“Not a one?”

  “I think I’d know, and I assure you no one was up here who looked close enough to have a valid reason to lodge a complaint.”

  He draws in a steep breath and nods. “I have to investigate it all the same.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he says, slipping his sunglasses on. “So, you haven’t had anyone come up here and cause you trouble?”

  Jack was here, but he seemed like a straight shooter, not some asshole who would call in a petty complaint as a way of getting back at me.

  But he has been hanging out at the bar.

  “Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

  “What about that Jack fellow. The one who’s in town for the job?”

  Definitely been at the bar.

  “The complaints have been happening well before he got to town. I mean, I don’t really know him, so I can’t say for sure, but what reason would he have to say anything?”

  Besides the fact I ran him off and he mentioned the complaints himself.

  Shit.

  “Did you hire him?”

  “No.”

  “There’s reason enough right there. He traveled quite a way to interview.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No. Haven’t met him yet . . . but rumor at Ginger’s is that he did.”

  “Hmm. Love those Lone Star rumors.” I sigh. “What was the complaint this time? You know I’m not starving the horses because you already checked on that complaint two months ago. You know they have the best medical care because Doc is your friend and she’d tell you otherwise. Besides, when that complaint was lodged last month, I showed you all of my vet bills so you knew that was false. Should I keep going through all of the grievances that have been filed and that you’ve debunked or can we just assume this one is just as baseless? Because, honestly, this is getting quite ridiculous.”

  “It is.” His eyes take in the ranch slowly.

  “When are they all going to get over that damn article? It wasn’t meant how it was taken. I wasn’t bad-mouthing Lone Star. I wasn’t showing them how much better I was than them. Christ,” I mutter, “if they don’t want people to think they’re small-minded, then they need to stop acting like it.”

  “We may be simple folk here, but we don’t take being insulted lightly.” He holds his hand up when I start to argue. “I know. You didn’t mean any harm by the article, but opinions have been formed.”

  “And, apparently, they can’t be unformed.” I sigh in frustration, and Rusty nods without expressing an opinion. “The complaints are bullshit, Rusty. You know that. I know that. I’m not going to let them push me out, and I’m not going to tolerate being harassed.”

  “I know.” He shifts his hat from one hand to the next and then places it back on his head. “But I still have to investigate all the same. The anonymous caller stated that you have a lame mare that you aren’t getting the proper care for.”

  I laugh. “Apparently, I have a lot of lame mares considering less than half of them are pregnant.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Of course, he’s heard. Everyone’s probably heard about how Tatum Knox took over her dead husband’s ranch and doesn’t know how to run it any better than her husband did.

  Just another thing for this damn town to gossip over. Just another instance where they think Karma has worked her magic.

  I look down at my scuffed boots and then back up at him. “What is it you need so you can go back to doing the real crime fighting?” Sarcasm laces my tone, and I don’t try to hide it.

  “Do you mind if I take a look around?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Rusty walks down toward the stables, poking his head here and there. Pushing open doors to see what’s inside. He pauses briefly to talk to some of the horses, his hand automatically sliding up and down their noses in greeting before he passes on to the next one.

  “See anything amiss?” I ask when he seems to have reached the end of his half-assed search. “All horses standing? Fed? Healthy?”

  “Everything looks good to me. You’ve got some great-looking ladies out there.” He lifts his chin to the pasture where a few of the mares are out roaming. “You’re thin on stock, though,” he says, reminding me of those first few months of chaos after Fletcher died.

  When I was so lost in simply trying to get through the next second, the next moment, the next day because I’d been so swamped in grief that I let my storage rooms almost run bare. And then, just when I thought I might be able to breathe again, I was hit with the truth about what Fletcher had done. I was forced to figure out just how in the hell I was not only going to make it through the next day but also how I was going to keep this place afloat.

  “You planning on bringing some new mares in here or are you going to keep some of the foals when they’re born so you have more to work with going forward?” he asks, his tone genuine, as if he’s interested in my future plans. All I really hear is the reminder of just how few horses I’m housing, which is nowhere near enough to maintain a breeding ranch’s standard.

  “I’m working on figuring all of that out. Finding someone who can come in here and tell me if it’s better to keep the foals or to sell them and use the money to secure better bloodlines. Obviously, what we’ve—I’ve done in the past hasn’t worked, so we’ll see. Regardless, I need more mares for breeding. I need to build up my stock . . . my reputation”

  “But more horses mean more work and more work—”

  “Means needing more staff.” I lift my eyebrows, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. I laugh disbelievingly and cross my arms over my chest. “Hell, Rust, maybe this is fate’s way of telling me I don’t know shit about being a breeder and I need to just sell this place and walk away.” My chest constricts at the thought.

  “And let them win?” Rusty slides a glance my way with only the slightest turn of his head. It’s the first and only time I’ve ever heard him say anything close to supportive. “You don’t believe you should do that anymore than I do.”

  I shrug, a little surprised and a lot relieved. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It isn’t as if I can do anything right these days.”

