I decided I should make my escape while I still had the chance. I folded up another five-dollar bill and dropped it in Stan’s tip jar. “It was nice catching up,” I gushed at Will, patting him on the arm. “I should go, though. I’m covered in whatever questionable scotch Stan’s got back there.”
“I heard that!” he called back.
Will’s muscles rippled under my hand as he turned. “I should walk you out.” He moved to take a step but hesitated as I pushed him away. “You’re not driving, right?”
“I have a ride,” I said, almost stumbling over nothing as the room began to swirl around me. The alcohol sloshed in my stomach, causing a familiar burn. Faintly, I could hear Jessie speaking, but I couldn’t focus enough to make out her words. I just needed to get away from here, from the liquor, from the man I’d let go.
I hurried outside where my father’s chauffeur was watching a movie on his phone in the least flashy of the family vehicles. I knocked on the window, and he audibly yelled, dropping the phone into the footwell. “Miss Wentworth!”
I climbed in as Eli silenced his phone and stashed it in the center console. I knew my body enough to understand when it was in rebellion, so I begged him to drive slowly as I reclined in the back of the sedan, my head already pounding.
“I’m so sorry about that, ma’am. I didn’t even see you coming.”
“It’s my fault,” I mumbled. “I’m the one who’s sorry for scaring you. And would you call me Sky already? It’s my name.”
The slight bouncing and swaying of the car lulled my churning stomach into stillness. Warmth spread to my limbs, bringing a certain heaviness with it that reminded me of the moment right before sleep. This is what I’d wanted. This feeling.
I took my headphones out of my bag and popped them in, turning on an eclectic playlist of soothing classical, pounding rock, and the old country I’d grown up on—Tanya Tucker and Willie Nelson, the Patron Saint of Texas.
Just as I was settling back, my phone buzzed. I wanted to be the type of person to ignore it, but Dad would give me hell if I wasn’t “reliable” whenever he beckoned. Opening one eye, I scanned the text message. It was from Hailey: I know you’re happy to be home and probably out… celebrating… but don’t forget that branding season starts tomorrow. Zane wanted me to remind you.
I rolled my eyes. I knew she meant well, but the daily hints that she thought I drank too much were getting irritating. I was fine. Except that I did forget about branding season, and there was no way I was ever going to get enough sleep to be ready.
I could already tell it was going to be a rough first day on the job.
Chapter 2
After striking a deal with Eli that I wouldn’t rat him out for watching TV in the parking lot if he wouldn’t rat me out for staying at the bar so long, I managed to make it home and into the bedroom that I supposed would be mine for the foreseeable future. Although I was used to Dad’s constant desire to show off his wealth, the new house he’d recently built with Beth was a combination of bad taste and ridiculous opulence.
I felt more comfortable in the guest bedroom I’d claimed, which was spacious without all of the extra trimmings. The walls were a soft cream that seemed to blend into the airy curtains and the white natural stone floor.
My hard-shell roller bags were arranged neatly by the closet in descending order like a set of nesting dolls. I grabbed the medium-sized one and opened it, pulling out a pair of light pajamas that would give me a little modesty in case I overslept, and someone had to wake me. I knew that I should have taken a shower after spending half the night in a bar, but I couldn’t stand the thought of it all. I just wanted to get all of the sleep I could.
I changed and crawled into bed, wrapping the covers tightly around myself. I sometimes had to put on music to get to sleep, but the scotch was kicking in with earnest. I drifted off a few minutes later, already rehearsing what I’d say the next time I saw Dad.
Except that I couldn’t stay asleep. I woke up suddenly, fumbling for the lamp next to my bed. The bulb exploded in light, and I recoiled with a slight hiss, one arm held up to block out the worst of it. My ankle flared with pain. What’s going on?
I checked the time on my phone and groaned louder when I saw that it was only three o’clock in the morning. I’d barely slept, and it didn’t seem like my ankle was amenable to letting me try again. I threw off the coverlet and drew my leg back slowly.
