by Maree, Kay
I didn’t belong there, and I would never go back—that was a promise to myself I vowed to keep.
Brandon
Flicking my wrist, I re-checked the time.
“Shittin’ yourself, aren’t ya, boss?” Jake drawled from my side, his clean-shaven smirk lifting one corner of his mouth.
“Just making sure I’ve got time to head back and shower before the sheriff arrives.”
He barked a loud laugh. “You don’t usually shower before the fresh meat arrives. You got plans for this woman to be a little more than-”
“Christ, Jake. No!” I huffed and snatched my water bottle from the ground.
Before Jake became my ranch manager and close friend, he’d endured hard time within the confines of a jail cell. Freshly released after more than two years locked up, no one wanted to have anything to do with him. They either couldn't see past his dark skin or refused to look through the invisible stigma that clung to a felony—the kind that was impossible to shake no matter how far back in history it lay.
From my point of view, it was clear that when an inmate was released into the world after completing their sentence, the system anticipated they would do one of two things; either land on their feet, or stumble and bounce a couple of times before re-offending.
“She’s probably a dog anyway, Bran. Most jail bitches are. I mean, don’t get me wrong there’s the occasional polished stone in the rough, but mmh-” He bit into his lower lip and shook his head before giving it to me straight. “Those bitches are mean, bro. I hope you’re prepared because this girl is gonna cause more problems here than the average felon.”
The best damn chance I ever took was hiring Jake, and his struggle inspired me to make a difference for those going through the same difficulties. The ‘Second Chance Ranch’ program was born out of a pipe dream and designed to rehabilitate inmates with good behavior by allowing them to see out the remainder of their sentence working on my ranch.
It took a lot of convincing the local sheriff to support the initiative, yet judging by the participants I’d had through so far, what Jake and I were doing out here was proving to be beneficial.
After I’d finished drinking, I lobbed the bottle at him. He caught it one-handed, twisted the cap off, then downed the rest of the water.
“Firstly, Jake, we ain’t calling her bitch—have a little respect.”
Jake tossed the bottle behind us with zero care. “Sorry… Louisiana,” he drawled thickly with a wry smile. “She’s gon’ be trouble, Bran,” he mumbled and shook his head again.
“Second chances, Jake.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re too good, brother. I can’t take that away from you, even if I think you’re making a mistake with this one.”
There was the barest prickle of doubt in my mind over that exact issue; I, too, was worried that I had bitten off more than I could chew.
Six inmates had cycled through the program to date, and so far I hadn’t had any major issues. Today, the seventh was due to arrive in just over an hour, and out of all of them, this one made me the most nervous: a woman parolee was on her way across the state from the Montana Women’s Prison.
The deal with the local sheriff was that he organized the transfer and dropped the inmate at the ranch. Then he would let me mentor them. As long as they put in the effort and came here for the right reasons, they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted after completing their sentence. If they didn’t pull their weight or broke my trust, then there was a one-way police escort back to jail with their name on it. I’d had to dish out a hard word or two in the past, but never—yet—had to resort to removing someone from my ranch.
“I got your back though, boss.”
“Thanks for your sentiment, Jake. I’ll bear that in mind,” I deadpanned and turned my bare back to the midday sun.
The spring days were beginning to heat up, and the temperature combined with our manual labor created a thin sheen of sweat across my exposed skin. A recent wind-storm had ripped through the ranch and brought down a few trees. One of which broke the fence Jake and I were repairing.
With the broken posts replaced and the wires reconnected and tightened, we loaded our gear into the back of my pickup and made our way back to the homestead. It was an easy drive over a couple of smaller hills then across the flat fields that lead to the yard.
Coming from this direction, the family homestead was on the right, along with the ranch manager’s residence, the machinery shed come workshop, then the barn that doubled as the stables, and stockyards were on the left.
Jake still lived in the house with me instead of in the ranch manager’s dwelling, and that provided extra safety when an inmate was staying. Maybe I put too much trust in the relationship I built with each person who came through the program, but they knew what was at stake. In a world where second chances were hard to come by, it would have surprised me if they put that in jeopardy.
Pulling up outside the workshop, I grabbed equipment from the bed of the truck.
“You want me around for this, or should I start workin’ the colt?” Jake asked, following me with an armload of tools to put away.
“Grab some lunch then get started with him. I’ll bring Louisiana over for introductions once she’s settled.”
Jake tilted his head to the side and gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Righto. But remember, boss—no special treatment for the jailbird.”
To avoid a snarky retort, I waved him off and headed for the house, intending to have a quick shower before the sheriff arrived.
Brandon
A rolling wave of nerves turned my stomach over as the Sheriff’s car pulled to a stop in the yard.
I slapped my Stetson on my head, then jogged down the front steps to greet him with a firm handshake. “Wilson.”
“Nash,” he replied.
A flash of blond hair caught my attention through the back window, and my initial concern immediately changed to relief; blonds weren’t my type. Her wide blue eyes locked with mine through the glass before they narrowed into a displeased glower that simultaneously flattened her lips.
