrow and look me up and down. They also tell me to go to hell.

  “You wouldn’t last a week here. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Her words are a lie. She knows it. I know it. The callouses on my hands and my more-than-impressive resume prove I’m a hard worker and know what I’m doing, but fuck if I’m going to call her on it when I really don’t care.

  I’m here to follow through on the impulsive phone call I made after one too many beers and to say I made a concerted effort.

  That, and to satisfy my curiosity about the type of person she is.

  “Tatum Knox, I presume?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  “Humph.” I laugh the sound without any amusement. Wisps of her caramel-color hair have fallen from her ponytail and move with the breeze around her face. Her high-cut cheekbones, button nose, and heart-shaped mouth are delicate, but her eyes scream distrust and dislike.

  Seems we have something in common then.

  “Jack Sutton.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Then why’d you ask who I was?” I snort in dismay. “I assume you remembered that you’re the one who asked me to come, right?”

  She takes her time moving her hand to her waist and leaning her other hip against the doorframe that dwarfs her. Her eyes home in on me and judge and dismiss.

  “Yeah, well, chalk it up to a rare moment of weakness. I won’t let it happen again.” The way she wears her clothes—denim and flannel—might look the part in Texas, but the posture beneath them and the hint of New England accent scream affluence.

  So does the way she looks down at me as if I’m not worthy of breathing the same air as her. I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “No worries there.” I take a step back, irritated at myself for expecting more than I’m getting and for thinking that showing up at the ranch was going to fix all the shit in my head. In reality, taking one look at her had done nothing but piss me off and made the envelope folded in my pocket that much heavier. “By the looks of your ranch, it seems that what I’ve heard is true and that moments of weakness are all you seem to have.”

  “And you wonder why I told you to leave?” she all but shouts as she takes a step toward me, anger lighting up her features. “I don’t hire people who run their mouths in the Lone Star rumor mill. You’ve been in town, what? A whole three days, and they’ve already gotten to you. Thanks, but no thanks. I like people I can trust working for me.”

  “I’m not the one whose integrity is in question,” I say, her wince telling me the barb hit its mark and giving me the reason behind her hostility. That she knows and doesn’t like what people in town say about her.

  I wouldn’t either if I were her because none of it is flattering in the least.

  And yet, after hearing every last juicy tidbit of it, I still showed up today. Here I stand, trying to find some kind of redemption for myself when I’m pretty sure there isn’t any to be had.

  For the briefest of moments, I feel guilty for being a dick and for taking my anger out on her when she has nothing to do with it.

  Then again, it’s not as if she’s all smiles and sunshine either.

  Fuck.

  With a sigh and a resignation of my temper and impatience, I shake my head. Let’s try this again.

  “From the looks of your ranch, you need me.”

  “I don’t need anyone.” A half-cocked smile tilts up her lips.

  Your words and your eyes aren’t matching up there, sweetheart.

  “And for the record, it’s my husband’s ranch, not mine.”

  “He’s dead, so technically, it is yours.” She doesn’t want to pull any punches, then neither will I.

  “Ah, the lovely Lone Star rumor mill strikes again? Who was it this time? The guy at the gas station? The waitress at the diner? Perhaps the teller at the bank? Oh, wait, was it Ginger? He’s a smart man and usually stays neutral, so if it was him, that’s a new development.”

  Her nonchalance at how much people in town dislike her is not unexpected considering how blasé she’s been about everything else thus far.

  “Nope. Your words on the phone last week during our interview.” I take the pause she’s given me with her lax lips and wide-eyed stare and make a show of looking around. I had heard it from her first, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t also hear it from everyone I talked to as well.

  A controlling husband who was flashy with his money but who couldn’t seem to get this place up and running to save his life. A fiery car accident that claimed his life. His high-and-mighty wife who thinks she is too good for the town they live in and can’t seem to keep a single employee on staff.

  “Like I said, I don’t need anyone,” she reiterates, breaking the silence stretching between us like a rubber band that is bound to snap. “I’ve got this handled.”

  “About to lose your farm is not exactly what I’d call having things handled.”

  “Whoever told you that is full of shit,” she says.

  “You sure about that?” I ask, noting the uncertainty fleet across her face—lips pulled tight, eyes widened, and jaw clenched. “From what I hear—”

  “I’m not losing the ranch,” she asserts. “Not even close.”

  I scrub a hand over my jaw, uncertain whether I believe her or not. The rod in her spine tells me she’s telling the truth but everyone else in this town tells me otherwise.

