by Leanne Davis
Francine. Stanley. Larry. His job. His penthouse. His clothes. What happened and how did it all end? He just couldn’t find the energy to care. Zero fucks. That’s how low in priority it felt to him now.
Powering the phone up meant he would have to face it. Do something about it. His hand started to sweat with nerves. His blood was warming and stinging his veins. It was so easy to go dark and scary. To imagine retaliatory violence. Actions that would make him feel better but were so wrong. He wondered if he ever thought like that before.
As of now, he hadn’t done anything bad, wrong or immoral. No regrets for his behavior at this moment. As of now, he was merely unaware. Hiding. But not regretting. No more hurting. Not moving forward in this new reality. Maybe that was better than moving forward. Just not letting it get any worse.
What to do today then?
He could not keep hiding here. He had to do something. Be a man. Be the man he was raised to be. Hiding away in his cousin’s house and staying drunk wasn’t an identity he liked or wanted to get too familiar with. He needed to know where his life stood. It was all pretty much burnt to the ground but he needed to see what survived the inferno. What he needed to fix, change and try to rebuild from the ashes. He was hiding and being useless. It was time to change that. Time to take charge. To command his life again instead of just letting it happen. All that did was give Francine and Stanley all the power. He was a voluntary victim. Damn it. He refused to be anyone’s victim. They were in the wrong. They should be suffering. Not him.
Feeling stronger, clearer and more focused than the moment it first happened, he got up and grabbed the suit he hadn’t worn since that night. It was freshly laundered and looked pristine. It was fully him. Slipping it on, he snapped his watch on his wrist, and felt a few inches taller. As if he slipped on his old identity.
Hunter Rydell.
A thirty-one-year-old, successful executive in his wife’s family business. Stanton Stores had been in existence for the past century-and-a-half. Based in Seattle, they started as a mail-order catalogue service and expanded to physical locations for a century. Online shopping allowed them to swiftly realign their business model to meet the new demands. They were one of the first companies to fully invest in online retail sales. That and adapting on a dime, managed to make them one of the most successful family-owned stores still in existence. Hunter was part of the executive managerial team. He physically supervised the various stores, and they continued to do well in a time when many other previously successful stores were going under. He was specifically responsible for keeping them responsive to change. The stores were always modern, remodeled and kept up to date. Many a retailer considered it a destination spot for influential shoppers. It provided the ambiance that online shopping could not mimic and which many still craved. Fat wallets and plenty of disposable wealth characterized the customers Hunter catered to. Everything from jewelry to shoes, he could predict trends with an uncanny rate of success that was duly noted by the powers that be. Especially Larry Stanton. He was Francine’s stepdad, but he considered her his daughter. Hunter had the job before he met Francine, but he wasn’t promoted because of her. No, it was all due to Hunter’s unusual, irreplaceable and unimpeachable skill set. No one doubted his position there as perfectly legitimate.
Hunter was normally composed, charming, fun, interesting, and powerful. Yeah. Damn it. He was usually the one in a room people kowtowed to. He was the one with a plan, and the manner to execute it. He was usually the hero, not the victim. Time to find that character again. No more hiding in the mountains. He belonged to the city and he needed to get back there to reclaim it all. His penthouse. His job. His clothes. It was time to decide what to do about his damn cheating whore of a wife.
And he had Kyomi to thank for this new epiphany.
Chapter 6
PREPARING TO BURN ONE of the many brush and debris piles Kyomi collected and heaped together last fall, she was still waiting for the first layer of snow to keep it safe. It would take a Herculean effort just to ignite it, and zero chance of spreading anywhere once it was burning. A good foot of snow was already crusting over the ground.
It took lots of gasoline and several weed burners attached to personal-sized propane tanks before she could get the pile to start blazing. It was a matter of hours and she had to stay close by to keep it burning until it was no more than a pile of ashes, which might take days.