  He rests his arms on the white railing and purses his lips as he looks out at the horses in front of him. The whole perfect picture is framed by the trees behind them. “Permission to be frank?” he asks without taking his focus from the pasture in front of us.

  “This isn’t the army. You don’t have to ask to speak.”

  “True, but it isn’t my place either.”

  I stare at his profile and wonder why it seems as if I’m spilling my soul to Deputy Chatsworth. Maybe because he’s the first person in forever besides Sheryl who actually seems like they understand.

  “What is it, Rusty?”

  “You’ve pissed a lot of people off.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I joke.

  “Quite possibly, you’ve got some disgruntled employees.”

  “Hence, why they no longer work for me.”

  “True, but no one works for you now. You’ve run them all off.”

  I open my mouth and then shut it to cut off the immediate rebuke on my tongue. To explain that I could be the best employer in the world and it wouldn’t matter is pointless. “When a person can’t do the job right, they get fired.”

  Or when I can no longer trust them because they talk a little too freely in town about what’s going on here at the ranch.

  He takes his time responding. “Yeah, but they all seemed to do a good enough job for Fletcher, right? He gave them the reins to do their work. So, obviously, they were good enough.”

  Good enough that they hid Fletcher’s secrets from me too.

  “Mmm.” It’s my go-to response because how do I explain what it’s like not to be able to trust anyone anymore? How do I tell anyone that my husband not only gambled away every last penny we had but also leveraged our property in the process? How do I explain what it’s like to be hated by every single person in town—first because of a misinterpreted article and then because my husband blamed our unpaid balances on me, convincing our local vendors that I was the one who held the purse strings? How do I begin to describe that the townspeople weren’t the only people he screwed over?

  More importantly, how do I say any of that and not have red flags go up and have people start to question whether Fletcher’s death was a suicide instead of the accident they ruled it as?

  “Look, I know Fletcher made a lot of promises to people and was a bit arrogant, but man, people liked him.”

  “Your point?” I ask, a headache brewing behind my temples as my thoughts crash against the misinformation guiding his words.

  “From an outsider’s standpoint, it appears as if it’s you who seems to be the problem.”

  I chuckle in discomfort because what in the hell am I supposed to say to that? “I’m assuming that isn’t a compliment.”

  He sighs as he struggles to find the words. “You deserve a chance here. I’m only saying these things because I want you to succeed.”

  My laugh is louder, more disbelieving, this time. “At least one person in this town does.”

  There’s sadness in his ghost of a smile. “You have to stop trying to do this all yourself. It’s impossible. You need to hire more—”

  “I’m doing the best I can.” It’s all I can say without letting the frustration I’m hiding manifest into the tears threatening to well in my eyes. “I tried to make everything right. I tried to . . . I don’t know. All I know is that by paying everyone back, it—”

  “It looked like you were happy your husband died so you could cash in on his life insurance and pay off your debts.”

  “Yeah. And doing the right thing and paying those debts did nothing to change how everyone thinks of me.” I don’t hide the tears or the hurt from etching into the lines of my face. My smile is reticent, and my soul is exhausted from caring what they all think.

  “You need to win the town back over if you hope to survive—”

  “I’ve got it handled, but thank you,” I cut him off, not needing him to tell me what to do when I’ve done more than I should only to be rebuked time and again. By ranch workers. By accounts in town. By what feels like freaking everyone. No matter what I do, nothing makes anything better or easier and I don’t have the energy to keep trying.

  “Being stubborn isn’t going to help, you know?”

  “Permission to speak revoked,” I joke.

  He laughs, but the look of concern never leaves his eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve had anyone on the payroll?”

  Too long.

  “I have help. Sylvester comes up a couple of times a week to do what he can. Supplies are on delivery for me. Good ol’ Amazon. Feed is on a regular delivery from Lone Star Feed. Doc comes up on a schedule or as needed,” I explain and am grateful for them because it allows me to avoid running errands in town so I don’t have to venture there. I shrug. “I don’t need someone full time.”

  “And what about help with the horses? The feeding, the exercise, the mucking of stalls . . . all of the daily work that’s way more than enough work for one woman? I know Sylvester helps, but he’s limited in his capabilities.”

  It sounds crazy coming from his mouth, almost as if he’s trying to shine a spotlight on how much my life has changed in the past year. As if he’s flicking the thin thread I’ve been hanging on to while waiting for the upcoming breeding season so I can prove I’m not a failure.

  “I’m getting by as best as I can.”

  “So I see.” He shifts on his feet and adjusts his hat again. “But the calls about the welfare of your horses, Tate. Someone seems to be mighty pissed off at you to keep lodging baseless complaints.”

  “Being pissed off at me is far different from being concerned about my horses, which are healthy and well taken care of. They’ll get over it.”

  This is why I don’t go into town. This is why I stay here where I don’t have to listen to unsolicited opinions and unwelcome judgment.

  “Hmm.”

  It’s his only response, and if he does it to make me ask what it means, it works. “Hmm?”