  Maybe they just want her to.

  And maybe a small part of me did too until I got here.

  “I don’t associate with people who lie,” I muse as I lean against the railing behind me.

  “Then what in the hell are you doing at the bar in town? They all lie and you’re listening to them, right?”

  Touché.

  “Why’d you tell me to come out here, Knox, if you already knew you were going to fire me the minute I showed up on your porch?” I ask, curious about her when I shouldn’t care.

  “Why’d you sit in town and listen to the rumors, believe them, before you ever even met me? Shouldn’t your boss be given more respect than that?”

  “I don’t believe rumors, but they aren’t lies if they’re true.” I shift on my feet, the wood of the porch creaking beneath me. “And respect is earned, not expected.”

  This woman. Hell. If her spite wasn’t so damn frustrating, it might be a little attractive.

  “Why are you still standing here?” she asks.

  “Good question.” I wondered the same thing. Turning my back to her, I take in the dead flowers and weeds overflowing the planters positioned around the porch and let my eyes skate over the paint peeling on the railing on the verandah.

  But I know why I’m here.

  I know what guilt feels like as it weighs you down so heavily you’ll do anything—even deal with a woman like Tatum Knox—if it means you just might get to lift it off your shoulders.

  It’s a goddamn emotional tug of war, and I’m not quite sure which side I want to win.

  “You hired me to get you more business,” I say when I turn back around. “You think potential clients are going to be eager to buy a horse when they stroll up here and see this?” I motion to the first set of pots. “How can you be trusted to keep horses healthy when you can’t even keep flowers alive?” I give a slow shake of my head in displeasure, causing her to scowl.

  “If you’re trying to win my favor, you’re going about this all wrong.”

  “Winning your favor is the least of my worries.” I cross my arms over my chest and just hold her glare for glare. “Forget me being able to secure quality studs to breed. Screw me getting the ranch new clients under a long-term contract. What you really need more than anything is a ranch manager who is worth a shit.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.” I nod. “By the looks of what I see, he’s not managing shit. Your hired help isn’t pulling their weight. Your feed isn’t being housed properly. You have fences that seem to have been broken for some time. And I haven’t even started on the horses. For a ranch that survives by selling its foals, it doesn’t look like you have nearly enough pregnant mares out there, which is something you mentioned during our phone interview.”

  Those eyes of hers narrow.

  Hit a nerve now, did I?

  “I didn’t realize I asked your opinion.”

  “You didn’t have to. I give opinions freely.” I smile, but I do it to piss her off.

  Truth hurts, doesn’t it, sweetheart?

  I recall the comments that were made in town.

  “That Tatum woman doesn’t fit in here.”

  “She supposedly works on the ranch, but come on, what rancher has the beautician come out on the regular to do her hair and nails? She’s probably the gopher. Or the trophy groomer. There’s gotta be a reason why she runs all the employees off. She’s probably worried word will get out that she doesn’t know what in the hell she’s doing.”

  “The sheriff’s up there weekly. There’s one complaint after another about her substandard care for the horses. No one in town dares to buy one. They don’t trust that they’re in good health.”

  “She doesn’t deserve the land she owns. No wonder the Destin twins are pissed and want it back. She and her husband have done nothing but waste their opportunity with that ranch.”

  “Do I need to call the sheriff to have you removed?” she asks.

  “I hear you two are good friends with his regular visits up here and all.” The tendons in her neck strain as she tries to hide her temper. I’m trying to push boundaries so that I can walk away from this place with the lie set in place that I really tried to make this work but failed.

  “It’s Texas, Mr. Sutton. No one will think twice if I shoot you for trespassing.” She smiles sweetly. “We like to protect what’s ours and know we won’t be questioned for doing so.”

  “Ah, but you’re not from Texas, are you?” I ask, uncertain why I feel the need to keep bantering. “From what I gather, the citizens of Lone Star don’t really claim you as their own.”

  I’m a prick for pointing out the obvious since I’m probably more welcome in this town than she is, but I can’t figure out how she lives here, has set up a life here, and yet, no one really seems to know her.

  Maybe it’s their not knowing her that’s earned her the vitriol.

  Then again, all she has to do is open her mouth and their point’s proven in the first few sentences.

  “I don’t care what the people in town think of me, let alone anyone else, really.” Another tight smile. A throw of her thumb over her shoulder. “Should I go prove to you I have the shotgun locked and loaded, always on the ready . . . just in case?”