“You have to spend money to make money,” she murmurs.
“This coming from an accountant who’s calling to tell me I need to sell my derby horse or risk losing my ranch because I can’t pay my mortgage.” I’ll lose my house. The only things I have left to my name. “That’s rich.”
“You could always swallow your pride and . . .”
“And what?” I ask. “Sell off the equipment I need but that isn’t a necessity? Done that. Pawn my jewelry? Did that months ago. You already know this. I just—”
“I know. I admire you and your damn stubbornness more than you could ever know.” The line falls quiet, and I hate that I steel myself for what I know is coming next. “I meant you could call them. You’re their daughter. Words said in the heat of the moment are never truly meant.”
Emotions clog in my throat as I think of the one time I did call. How the phone was hung up on me. How I was reminded, without so much as a word being spoken, of how I made a choice . . . and it wasn’t them. Of the disgrace I brought to the Valor name by running off and marrying the country club’s hired help.
“Not an option.” My voice is resolute even if my feelings aren’t.
“Okay. Then since Ruby’s your biggest asset besides your physical property, which you’ve told me you won’t sell off, then you have to consider selling her. It will give you enough money to get by until the new foals are ready to be sold.”
“I can’t just put a for sale sign on her and parade her around town.”
“Why the hell not?”
I sigh deeply and lean my head back against the wall behind me. “Because I don’t want them to know.”
“Who to know? The town? Screw them, Tate. They haven’t once been concerned about you so why are you suddenly worried about what they think of you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Thoughts collide and emotions whirl, and I feel stupid even giving them a voice. “The last thing they need is something else to gossip about. Between the increased prices I’m charged on supplies and bogus complaints lodged with the sheriff’s office and ASPCA about my treatment of the horses, they have enough. All I can think is that the Destin twins are either trying to push me off this land with their bullying or they’re trying to devalue everything I have with rumors so that when prospective buyers come to town, all they hear is great stuff about Hickman Ranch and shitty stuff about mine.” I shift my feet and shake my head. “That’s why I don’t trust anyone to know what’s going on.”
“Wouldn’t it just be better to cut your losses and leave, Tate? Sell it to the damn Destin assholes and get the fuck out of that town that sounds like misery inside a sinkhole?”
“Misery inside a sinkhole?” I laugh the words out and appreciate her humor.
“Well, not the actual place, per se, more the shitheads in town.”
“Would it be the easiest thing? Sure, but . . . this is all I have left. There are no savings. There is nothing. And deep down, a part of me wants to make it work so I can give the ultimate fuck you to Fletcher for what he did to me.”
“He’s dead, honey. He’ll never know.” Her chuckle is soft.
“But I’ll know.” My voice is soft, and my eyes burn with tears. “I let him manipulate me for years, Sheryl. I let him take everything I have, including my money, my trust, and my sense of self. I need to get that back. If by making this place succeed, I’m able to find a bit of the old me again, then it’s worth all of this.” I look to my left as Ruby neighs out in the pasture. “Besides, it isn’t as if I have anywhere else to go. If I sell this place, every penny I’d make on it would go right to the bank. Then what? I’m homeless and broke? If I stay, then at least I have a roof over my head a little longer and something to actually try to make this work.”
“Tate.” My name is a warning at best.
“I know, I know. It hasn’t worked this far . . . but it’s been better than it was. It’s taken me almost a year, but I finally dug out of all the holes he put me in other than the mortgage and home equity line. That’s my last hurdle to jump before I can be out of the proverbial red.”
“Selling Ruby will help with that.” Her voice is quiet, and her words settle like a lead weight in my stomach. I wish I could shut out every single one of them, but know I can’t.
This is my reality.
This is my robbing Peter to pay Paul.
This is what Fletcher has reduced me to.
“Fine. Yes. I know,” I utter. “I have to go.”
And when I set the phone on the bathroom counter, I sink down onto the closed toilet seat and shut my eyes.
Ruby. There is so much history with her. She is what helped to pull me out of my darkest depths I sank to after I found out what Fletcher had done. She has been my only friend here in Lone Star for so long, and now I feel like I’m betraying her by even talking about selling her.
I stand, and when I pass by the mirror, I force myself to look at it. To look at myself.
“How much longer are you going to do this, Tee?” I ask. How much longer can I hold on? Do I even want to?
I don’t allow myself to look away from my reflection, from the doubt and exhaustion in my eyes. Or to deny the grit and determination that lingers at their edges.
“One year. Give it one more year.”
I’m not sure why tears well in my eyes. Maybe it’s because I’m so damn exhausted that I can’t figure out how I’m going to do this alone for another year. Or maybe it’s because I need to. The drive in me to prove that I didn’t give everything up—my family, my passion, years of my life—only to end up with an empty bank account, bad credit, and a guarded heart.
Regardless, I mean it when I make the promise to myself. If my word is not good with myself, then who in the hell would it be good with?
Gravel crunches on the road outside my window, and my shoulders sag when I see the cruiser kicking up dirt as it pulls down the road.
“Fricking great,” I mutter, already knowing what he’s here for. I give myself one last look in the mirror, promise again to give myself one more year, and then head out to see if my assumption is correct.
I already know it is.
When I step off the porch, my lips are in a welcoming smile as Rusty Chatsworth exits his cruiser. He slides his hat on and makes the leisurely stroll up my driveway to where I stand, his eyes looking here and there as he goes.
“Must be a slow day in town, Sheriff, if you came all the way out here to pay me a visit. Let me guess, the Marx brothers are out of town so they can’t cause trouble?”
He chuckles, his soft smile lighting up his dark blue eyes beneath his broad-brimmed hat.
“The Marx brothers are getting older now, Ms. Knox. One has a girlfriend and the other has joined the local 4H club and spends all of his time with his swine.” He tips his hat my way while I try to fathom how the two snot-nosed kids Fletcher said got caught swiping candy from the local market can be old enough to have girlfriends. “And yes, it is quite a slow day, but isn’t it always in Lone Star? It isn’t late enough for the drunks at Ginger’s to be falling out of their bar stools and it’s too early for the kids out joy riding to do just that . . . so yes, it’s a slow day, indeed.”