Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
The church ladies, maybe. I remembered they were always helping out in town with meals, charity drives, and quietly cleaning up other people’s messes. It was the only explanation that made sense after he died.
The place still felt like his. Like my father’s anger lingered in the walls, but someone had at least kept it from falling completely apart while I was gone.
I ran my fingers over the small carving near the baseboard—LS—the initials I’d scratched there as a little girl. I remembered the blood on my finger when I’d accidentally pricked myself.
A smile touched my lips because the memory was so fresh, especially when Ryder found me behind the barn looking at the wound. He’d torn a strip from his own shirt to wrap it up and told me I’d be fine.
He’d been sixteen then and already fearless. My father would’ve beaten him for even talking to me, no matter how innocent it was.
I closed the door on that room, heart beating a little too hard, and stepped back outside into the fading light. One of the barn doors hung open on a loose hinge, swaying in the breeze before slamming softly against the weathered siding.
This ranch had once been something to be proud of.
My great-grandparents had built it into one of the finest cattle operations in Rootstown Creek. My grandfather inherited that legacy, but it slowly disappeared beneath whiskey bottles and gambling debts. My father followed the same path, leaving behind little more than a crumbling house, neglected land, and the sad excuse for a ranch that stood before me.
Inside, sunlight cut through the dusty air, and several stall boards looked newly replaced, pale wood standing out against the weathered dark. Too many things looked out of place. Fresh sawdust on the floor. A broken hinge fixed. Hole patched on the wall. New tack room door.
Someone had been keeping this place from falling completely into ruin. The realization sent a sharp prickle racing up the back of my neck, and I stepped outside.
I wasn't alone.
2
He was here. A few feet away, leaning against the fence line as though he'd been standing there all along. The brim of a black cowboy hat shadowed his face, and broad shoulders stretched the dark fabric of his shirt, the sleeves rolled to reveal powerful forearms. Dust clung to worn jeans and scuffed boots, and a pale scar cut from the corner of his mouth toward his cheek.
Ryder Kane.
Fourteen years had turned the boy I remembered into someone harder, darker, and seemingly more dangerous. He watched me with the same quiet intensity that used to make my heart race and send a shiver of fear through me but yet felt so safe and warm at the same time.
I crossed the pasture toward him, pulse hammering, and the only sound I could focus on was the dry grass whispering under my shoes. He didn’t move, but I saw the way his gaze dragged over me slowly, staring at my face, down my body, then back to my eyes.
“Lila.” My name came out low and rough, like the sound had been waiting in his chest for fourteen years.
I stopped a few feet away, heart hammering. “Ryder.”
His dark eyes moved over me slowly, taking in every change, as if he wanted to note every year I’d been gone.
“Saw your car comin’ up the drive.” The simple words carried weight.
I swallowed. “You’ve been… fixing things around here.”
He gave a single nod, gaze steady. “Place needed it.”
For a moment, the old barn, the new boards, the quiet care in it all hit me harder than I expected. This man I hadn’t seen since I was eighteen had been keeping my nightmare of a home standing while I was gone.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, but he didn’t acknowledge the thanks. Ryder watched me the way he always had, like he could see straight through every wall I’d ever built.
“You sellin’?” he finally said, voice low and gravel-rough.
I let out a shaky breath. “That’s the plan.”
“No.” The single word landed heavy, and I felt shock flash across my face..
A surprised laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Excuse me? No?”
“You ain’t sellin’, Lila.”
The quiet certainty in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn’t the boy I remembered. This was a man who had spent years becoming someone harder. Someone dangerous.
“I don’t remember asking for permission.”
“Didn’t need to.” His scarred hand lifted slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was careful, almost reverent, but the look in his eyes burned with something possessive and unrelenting. “You’re stayin’.”
I was too shocked to respond to that. What in the hell was going on? Ryder was talking to me, hell, looking at me like he had some kind of claim. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years.