She stood before the flickering flames of the fire as it licked the old, gnarled, weathered trees from the orchard that she spent much of last summer extracting. They were decades old, located on the far edge of their land, the perimeter of a once valuable orchard, now long abandoned to seed and nature. In the heat of the summer, she diligently pulled out all the stumps, collecting them in huge masses.
Now she kept busy by using their decrepit tractor to make a path around the fire. She loaded all the debris into a huge pile. There was also plenty of rubble from one of the old buildings that they tore down, board by board, but she did most of the labor. She wisely kept the old, rotten lumber covered and let it dry out to brittle sticks, creating the perfect kindling. It magnified the intense heat required to get the fire going nice and hot, despite the snow, the icy wetness and the bone-chilling temperatures.
For now, the fire was stoked and flaming high, creating enough hot coals to keep it going for a few hours. She parked the old tractor far enough away from the flames to stay safe. Approaching the blaze, she used a metal rake and poked the fire, continually pushing it towards the center to keep it neat and tidy while creating maximum burn. The flames kept the chill of the day away in a warm, wonderful glow of radiant heat. The smoke drifted this way and that, seeming to follow her, no matter how often she all but danced around the flames. Coughing when the smoke occasionally caught up with her, she bent down to fully get it out of her lungs before rising upwards. She leaned on the rake handle, using it like a cane.
When she was fully upright, she turned and froze solid.
Could the earth simply open up and swallow someone? Couldn’t that happen? Was there any reason a sinkhole couldn’t manifest at the exact moment of her worst humiliation when she needed and wanted it to do that the most? She stiffened her back as her mouth compressed. Oh, no. That won’t happen. That was far too easy.
What was he doing here? Why? Anger bolted through her and she almost yelled at him to get out of there.
Hunter Rydell.
Standing there. Right there. A little bit back from her and the fire behind her. He was not moving, and most likely walked up on her as she unceremoniously coughed up a lung. Her hair was pulled into a braid down her back, mostly to keep it out of her way, and she wore a beige cowgirl hat over it. Sweat from the fire’s heat beaded on her hairline and trickled down her cheeks, clinging to the loose strands of hair. The smoke was swirling around her as she shed her jacket. Despite the frigid winter temperatures, she felt a trickle of sweat slide down her back.
Her jeans were crusted with black ash and dirt as well as slushy snow on the hems. Her boots were caked with mucky snow and mud that now rimmed the fire. The jobs required on the ranch weren’t clean work. She didn’t wear a clean pair of jeans every work day as it was pointless. She started her day in the barn cleaning stalls. That was followed by the task of delivering the animal feed to the various livestock. She shoveled, ran the tractor, and lifted and transported huge bales of hay. Those were just the morning chores. Her boots were as encrusted with muck as the hem of her pants. She walked without glancing down to see where she stepped. Too much bother to try and avoid the cow dung that could be found anywhere in the labyrinth of old wooden corrals, barns and fields.
Kyomi was as grungy as she could be. There was no denying it was from hard, physical, sweaty work. Nothing glamourous about it. Her toned muscles came from the endless tasks she ran, supervised, and worked on. There was no one else but Kyomi to do those jobs. Every once in a while, she and her dad hired a local youth or derelict seeking a day�
�s pay under the table if she needed their sheer brawn. But mostly? Ranch work was her primary duty and obligation.
Her dad had to work the place all alone for as long as she could remember. She learned how to do the chores by watching him. She planned to be just like him. She was his shadow until the age of sixteen when she left the valley with her mom. She had already absorbed most of the knowledge she now employed daily in running the place. It wasn’t a very large spread, only a hundred acres. Her dad’s father bought it long ago. Before that, it had many short-term owners. The original homestead still stood, although it was falling down and rodent-infested. The slice of land it occupied offered a grand view of the property. A two-room cabin that once housed a family of ten, according to rumor, was no longer inhabitable. The original homesteader fenced in the old cabin and over the years, more fencing was added. Along with cattle chutes, barns and random outbuildings. Nothing was grand or of high quality and there was never any kind of master plan. It was a ramshackle maze, to be honest.