“She’s been quiet the entire drive. Might take this one a while to settle in, Brandon,” Sheriff Wilson informed me in a low tone. “Not sure she’s gonna cut it out here, to be honest.”
I forced my attention back to him. “She’s from the city?”
“Yes, Sir. I was a little surprised by her application, but who knows, she might prove me wrong.” He shrugged.
I reached for the car door handle and stepped back as I tugged it open. Like all good men around these parts, I then offered her my hand.
She ignored the gesture as she swung her feet to the ground, dragging a duffle bag from the back seat as she exited the car. Although she was reasonably tall, her figure was so slight that I knew my momma would want to feed her until the cows came home.
She held my gaze while Sheriff Wilson made flippant introductions. “Louisiana Carlyle, this is Brandon Nash. He’s the owner here.”
Extending my other hand, I smiled when her small palm slipped into mine. “Nice to meet you, Louisiana.”
A small and weary smile touched her heart-shaped lips. “You too, Brandon.”
Wilson rounded the car to grab the paperwork I needed to sign, and after a quick scribble of my name, he shook my hand vigorously again.
“Any problems, let me know.”
I got the impression he was expecting ‘problems’. “I’m sure it’ll be nothin’ I can’t handle,” I countered with an incline of my chin.
With a curt nod, the sheriff slid into his car then cast one last sideways glance at me and Louisiana standing side by side. Wilson was never one for cordial visits or lingering beyond the call of duty, but even for him, his departure was abrupt.
As the dust cloud settled on the gravel driveway, I turned to Louisiana and immediately felt as if I was being propelled toward a cliff face. Awkwardness settled between us as
we both glanced in all directions except at one another.
“Welcome to my home,” I finally said with a sweep of my arm to encompass our entire surroundings.
Louisiana turned to scan the house and yard, pausing briefly to watch Jake working the young colt in the stock ring.
“Thanks,” she murmured without conviction. “It’s... nice.”
Damn right it was nice.
Picking up her bag from where it sat at her feet, I nodded at the porch. “After you.”
Louisiana’s piercing blue eyes locked with mine and didn’t waver. “I can carry my own bag.”
My grip held firm despite her reaching for it. “I’ve got it.”
She snorted. “Do you carry the bags for the other felons that come here?”
I hesitated for a split second; she had a valid point. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped around her and gave her no other option but to follow my lead.
“No, ma’am, I certainly don’t. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Her footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. I’d already made a mental note that her canvas sneakers wouldn’t cut it out here. They had to go.
“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. I loathe it,” she snapped with a distinct edge to her voice.
Pausing at the top of the porch steps, I looked back over my shoulder. “What would you prefer to be called, darlin’?”
Seeing the action of her tongue darting out to swipe over her lower lip created a stirring within me that I neither expected nor welcomed. As if utterly compelled to, my gaze locked onto her mouth until it pressed into the same displeased line she’d worn minutes beforehand. This time the annoyance was also mirrored in her eyes.
“Darlin’ doesn’t sit well with me either. Louisiana is fine,” she clipped.
As she climbed the steps, I swung the screen door wide and gestured her through.
“Ladies first, Louisiana. I’ll show you to your bedroom—straight ahead, then up the stairs.”
She slipped off her shoes before cautiously stepping into my home, taking her time to absorb her new surroundings.
“The wood is cold to walk on,” she murmured as if wondering aloud.
I remained silent and watched with curiosity. Each of Louisiana’s footsteps seemed purposely placed on the knots and grain of the floorboards as she crossed the distance between the entrance and the foot of the stairs.
“When’s the last time you wore bare feet, Louisiana?” I asked.
“Too long,” she replied in a hushed tone as she climbed the stairs ahead of me.
Although the temptation to glance up was almost too hard to ignore, I made damn sure that my eyes didn’t wander up the back of her smooth, bare legs—which was a feat in itself since they were directly in my line of sight.
Professionalism Bran, I reminded myself.
“First on the right.” I cleared the thickness from my throat and followed her into the room. “It gets the morning sun. And you’ve got your own bathroom, so you don’t need to share the main one with me and Jake. It’s small, but does the job...”
Trailing off, I became rooted to the spot by Louisiana’s gaze that held the clarity of the sky on a cloudless summer’s day.
“You have a boyfriend?” she asked with an inquisitive lift of her brows.
I placed her bag on the floor and crossed my arms over my chest. “The only rodeo I partake in is the heterosexual kind, darlin’.”
When her eyebrows then pulled down at the center, I clarified. “I like women, not men.”
My jaw ticked when she turned her back. “Good for you,” she mumbled while taking in the decor that my sister Rory spent a shitload of my money ‘freshening up’.
The beats of quietness elongated as I took her in; fine blond hair hanging around her shoulders, slight build, shorts that were much too short, and the cutest knee caps I’d even damn seen. Since when could a woman’s knee caps be described as cute, or sexy, for that matter?
Urgently seeking a distraction, I thumbed over my shoulder. “I’ll show you around if you’re ready?”
