by Joanne Rock
“I’m sorry, Scarlett, but I need to get back home.” She stared down at the worn tire tracks she was following, grass encroaching on both sides. Cicadas made a high-pitched buzz while the sun beat down. “This morning has left me wrung out. Empty.”
“My brother was out of line back there.” Scarlett doubled her pace in order to keep time with Hannah’s determined march.
“He’s entitled to his opinion.” She blinked at the burning in her eyes. Beneath her feet, the grass got blurry and she cursed herself for crying over something she couldn’t change.
“Not when it’s so wrongheaded.” Scarlett took her hand and gripped it tight, forcing Hannah to stop unless she wanted to drag Brock’s sister with her. “Men aren’t always on our wavelength. At least, my brothers aren’t. Brock can tell you the kind of mood a horse is in the moment he walks in the barn. But a woman? Not so much.”
Hannah laughed. It was a watery yelp without much humor, but she appreciated Scarlett’s attempt to defuse the tension. “He’s great, actually. I screwed up by trying to hide things from him.”
“I get it.” Scarlett dug in her bag for a tissue and passed it to her. “And my mom obviously understood what was going on back there, too, which scares me.”
“I think she ran away from home because of him.”
“Antonio,” Scarlett clarified. “His father even admitted to me that he’s always worried his adopted son was a ‘bully’ and that’s why Eden never returned home.”
“I’d call him far worse than a bully, but I really can’t share any more—” There was a vibration under her feet that surprised her. Then a horse and rider came into view from around a bend.
Brock sat tall in the saddle on Aurora’s back, his tuxedo shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his black dress trousers tucked into dark leather boots. Her thoughts, and her gaze, stayed glued to him.
“Hannah.” Scarlett squeezed her hand to get her attention. “I just wanted you to know that I’ll talk to my mother. She’s not a scared seventeen-year-old anymore. She’s a woman of considerable power if she’ll step up and own it. And I feel sure she will.”
Hannah tore her eyes away from Brock. “What are you saying?”
Scarlett gave her a level look. She had a feminine flair in her dress, and an almost girlish beauty with her curls and wide blue eyes. But there was an absolute certainty about her, a grit and pride that only a fool would mistake.
“I’m saying Paige McNeill is an heiress two times over, and her word will carry weight in the court of public opinion. If we can get her to condemn Antonio, it’s going to be vindication for whoever you’re trying to protect.”
Hannah thought about what she was saying. If Paige spoke out against Antonio, shared her own story, it could be career-ending for the director. Hope would see some justice served even if she never brought charges.
But maybe, if she saw others speak out against him, she would, too.
In her peripheral vision, Hannah saw Brock dismount the horse and begin walking their way.
“That would be...amazing,” Hannah admitted, nerves jangling at the thought of talking to Brock. “Thank you.”
It would make her trip to Cheyenne well worth it if she accomplished what she’d set out to—to let the world know that Antonio Ventura was a sorry excuse for a human being who did not deserve his vaunted place in the film industry.
Scarlett gave her an encouraging smile before backing up a step. “I’m going to start my campaign with Mom right now.”
Brock’s sister stalked off in the direction she’d come from, toward the ranch house that was now out of sight. That left Hannah very much alone with the man who’d condemned her in front of his whole family.
“I’m leaving,” she told him, stuffing the tissue that Scarlett had given her into the pocket of the drapey, gray yoga shirt she’d thrown on this morning with her leggings. “I think that will be best for both of us.”
She had fresh clothes on while Brock wore his recycled tuxedo shirt and pants, yet he still managed to look like a brooding lord out of a Jane Austen novel.
“That won’t be good for me at all, Hannah, and I’m sorry that I’ve put you in a position where you feel like that would be best for you.”
He sounded so sincere. And maybe he was. But it didn’t change the things that had happened between them. It didn’t mean he would ever trust her.
She dragged the toe of her running shoe through the grass, thinking she was going to miss the wide-open spaces here. The never-ending blue sky. She wished Hope could have seen it.
“In the end, we had different loyalties. My family had to come first for me. They—she—always will.” She felt teary again and she needed to keep walking. Keep moving. “I’m in a hurry to get back now that I’ve made the decision. Do you mind if we continue walking?”
Brock whistled for the horse and the mare followed at an easy pace, nosing in the grass now and then.
“I know I overreacted today,” he told her as they strode deeper into the wooded area along the creek. “Everything has been so intense this week. Ever since we met, I’ve had a scandal hanging over my head, and a blackmailer to catch. Then, the amnesia made it ten times harder to be any help to my family when they needed me most. So when my memory came back this morning and it still felt like you’d left things out, I didn’t handle it well.”
“You’re protective of your family. I’m protective of mine. It put us at odds today.” And that broke her heart as she thought of what could have been between them if things had been different.
“It wouldn’t always.” He snapped a dead branch from a nearby tree and tossed it deeper into the woods, away from the trail. “That is, it doesn’t have to.”