  “Just that I’m only the first step.”

  “First step?”

  “Yeah. I’m the first rung on the ladder. Who knows who else this person or persons may be calling and complaining to? Are they creating a legal record as recourse to try to get you shut down if they aren’t successful in running you off?”

  “Rusty.” His name is a sigh of disbelief, but it isn’t anything I haven’t already thought of before. Hickman Ranch on the opposite side of town used to warn Fletcher of encroaching on their territory. The Destin twins and their protests to us buying the land when we moved here. So many sharks in these waters.

  “I know you as best as you let anyone know you, Tate. I know you’re up here busting your ass all by yourself and that even if ranching isn’t your first love, you wouldn’t hurt a damn fly.” He tilts his head from side to side. “But the rest of the town doesn’t see what I see when it comes to you. They’ve never taken time to. Lone Star is a small town. You know that better than most. One mistake, and you’re judged. People talk, exaggerate, and pretty soon, the rumor becomes someone else’s version of reality. Then by mistake number two . . . you’re vilified.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “While your husband ran up accounts and promised the moon while not delivering or paying his debts, you stayed like a queen in your castle, living that high life of yours.” I grit my teeth at the misconception but don’t react. “Then Fletcher goes and dies, and it appears as if you act like nothing has changed. Rumors fly that you’re still out taking those photographs you take. You still avoid town. You still think that you’re better than Lone Star. Maybe people just don’t know what to think, so they just fall into line with the gossip.”

  It’s a circular argument that I’ll never win.

  “And maybe they’re all just chauvinist assholes who can’t handle the thought of a woman running a ranch and a successful breeding program,” I counter.

  Where his words should ignite my temper and put me on the defensive, all I can do is shake my head. I’m so damn tired of all of this that I can’t even find the effort to care anymore.

  Even if I did, nothing would change the minds in this town.

  Nothing.

  I’ve tried.

  “Look, I appreciate the pep talk, but—”

  “You have to win the town over. Plain and simple. Fletcher may have charmed the pants off everyone with his promises to bring notoriety to Lone Star by breeding winning rodeo horses . . . but he stole your property right out from underneath the Destin twins by offering way over the asking price. Family roots run deep here in Texas and this here was their great-grandpapa’s land. That was the first mistake . . . and not delivering on those pie-in-the-sky promises was the second one. People here don’t take kindly to those who don’t follow through on their word.”

  “And both of those things should have fallen on Fletcher’s shoulders, not mine, but here we are.”

  The purse of his lips is slow, and his sigh is audible. His blatant silence when it came to the rumors in town about what exactly Fletcher did is noticeable. “Comments like that aren’t going to win anyone over . . . and technically, it was both of you.”

  “Don’t you see that what you’re telling me doesn’t matter because I can’t change any of it? You tell me not to give up but then turn around and tell me that the only way to make good on what Fletcher did is to leave,” I counter.

  “Just telling you like it is. You guys never caused me any problems out here. You have a highly desirable piece of land. I’d hate for someone to run you off it with all these threats. The best way to combat that is to make a name for yourself. One that Fletcher was unable to. Hire someone who knows their shit to help. Get customers to come here from all over to buy your foals. No one will run a successful woman out of town when she’s bringing Lone Star some notoriety.”

  I keep my eyes fixed on Ruby. Her legs are painted in spots of white and her muscles ripple beneath the surface with her every movement, putting on a subtle display of the winning blood coursing through her veins.

  “She is a beauty,” he murmurs

  “She sure is. She was Fletcher’s pie in the sky, sired by a Kentucky Derby winner, but after coming here and realizing how unrealistic breeding her was, he settled on quarter horses.”

  “Smart move,” he says, stepping back from the fence, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he heads back to his cruiser without another word.

  Even after his engine fades into the distance, I still stand against the fence.

  Memories swirling.

  Hope fading.

  Uncertainty swelling.

  Determination unwavering.

  4

  TATE

  I’m being ridiculous.

  I need to get out of the truck.

  Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I look around at the town I’ve lived in for more than five years, really looking at it for the first time in what feels like forever. When I’m here, I typically drive through it from one end to the other, only stopping at the vet’s office to get a refill on medication or the feed store for their unwelcome hellos and an extra something for the horses.

  Safe zones. The places I know that won’t cause a scene or more drama. The places I know will do business with me.

  The first few times I came to town after Fletcher died come to mind. How I thought I might get an ounce of sympathy because my husband had just passed away—selfishly, I maybe even thought I could use it to my advantage to soften the perception they had of me or dim the criticism on the piece I wrote for the Texan Registrar.

  I was expecting a second chance and what I got was more like a blindsided tackle that knocked me on my ass and put a cowboy boot on my throat. Owners asked me to leave their stores. Others approached me on the street and made a scene by asking me when I was going to pay my bills. People shouted, yelling about how dare I drive up in my fancy SUV when they’d been struggling to make ends meet for months because my husband had short-changed them or screwed them over.