Without a word, Louisiana followed me to the landing where I pointed out my room, Jake’s room, and the main upstairs bathroom. My movements felt tight and unnatural, and I had to fight hard against the urge to inhale her freshly laundered scent. Louisiana took me off guard the instant she emerged from the backseat of the Sheriff’s car, and her proximity had me unusually on edge.
Her footsteps were mute on the stairs as we descended side by side.
“If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask me or Jake. He looks like he would bite, but I can assure you that he doesn’t.”
My chuckle trailed off when Louisiana gravitated towards the large living room window and stared out into the yard. It commandeered the foreground before giving way to rolling pastures that met with the mountains, miles away and jutting sharply from the landscape.
“It’s beautiful,” Louisiana breathed with far more conviction than last time
Following her line of sight, a strong sense of pride and happiness ballooned in my chest; it wasn’t often that I took a moment to appreciate what I had, but as awe rolled off the little woman in front of me, I became equally captivated in the scene beyond the window as I did in her fragrance.
Quietly excusing myself, I left her to settle in without my presence. I debated over how much space to give her, and in the end, decided to lean against the yard fence where Jake worked with the colt.
“How’s she doin’?” he asked without breaking focus.
I hummed and resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder towards the house.
“Time will tell. She’s green as hell, Jake.” I rubbed at my chin—something I did when in thought.
While the usual trepidation of a newly released inmate arriving was present, the uncertainty was heightened with Louisiana. I needed someone who was robust and had the stamina for the long and sometimes back-breaking work on the ranch, and I had doubts over Louisiana’s resilience.
Jake’s eyes briefly snagged with mine. “That’s a rather cautious response, Bran. Little blondie got you all steamed under that plaid shirt of yours?”
I ignored his loud snigger and ran a hand over my chin again. “You done?”
His chuckle broke with a click of his tongue. A flick of the whip eased the colt into a canter, and Jake turned on the spot as he steered the horse in a wide circle.
“Dunno, boss, you gonna keep broodin’?” he called.
“I’m not brooding, but I’m not going to deny that I’m a little thrown with this one, man. I mean, she’s so damn petite. I don’t want to give her a free ride because that’s not what this program is about, but I can’t have her sloggin’ her ass off either.”
Jake’s focus didn’t waver. “She’s just done time, boss, so give her a little credit. My bet is that she’s a hell of a lot tougher than she looks.”
I contemplated his response and finally glanced toward the house. Louisiana had been left to her own devices for some time now, and I was beginning to wonder if I needed to be checking on her.
“Let her have a moment to breathe—she’ll be acclimatizing,” Jake advised, correctly interpreting my hesitation.
I trusted him. Over the years, Jake and I had a few conversations about his reintroduction to society where he’d spoken openly and frankly. His candid insight gave me an appreciation for what he, Louisiana, and the six other men who’d been through the program had been going through.
Not long after our conversation lapsed into silence, a scuffed footstep on the gravel made me snap upright. I turned to see Louisiana walking towards us with her jaw set firmly and determination in her stride.
Louisiana
I let out the breath I’d been holding when the screen door opened and Brandon’s heavy boots clomped down the front steps. Although relieved to be given some breathing room, being alone in the massive farmhouse immediately made me fee
l small and insignificant.
I reminded myself of why I was here. I had everything to lose yet everything to gain, and that was why I needed this opportunity of redemption to prove that I wasn’t the heartless felon I’d been made out to be.
The beauty here pulled in my soul and created a yearning I’d never felt before. Something shifted within me the moment I stepped from the Sheriff’s car—almost as if the ranch was welcoming me home. An overwhelming tightness squeezed in my chest, and only once I was sure that Brandon had left the house did I let the constricted sob bubble up from deep in my throat.
I was given a second chance away from the harsh confines of a jail cell, and I had to make it count.
While I grappled with my emotions, I stepped closer to the window and watched Brandon stride across the yard with a natural swagger. His movements were purposeful and strong, yet graceful in the way he held himself. He stopped at a thick-posted fence where another guy had a horse on a rope, guiding it in circles around him. Brandon set one foot on the lowest fence rail and appeared to be having a conversation. For minutes I watched their exchange, noting the way the shirt pulled tight across Brandon’s back when he propped both forearms on the top rail, and how he kept running a hand over his face.
Guys like him didn’t exist where I came from. Most of them were devious, conniving sons of bitches that didn’t hesitate to bring you to your knees. From what I’d experienced of Brandon so far, he was in a whole other league—in a good way.
Tearing myself away from the window, I went back upstairs to use the bathroom attached to my room. Despite it being everyday comforts for some, a private bathroom was high-end luxury compared to the exposed, barren amenities in jail. I looked forward to using the shower without having to keep my back to the wall and my mind alert. Many attacks occurred during the vulnerable moments within the shower block, away from the prying security cameras. Some guards even turned a blind eye from time to time, and that made me more determined than ever to keep my nose clean while I was in there. I wasn’t cut out for jail. I actually saw myself as a nice person. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time really fucked that up for me—thanks to my ex.