Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Instead, I find myself in the living room, staring at the bookshelf lining one wall. Most of the leather-bound books look old and probably belonged to Calder’s grandfather or great-grandfather. Ranch management guides. Montana history. A few weathered novels. I pull out a copy of Wuthering Heights. The spine is cracked, proof that someone in this family has read the book multiple times.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
I’m just returning the book to its shelf when I hear the knock.
Every muscle in my body goes tense. Calder wouldn’t knock. My father wouldn’t know where this house is. Who else could it be? One of the brothers? Roman?
Another knock, softer this time. Almost hesitant.
I move to the front door slowly, my heart hammering. There’s no peephole, so I crack it open just enough to see who’s on the porch.
Elena Bishop stands there, Calder’s mother, looking nothing like the broken woman I barely caught a glimpse of after the rodeo at the main house. She’s dressed in expensive jeans and a cream-colored sweater; her gray hair pulled back in that severe bun. That’s not what stops me, though. It’s her eyes. They’re the same icy blue as Calder’s, except where his are sharp and calculating, hers are distant and haunted.
“Mrs. Bishop,” I say, unsure what else to call her. Mother-in-law feels too real.
“Elena, please.” Her voice is soft, cultured. Like she came from somewhere better before Roman Bishop got his hands on her. “May I come in?”
Would it be rude of me to decline her visit? I’m sure. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but something about the way she’s standing there, almost fragile despite her rigid posture, makes me step back, and without thinking it through, I gesture for her to come in.
“Of course.”
She enters like she’s walking into a stranger’s home, not a house on property her family owns. Her gaze sweeps over the living room, kitchen, and beyond before returning to me.
“I wanted to welcome you properly. The other night was... not ideal circumstances for a first meeting.”
Not ideal. That’s one way to describe watching Roman beat Calder half to death and slap me hard enough to leave a bruise that’s still vivid against my cheek.
“Would you like some coffee?” I ask, falling back on the politeness my mother had drilled into me. “Or tea?”
“Coffee would be lovely.”
I move to the kitchen, and Elena follows at a respectful distance. She settles onto one of the stools at the counter while I measure the grounds, put them into the coffee maker, add water, and hit brew. Having Calder’s mother here feels dangerous in a way I can’t quite name. Like I’m doing something wrong, without really doing something wrong.
“This was always my favorite house on the property,” Elena shares. “Small. Private. With enough distance from the main house. I’m pretty sure one of Roman’s mistresses lived here for a time.” The casual mention of infidelity shouldn’t surprise me. This is the Bishop family, after all. Doesn’t mean I would ever be okay with Calder doing such a thing.
“Calder said he thought we’d be more comfortable here.”
“He was right. The main house...” I see her fingers twist together in her lap. “It’s suffocating at times. All those years of violence soaked into the walls. Even with Roman contained in his wing, you can feel it everywhere you go. Like a shadow following you from room to room.”
Contained. Like he’s a wild animal they’ve managed to cage, but that occasionally escapes every once in a while. The coffee maker beeps, signaling the brew is complete. I pull down two mugs from the cabinet, trying to figure out why Elena Bishop is really here.
Is it a strategic move? It’s more than just to welcome me. That much is obvious.
“How do you take it?” I ask.
“Black.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I pour the coffee into a mug and slide it across the counter to her. I choose to lean against the opposite counter, cradling my mug in my hands. We drink in silence for a moment, two women trapped in the same family for different reasons.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell I’m doing here?” she finally says.
“I mean, the thought crossed my mind.”
She sets her mug down carefully, her gaze penetrating. “I’m here because I want to warn you about tomorrow night.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. “The branding.”
“Yes.” Her gaze drops to her legs, where I know the Bishop brand no doubt sits if Roman’s boasting was correct. “Roman mentioned it the other night, but he didn’t explain what it actually entails. And Calder...” She pauses. “Calder probably doesn’t want to think about it. He’s very good at compartmentalizing the parts of this family he hates.”
She’s got that right. I squeeze the mug a little tighter. “Will you tell me? What happens? Explain the process to me.”