The house they lived in was built sometime in the nineteen fifties. It was no more than a square box. One entered the front door into a living room with a small kitchen off to the right. Down a short hallway were small three bedrooms and a shared bathroom. It was original in every aspect. There was never enough money to make any upgrades. Barely enough money for the basic necessities, and sometimes next to none to make any repairs.
The land curved along a barren, sagebrush-covered hillside. It was pretty flat, had decent soil, but occupied an arid section of the valley that was almost Saharan. There were no trees. No pines, cottonwoods or aspens to break up the land. It was stark and barren. Sagebrush grew across the plains and up to the next set of hills. The mountains and beauty of the lower section of the valley didn’t include this. It rose up one hillside from the valley floor to its own dry bowl. Dust. Sagebrush. Endless sky. The most beautiful feature of it was the infinite blue sky. On a day like today, you could stare at it without any visual interruption for hours. Not even a cloud.
It wasn’t a place Kyomi showed off. Certainly not to Hunter Rydell of the Rydell River Ranch. Hell, she hadn’t even shown it to her boyfriend at Reed Ranch. Asher bought his ranch to restore and he had completely renovated it into a thing of beauty. The biggest difference between Kyomi’s ranch and Reed Ranch? The natural beauty of Asher’s land, so wild and desolate with incredible views and landscapes, made Reed Ranch much more physically desirable than the flat, hot, dusty, barren, and claustrophobically small ranch Kyomi owned and worked.
Oh, no. She never allowed Asher to see it. He never pushed the issue when she politely refused. She just came to his ranch. But his cousin? He wasn’t even her friend.
She could not ignore Hunter, who was standing right there. He changed back to his own clothes to come here? Staring with displeasure, she scowled at herself. Why? Why would he take off the casual, functional clothes that made sense to wear in this valley, and choose to wear that stupid suit? And then unexpectedly show up here? Especially if he specifically planned to visit the ranch, and it was his final destination, which it obviously was.
Could Hunter ever learn to be reasonable and wear functional, regular clothing? Oh, no. He had to wear his suit. The one he was wearing that night. The one that was laundered. The ridiculous, stupid, fluffy, pompous jerk. He knew better than to wear such attire because he grew up on a horse ranch. It made Kyomi’s head hurt to wonder why he would show up dressed like that? As if he were born and raised in the bowels of the city and didn’t know what the words cattle ranch meant? But he did know. He was born on a ranch. How could he think of wearing that here?
Stepping back, Kyomi was taking a long look at what his concept of “ranch” meant. It was laughable compared to hers. His version of a ranch was a pasture of green fields of alfalfa, and white, picturesque rails that enclosed immaculate corrals. Barns and outbuildings scattered everywhere, gorgeous in their design and façade. Rolling fields peppered with horses and cleared of any debris. There were no old ploughs, rakes, wagon frames, or the like left to rust where they broke down. Some more than a century old.
Beyond the obvious care and pristine ambiance of the Rydell River Ranch was its location. The refreshing, jewel-toned river that tempted passersby with coolness and light. The mountains that were uninterrupted as they rose to higher peaks and spears. All worthy sights to be featured in inspirational posters. There were pines, cottonwoods, aspens and wild roses that rambled all over the lower land, trailing up the hills to the mountains. Lush, green orchards, some owned by the Rydell family, added a verdant ambiance to the land they transformed into a ranch and resort destination site. That not only improved their own land but also contributed significantly to the overall beauty, functionality and economy of River’s End, the town across the river.
So even the word “ranch” differed in meaning to Kyomi and Hunter. It was like trying to compare a cave in a mountain to the terrain on the moon. But still, Hunter should have had more freaking common sense than to show up in such dressy clothes. Jeans. Sweats. A large, warm coat, hat, gloves and boots. Those would have been far more appropriate than a suit. Come on. He appeared to be sinking into the snow-covered field.
Dressed in his fancy gray suit.