It had been nearly a decade and a half since I’d broken my ankle, but it always seemed to choose the most inopportune times to start bothering me again. I rotated it in the low light, my teeth set against the pain. There was a long, thin scar winding up the side of my ankle bone from the plate they’d had to put in to keep it stable.
I still remembered the way Dad had berated me on the way to the hospital. It’s a family embarrassment that you hurt yourself falling from a horse. The unspoken implication was that my brothers would never have lost their seats. I’d been trying to keep up with them, proving that I was as much of a rancher as the rest of them.
I never expected a wasp to sting Domino, the steady Tennessee Walker that I favored for much of my teenage years. I tried to bail when his shoulder dropped, but all I accomplished was falling into the mud while he rolled onto the ground, my foot pinned in the stirrup.
Sighing, I massaged my ankle, the irony not lost on me that I’d just seen Will, the only person to offer any sympathy about it besides my brothers’ half-hearted condolences when I couldn’t ride for six months. Just thinking of their pitying faces was enough to propel me from my bed.
I dressed in what I hoped was something sensible, then hobbled off to the kitchen in search of coffee. As much as I disliked the rest of the house, at least the upstairs kitchen was outfitted with simple appliances and stocked with the strong dark roast that was the only Black Gold in this place. While the coffee was brewing, I searched through the cabinets, eventually finding a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers stashed with the vitamins.
I downed two and snuck back to my room, both hands clutching my steaming mug. The aroma reminded me of New York and my daily stop to pick up espresso and breakfast on the way to the office. I didn’t care for coffee every day, but it did have the nice side effect of covering the smell of alcohol.
As I debated whether it was a good idea to indulge further, a stabbing pang through my ankle convinced me that I needed something that packed a bigger punch than Beth’s ibuprofen. I went back to my line of suitcases and dug out a bottle of bourbon. A small pick-me-up wouldn’t hurt, not when I had the caffeine to counteract any grogginess.
I poured in a bit and sat on the foot of my bed. Every time I took a sip, the tattoo on my wrist flashed into my vision. I rubbed my fingernail along its lines, tracing the Black Gold Creek logo. I’d wanted it to always be a part of me, though not in the way that Dad would expect. The tattoo was a reminder of my promise to Mom that I wouldn’t let Dad’s outdated, sexist ideas keep me from the ranch that was just as much my birthright as my brothers’.
I knew he wasn’t the only one who thought that way. My whole life, whenever I’d try to prove my worth, it had always been dismissed as cute or a cry for attention. Even the townspeople considered it a phase, like my fourth-grade teacher, who laughed when I said I would grow up to run the ranch.
“Who’s laughing now?” I said to my coffee, which at that point was at least half bourbon.
The only person who had ever taken me seriously, who’d treated me like I could conquer the planet before lunch, was Will Blythe. I supposed I wasn’t special in that regard; Will was like a beacon of goodness. As much as some people like Dad swore that it was all an act, they didn’t know Will like I did. When Mrs. Everly’s overdue account at the veterinarian had gotten to a breaking point, it wasn’t a “billing error” that cleared her payments unless you counted the bills coming out of Will’s wallet.
I checked my social media and scrolled through the news, but I wasn’t really seeing any of i
t. Have I really avoided seeing him for thirteen years?
But we weren’t the same people anymore. We’d grown up since that kiss so long ago when he’d promised me that everyone would be okay. It might have been the only time he’d ever lied to me. Still, I brushed my fingers over my lips, remembering the shine of tears in his eyes the last time we saw each other. These were the same lips. Maybe it wasn’t so impossible that I was the same Sky, too.
I didn’t know whether I wanted to be that Sky, though—the naïve teenage girl who’d thought she could hide a relationship with the son of her father’s enemy. When Dad found out and accused me of sabotaging the family, I knew that he was wrong. What I had with Will, the long talks during stolen moments, the warmth of his palms on my skin… It was more than just rebellion for rebellion’s sake. We were more than the vitriol between our families. I was sure of it then, and I was sure of it now.