She weighed the words as she allowed them to sink in, wondering if she was understanding him correctly, unable to squelch a flash of hope. Hope was scary, too, because she wanted to be a part of his life, to have more of those horseback rides and nights under the stars with him.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She picked up her speed, wishing she could outrun the hurt of losing him.
“I admire that you put your family first, even at the cost of you and me.” He bent sideways to pick a tall Indian paintbrush, never slowing his step. “But how many times in a life does something like this come up? How often would family put us on opposite sides?”
Hannah shook her head. “Maybe never. But what does it matter when we’ve already broken this fragile thing we were building? When you’ve already shown me how quick you are to not believe me? You threw me under the bus back there, Brock.”
“Like an idiot,” he agreed, his boots following the worn path of one tire track while she remained on the other, a strip of high grass between them. “But just so you understand, I was thinking of my family, too. I assumed you were an enemy to the McNeills when the investigator wanted to ask you about the blackmail scheme. I didn’t believe that for long. And if I’d had more time to think about it, I would have known you’d never hurt my family.”
She thought about that, trying to see things from his perspective. Wondering where all of this was leading.
“So you want to call a truce? Shake hands before I leave and part on amiable terms?” She stopped walking, needing answers. “Please tell me what you hoped to accomplish by following me out here, Brock, because—in spite of what you think—I have no love for secrets. I’d prefer we speak plainly. Put our cards on the table.”
Behind them, Aurora stopped to nuzzle through some grass. Hannah watched her because it was easier than looking at Brock, with his dark whiskers shadowing his jaw. She had too many memories of last night every time their eyes met.
“You want it plainly,” he said. “Here it is.”
She felt the soft brush of flower petals against her cheek as he encouraged her gaze. When she turned to see him, he tucked the
stalk of Indian paintbrush in her pocket.
“I let one bad relationship color the way that I saw you, Hannah, and I’m sorry.” He stepped closer as they faced off across the tall grass. “I pride myself on never making the same mistake twice, though, so if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me and give me another chance, I promise I’d never hurt you that way again.”
A bird chirped an optimistic song overhead, urging her to take a chance. To feel hope, and maybe even happiness.
The pull was so damn strong. Brock looked at her like she was the only woman in the world who mattered to him. The temptation to believe him, believe in the two of them together, was heady stuff.
“Let’s suppose for a second that I did that. I said, okay, we’ll try again.” Her chest filled with too many feelings just saying the words aloud. Talking to him about this was like lifting the lid on Pandora’s box and she was afraid she’d never be able to leave once the conversation started. She shook her head, willing her voice to stay strong. “What would that even look like? Hope lives in Los Angeles and she needs me there. You’re a successful rancher with livestock and family who need you here. I just don’t see a way to try.”
And even as she said it, she found herself hoping he had the answer to make it all work. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him in her life.
Brock lifted her hands, taking one in each of his. “Those are logistics. We can work around those. And if it came down to you and Hope wanting to be on the West Coast, I will gladly find a way to be there with you. The quarter horse program won’t end if I leave the ranch.”
“You would do that for me?” She thought about it for a moment, trying to picture that.
“Without a second thought.”
“I never really thought about moving Hope here, though. She might actually be open to a fresh start.”
The months of therapy hadn’t helped. Maybe a move would give her sister a chance to heal.
“We don’t need to decide today. I can fly back and forth until you’re sure. But, Hannah, I promise, we could make it work.” He squeezed her hands gently in his. “Maybe you could start by calling your sister. See if she wants to visit Cheyenne, just as soon as we get that bastard Ventura off McNeill lands forever.”
“I’d like that. And I think Hope would, too.” Hannah wanted to close her eyes and hold that vision tight. Hope here with her, finding peace in this beautiful land while she grew strong again. Except if Hannah closed her eyes, then she wouldn’t be looking up into the eyes of the man she loved, and she wanted to keep that vision, too.
“Like I said, those are things we can figure out as we go. What matters is if we want to—that is, if you want to—try. I already know how badly I want to.” He kissed the back of one hand. Then the other. “I’m in love with you, Hannah.”
His words shot through her confusion with the precision of Cupid’s arrow. The intensity in his blue eyes made her breathless.
“I’m in love with you, too,” she admitted, shaking her head, the worries sliding away in light of that one simple fact. “That’s why this all was hurting so much.”
Relinquishing her hands, Brock wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. The tightness in her chest eased, giving away to the warmth of a happiness so full and sweet she thought she might overflow with it.
“I don’t want to ever hurt you again,” he promised, kissing her hair, her forehead and then, tilting her chin up, her lips. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, and to help keep your sister safe.”
She smiled against him, her teeth nudging his as a happy laugh bubbled up. “I trust you to keep that promise.”
She wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself fully to him, giving herself over to the kiss.
They lost themselves in it, mouths moving together, until they were both breathless, the promise of a future together stoking passion higher inside her. She gripped his shirt, certain of what she wanted.
A forever with Brock McNeill.
He eased away slowly, tipping his forehead to hers.
“So we are in agreement.” He stroked her shoulders, warming her all over with one simple touch.
