“Talk to me, Jack.”
“You ever hear people say they need to get back to basics? That they need to figure out why they loved it in the first place?”
“What’s the it you’re referring to?” she asks as I nod at Ginger and the bottle of beer he slides in front of me.
“Ranching. The horses. When it was nothing more than simple schedules and the day-to-day. When your hands were dirty and your body was exhausted by the time the sun set. Building something up instead of tearing it down,” I say. “Before it became a burden, an obligation, and a privilege to be a Sutton all at the same time?”
I think of everything I chased and everywhere I went so I could be anything other than a Sutton. I put so much into trying to escape the thumb he wanted to keep me under, only to be pulled back in.
“I came here to keep my word to Dad, but I’m finding out that I needed more than that.”
“What is it that you need that you can’t get here?”
I blow out a breath and shake my head even though she can’t see it. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“If it’s forgiveness you’re looking for, he already gave that to you, you know. Dad wasn’t mad at you for not dropping everything and coming back,” she says softly, and the guilt hits me just as hard now as it did when she told me he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up. “He knew you had to go and figure yourself out before the world started to expect things from you simply because you’re his son.”
I swallow over the lump of emotion that seems to magically appear the minute I think of him. The hardass man I hated, only to figure out when it was too late how much I really loved him.
“Guilt’s a nasty bitch to live with, Lauren.”
“It’s hard for me too. I was here and saw him like that. I’ll have that image in my head the rest of my life while you are mad at yourself because you don’t. I’m not sure which one is better, so why don’t you come home so we can live with the guilt together?”
The softness in her voice tells me she’s crying again, and I fucking hate that. I hate how his death has ripped our family to shreds. He was the rock. Now we’re just . . . rubble. I also know that she means what she says. If I go home, she’ll give less to her kids to make sure I’m okay, which is the last thing I need. Her changing her life for me when I probably wouldn’t have changed shit if she’d asked me to would only pile on more guilt.
I’m too selfish. Too much of a bastard.
This is part of my promise to him, though. The Knox ranch is killing two birds with one stone. Figuring out how to run that place on a shoestring budget so it can thrive instead of letting a bigger ranch swallow it is my own demon to fight.
Figuring how to make amends in my own way.
Dealing with someone else’s problems.
Tate’s problems.
“Jack-Jack?” Lauren says, using the nickname she gave me forever ago.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m here.” My sigh eats up the silence on the line. “Just distracted, is all.”
“Tell me about her.”
My smile is instant. The scowl just as fluid right after. Isn’t that Tate though? A smile and scowl mixed with everything in between.
“She’s off limits, you know that, right?”
“Why would you even think to say that?” I ask.
“Your silence. That’s what made me think to say it.”
“Lau—”
“Don’t Lauren me, Jack. I know you better than anyone . . . and that silence after I asked you to tell me about her spoke volumes.”
“She’s complicated.” And gorgeous and frustrating and so much I can’t figure out.
“You like complicated.”
I bark out a laugh at her insanity. “And you like to snoop.”
“See? I told you that you liked her. You talk when you don’t care. You clam up and accuse when you do.”
“I assure you there is nothing there.”
But I remember the feel of her body beneath mine earlier. The heat of her skin. The nerves edging her laugh that fueled my need to leave the ranch and head to Ginger’s before I made a colossal mistake.
Like knocking on her door.
And what kind of dick does that make me out to be?
“Last thing this family needs is you falling in love with her and never coming back home.”
My laugh is loud and draws looks from those around me. “When’s the last time I fell in love with someone other than myself?”
“Spoken like the true asshole you are.” She falls quiet for a beat. “I still don’t agree with you doing this, but I can hear something in your voice. Maybe this is what you need—the time there helping with the ranch, not her.” She laughs. “So, do what you need to do. Just promise me you’ll be back.”
Five months plus some change. Christ. The countdown feels like a noose around my neck and a blessing all the same.
“I will.” I gave my dad the same assurance and then didn’t hold to it. “I know what’s expected of me. You don’t need to worry.”
“’Kay. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When I end the connection, I take a long draw on my beer with my family front and center in my mind.
The game playing on the flat screen drones above my head. The bar chatter ebbs and flows. Ginger’s laugh rings out more often than it doesn’t.
So much noise, so many people, and yet, I’m lonely as fuck and brimming with regrets.
“Is it true?”
I glance to the woman who just slid into the booth next to me. She’s tall, her top’s as low as it is tight, and her eyes are hungry for attention.
“Depends on the question,” I say without giving her another look.
“Name’s Violet.”
“Mmm.” I keep my head forward, eyes focused on the game that I really don’t care about.
“You the new man up on the Knox ranch?”
“You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know, now would you?” I lift a lone eyebrow and receive a coy smile from red painted lips in return.
“You going to be the one to save that bush league ranch?”
And who the hell are you?
A person walks up and tries to insert themselves into someone else’s business if for no other reason than to start trouble. She’s definitely looking to start something.
“It’s got good bones,” I murmur as I turn my attention back to the game and bring my beer to my lips. “All it needs is personnel with a little more experience, a lot more foals, and some of the clients I’ve been hired to bring on board to say yes. Oh, and winning the clients over from Hickman wouldn’t hurt either. Quite a few are taking interest,” I say, the last statement about our local competition a lie, but it sets the stage for the town to know we’re here to play hardball.
Her slight double take is expected, and I bite back my scoff. Within an hour, the inhabitants of Lone Star will know I’m vetting some high-dollar owners who might possibly sign a contract with the Knox Ranch. Could be rodeo, could be barrel racing, could be a lot of things, but I don’t tell her anything more.
It’s all about perception. Defining it. Containing it. Perpetuating it.