The risk of Dad’s wrath had seemed insignificant at the time, a small hiccup given that I was moving to Boston for college as soon as the summer after senior year was over. Will had promised he would follow me, even though I couldn’t imagine his long hair, dusty jeans, and cowboy hats fitting in with the New England crowd.
“And the rest is history,” I bellowed, knowing that there wasn’t anyone in the guest wing to overhear. “Like a bad movie.”
It was an apt comparison. As soon as Dad had found out about my relationship with Will, my life became like one of those comedies when absolutely everything goes wrong at once. Dad had been in a constant mood and didn’t want to let me out of his sight. Then, he tried to get my brothers to spy on me, which they told me about since they were trying to play both sides.
We felt more like game pieces than family members. But none of that mattered when Mom finally called us into the sitting room one night, her shoulders slumped beneath the knit blanket she’d taken to wearing around despite the heat. She’d taken so many deep breaths that my father grew impatient, the only hint that this wasn’t some kind of mutual announcement.
“What is it?” Zane had asked, squirming in his seat as we waited for whatever was serious enough to warrant a family meeting. Especially one called by our even-tempered, patient mother.
“I have some bad news.” Her voice hadn’t wavered, but the fatigue etched on her face worried me. In a household like this, my mother knew better than to show weakness. My mind instantly went to divorce. There was nothing that could have prepared me for the truth: “I just heard back from Dr. Mendoza.” She paused and took a breath. “I have breast cancer, and there isn’t much that they can do.”
My father hadn’t always treated her well, but he did do right by her from that moment on. Most of the summer had been filled with trips to hospitals and research into experimental treatments. Dad wrote checks with abandon, using every single favor and privilege and underhanded trick he could. But he’d learned that money couldn’t buy life.
When Mom had started deteriorating even further, she called me to her bedside. “Your father is an old dog who can’t learn new tricks. You can’t wait on him to change. Promise me that this ranch will be yours someday. Please.”
“But I’m the youngest,” I’d protested as if that were the reason I’d be denied.
“Daniel and Zane don’t want this place,” she’d insisted. “It isn’t in their bones, not like it is with you. No one wants this place the way you do, Skyler.”
I’d made that promise with my whole heart, and it had come with an almost unbearable price. I called Will in secret and told him everything, how it was a choice between him and honoring my mother. I probably could have snuck off to meet him in person, but I knew that my fortitude would waver the moment I saw those blue eyes and felt his arms around me.
After what we’d endured from our families and the plans we’d made for Boston, I expected Will to fight or scream or really do anything except for what he actually did—accept it. He simply said, “Okay.”
The rumor around town was that I’d broken up with Will, but my close friends like Stan knew that he’d let me go. And it was only now, thirteen years later, that I realized neither of us had moved on. But that wasn’t the same thing as waiting.
I’m sure that my facial expression was a mixture of guilt and abject horror when I saw Eli waiting in the driveway to bring me deeper into the ranch. I pressed a hand over my mouth as I approached, my other full with a thermos of just coffee. “Isn’t there another driver?”
“Just me,” he said, smiling.
“I’m so sorry for keeping you out last night. I had no idea that you would have to get up this early.” I wanted to blame my father for suggesting the chauffeur when he knew I’d be out for at least the evening, but it was my fault for assuming that Eli hadn’t been at work for twelve hours already.
Eli opened the door for me and stepped aside. “It’s no trouble at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He couldn’t have been too upset with me because he’d dropped some of the formality, at least. While it seemed that calling me by my first name was over some kind of line, he’d stopped calling me “Miss Wentworth.” Becoming the boss around here required some level of separation, but there was no way I was letting anyone call me that.
Plus, there was a difference between Eli, who had already seen my somewhat unflattering side last night, and the ranchers who didn’t think a woman could hack it. I leaned closer to the driver’s seat. “Thanks for your… discretion last night.”