“Perfectly. I’m going to call Hope just as soon as we get home.” She wanted to phone Scarlett, too. She had the feeling Brock’s sister was going to be an amazing champion for Hope’s cause. “Maybe we can go on horseback?”
Her gaze slid to Aurora, remembering that first night with Brock.
His wicked chuckle told her that he remembered every delicious detail, too.
Epilogue
Nine months later
Hannah’s bags were packed. She finished zipping one of the designer suitcases that Brock had given her for Christmas, her brain full of lists and preparations for her first week away from Hope since her sister had moved to Cheyenne with her last fall.
“Are you sure you have everything?” Hope asked from her seat at Hannah’s dressing table, where she’d plopped herself with her tablet to oversee the packing. Hope had been working on a screenplay for the past two months, her thirst for writing returning in what her therapist called a good sign of her emotional recovery. “That doesn’t look like enough luggage for a Hollywood movie premiere and a vacation in wine country. You’re living the McNeill lifestyle now, Hannah. You deserve some extra luxuries,” she teased.
Hannah looked into her sister’s eyes, grateful every day she saw the spark of happiness flaming brighter and brighter there. Of course, Hannah had a lot to be grateful for lately. Antonio Ventura was facing prison on harassment and molestation charges. To date, over fifty women—including Hannah’s friend Callie—had come forward to add their voices to the case after Brock’s stepmother had shared her story with the police.
Hope hadn’t wanted to share hers publicly yet, and the therapist said they needed to respect her journey. Hope told Hannah she felt vindicated enough that he was behind bars, and she seemed to be thriving in Cheyenne, taking a part-time job exercising horses at the Creek Spill while she completed college classes online. She’d talked about returning to campus next fall, but for now, she had her own suite in Brock and Hannah’s home.
“I just don’t have the diva instinct, I guess.” Hannah had found a joy in the simpler rhythm of the days on the ranch, developing a special affinity for the cowboy boots that had been Brock’s “housewarming” present for her when she agreed to move in.
Like Hope, she found plenty to keep her busy helping out with Brock’s quarter horses, especially keeping the website updated with photos of the animals in training, and tracking each animal’s progress for interested buyers. Brock had said those stories had led to more and better sales for the ranch, so she was contributing. But like her sister, she was contemplating a second act. For Hannah, it might be in producing. She had a strong interest in bringing female-driven stories to the big screen, and it was a job that would give her flexibility, too. Something she’d need for the family she and Brock had talked about.
Hope shut off the screen on her tablet and set it on the dressing table, folding one foot underneath her. “It’s funny that you—a former Hollywood actress—moved to Cheyenne and forgot how to be a diva. While Scarlett—a rancher’s daughter—moved to Hollywood and has made a name for herself as the Diva Cowgirl.”
Hope was referencing Scarlett’s popular social media account that had attracted followers around the globe. Scarlett and Logan King were still a hot item, and Scarlett’s date nights always made great photo ops. If Brock wanted to know what his youngest sister was up to, he asked Hope, who could show him up-to-the-minute photos from Scarlett’s account.
But there was far more to the Diva Cowgirl than great clothes and glitter makeup. Scarlett had been instrumental in Antonio Ventura’s downfall, leading the charge against him in the media. Hannah loved her dearly.
“Diva or not, you’ll notice she still
comes home most weekends,” Hannah reminded her, wanting to plant it in Hope’s head that she could return to Cheyenne as often as she liked if she decided to move back to Los Angeles.
“That’s mostly because of Charlotte,” Hope added, sniffing one of Hannah’s perfume bottles. “She’s gaga over Cody and Jillian’s new baby girl.”
Their child was a double blessing since Jillian was a breast cancer survivor who had thought she’d never have children. Mother and baby were both thriving, and shortly after Charlotte had been born, Emma and Carson announced they were expecting, too. Emma had been glowing with happiness when they’d revealed the news over a Sunday dinner with most of the Cheyenne branch of the McNeill family.
Sadly, Emma’s mother had turned out to be Paige’s blackmailer, but Jane Layton had been found unfit to stand trial and, according to Emma, seemed more at peace now that she was receiving additional care for previously undiagnosed mental health issues.
“Of course she’s thrilled. We’re all excited for the baby,” Hannah agreed just as Brock stepped into her bedroom.
“Who’s having a baby?” Brock asked, dressed in a blue suit and white shirt with no tie, more handsome than any Hollywood leading actor, in her opinion.
But then, this was the man who made her heart beat faster with just a look. Like the one he was giving her now. The one that said they shared a secret. Hannah felt warm all over and was grateful when Hope answered for her.
“We’re talking about your brother’s new baby. Charlotte is too adorable for words, and I think I’ll go visit her if you two can ever get out the door to catch your flight.” Hope hopped to her feet, heading for Hannah’s luggage. “Want me to carry a bag down?”
Laughing, Brock strode past her, gently taking the bag from her hands. “Not a chance. One of the stable workers is going to load the car for me and drive us to the airfield.”
“Really?” Hope looked interested and headed for the door. “I hope it’s Chad. He’s the cutest.” She was already hurrying down the hall to look out the front window.