Heat instantly flushed her face. She could feel it lighting up her cheeks in a hot blush. Damn it. Why? Why did she still have a physical and emotional response to this man? This stranger. A reaction she never had and never wanted to indulge. He was married. It was on the rocks right now, but he was still married, no matter what. So best case scenario, if they ended up divorcing, he was damaged goods. Totally head-fucked as she so recently witnessed. Drinking to obliterate the pain and humiliation his wife continued to cause him. Worst case scenario for Hunter would be if they got back together and tried to work it out.
No matter what, this man was unavailable in capital letters. UNAVAILABLE. Emotionally. Honestly. Romantically. Even physically. He was married to her and his heart and brain were preoccupied with betrayal, heartache, humiliation and disillusionment.
So all of a sudden, Kyomi’s cold, dead heart decides this is the figure it should leap to life over? Start pumping harder and swelling with blood? And hope? Yeah. Because that’s what happened every time she saw this man. Even though he dressed totally wrong. Yeah, Asher was right, Hunter in this setting appeared like an old-fashioned, freaking dandy. That’s what he looked like standing in middle of the pock-marked snow and debris of the cattle field he crossed to reach her. She was on the north side of their land. The spot where they regularly burned rubbish. Debris. Grass or brush. Rotted structures. Whatever they no longer needed. It was a long walk from where he had to park.
There were no structures, or trees, or anything nearby. There was nowhere for Kyomi to hide or pretend she did not see his tall, strong, poorly-clad figure watching her. No doubt, he was trying not to get too close to the smoky burning scent lest it permeate the fine fabric of his suit.
A goddamned suit.
She bit her lip as she rolled her eyes. With a deep, dark scowl, she tugged off the leather work gloves she wore. They were a special order: a three-pack in extra small size. No one sold them. Mostly just large and extra-large sizes. Most were designed for men’s hands. Not her little hands.
Kyomi wore them constantly. Still, her hands were ravaged. Deep callouses were etched inside her palms. Her nails were always short and often jagged. Despite repetitive washing every time she came out of the fields, sometimes the pads of her fingertips remained permanently stained. Hers were not soft hands. Not even compared to the local women from town. Let alone, the city women this man spent the last decade associating with.
Holding her gloves in one hand, she stomped towards him. “What are you doing here?”
“Seeing you.” He smiled at her pleasantly. Almost as if they were meeting in town or she was entering Asher’s house. But now, she was in her own domain. Her sad, pitiful domain and ceaseless source of wretched work.
“Am I forbidden to be here? You gonna call the cops and report me for trespassing?”
She rolled her eyes, flicking her gaze at his bright, fiery, ginger head that shone like a wonderful bronze dome under the sky. This moment she hated the beauty she saw in him. She was like the butt of a burnt cigarette compared to him, he a golden candle. That’s what she felt like. A chewed-up cigarette butt in her grubbiness. The desolate landscape surrounding her. All that represented her life.
Pulling her gaze free, she scanned the horizon as if something interesting were about to pop up on it. Experience as well as her lifetime told her nothing was there or ever would be. “No.” Her tone was far too harsh. The annoyance inside her at being caught so graphically unawares in the country, the “chick-rancher” as Hunter called her, made her sound unexplainably rude.
“Good. Now quit scowling at me as if I’ve done something horrible to you. I came by to see my friend, Kyomi Wade. But she isn’t here. Instead, I find this frowning, hostile person who threatens to charge me with trespassing. Could we start over?”
Her mouth twitched at his overly offended tone. “I never asked you here. And did it occur to you that I have work to do? Work that can’t wait? This fire is still burning and it doesn’t take a break. I need to keep it stoked.”
“I kinda know about ranch work. And the fire is a perfect right now, built up in a nice triangle to burn hot at the bottom with a nice, hot layer of coals to fight the cold, wet snow and keep on burning. You’re just freaking out because you don’t want me to see you sweat.” He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow and adding softly, “I see you, Kyomi Wade.”