Eli nodded. “I see nothing.”
As soon as we turned onto the main road, I could see the mountains looming in the distance, even in the low light of pre-dawn. No matter the politics, the games, or even Will Blythe himself—the land called to me like a siren song. “I missed this view,” I mused.
“Never gets old.”
In spite of my uncooperative ankle and a slight headache, I was excited for the ritual of branding season. It was a day for us all to be proud of the ranch and our own contributions to it. When we arrived at the parking area, it was already packed with a mix of personal and ranch vehicles. Eli pulled into a spot on the end.
I climbed out and stretched my arms skyward, letting the cool air wash over me. After so long in Manhattan with the constant noise and lights and the bustle of people, this was like stepping into a storybook. Even with so many workers nearby, the quiet was a tangible, fluid thing. As soon as a sound passed, the silence flowed around us again, enveloping the area in a peaceful calm. The sky above was a deep, rich indigo, like a ribbon of crushed velvet speckled with fading stars.
The tranquility wouldn’t last long once we started for the day. I savored every moment of it, listening to the coyotes howling far off in the hills. In the distance, a campfire rippled in the wind, the blurred shapes of cowboys and horses nearby.
With a sigh, I said goodbye to Eli and walked over to meet Remy, who was already heading in my direction. Remy was as much a part of this place as the soil beneath my feet. He was just as unchanging, too. He must have been in his late 50s, but I’d give a prize pony to anyone who could guess it. It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit to hear that he was still wearing the same jeans as a decade ago.
“The new big shot,” he said, grinning. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.” I hoped the relative darkness would hide the blush burning in my cheeks. This was the part of taking over that I didn’t like. Here was ranching expert Ryan Remy, head of operations since I’d been flopping around in a crib, watching me become his boss. This was the man who’d taught me to tuck my heels and showed me how to put Daniel and Zane to shame racing barrels.
He swept an arm out before him, exposing his bare elbow sticking out of a hole in his shirt. “Did you miss it?”
“You have no idea.”
Not for the first time, I wondered whether Remy just didn’t care about replacing old things or if there were extenuating circumstances I didn’t know about. Unlike many of the younger ranchers, he
had a steady rotation of worn jackets and scuffed hats. His rusty short-bed pickup truck had also seen better days. You could hear it spluttering up the road from half a mile away.
I supposed it wasn’t my business, though I’d want to know if Remy were in trouble. My father, for all his faults, never pinched pennies on paychecks. He paid Remy and the others quite handsomely, a reward for their loyalty in a job that could test bodies, marriages, and strength on even the best of days.
“We waiting on anyone, or am I the fashionably late one to the party?” I asked as we strolled closer to the campfire.
“There are a couple of other stragglers.”
I rubbed the crusted sleep out of the corner of one eye. “I should just hire someone to be later than I am wherever I go. I’ll never look bad again.” I was mostly kidding, though. Years of early corporate nonsense had conditioned me to get up before the sun. Picking out the best cowboy hat to match my outfit had definitely been an adjustment, though.
“See? That kind of creative thinking is why you’re in charge,” Remy joked.
I shook my head at the sight of his smile. I hadn’t even been born yet when a grumpy stallion had butted him in the face, warranting an emergency trip to the dentist. Dad insisted on giving him a bonus to help make up for the pain and suffering, though Remy vehemently protested against it.
The entire ranch had about laughed themselves to death when he showed up a week later with two gold teeth with the initials B and G etched across them. As children, Zane had tried to convince me that Remy had them because he’d been a pirate before he became a cowboy. I’m embarrassed to admit that I believed it until I was a teenager and asked Remy about what it was like to live on a ship.
Before we could get within earshot of anyone else, Remy paused, lifting the rim of his hat to look me in the eye. “I’m glad your father came around. I was pushing for it, but you know how he can get.”
The Cowboy's Promise: Love Triangle Billionaire Romance (The Wentworth Cowboy Billionaire Series) Page 2
