by Lia Riley
“I fixed it up,” he protested. And he’d been saving, socking away money for a down payment on a property of his own.
“I’m not in the mood for you and your excuses tonight. Dinner’s cancelled.”
“Fine.” Archer ground the toe of his boot trying to tamper his temper. It took a lot to get him going, but once he was set off? Hoo boy.
Grandma paused, coughing. “Here’s what I brought you here to say. I’m not getting any younger and it’s time I decide on an heir to the ranch. There’s a short list and, Archer Kane, so help me God, you’re on it.”
“Me?” His jaw dropped. “What about Sawyer? Or even Wilder?”
“I haven’t seen Wilder in years. By all accounts, which haven’t been many, mind you, it seems he’s content with his life in Montana. As for Sawyer, well, that boy’s happy as sheriff. It’s a role that suits his nature.”
Grandma’s voice betrayed a fondness that set Archer’s teeth on edge. She’d always favored Sawyer, never made it a secret. Even though Archer looked up to his middle brother something fierce, knew Sawyer was a good man and friend, a secret jealousy roiled inside him. It made him feel a little like Jan’s “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia” from The Brady Bunch.
Sawyer was the star pitcher in high school.
Sawyer never caused trouble with teachers.
Sawyer always helped others.
Sawyer had clear focus and exhibited a dedication to his career.
Sawyer bought property from Grandma and then built his own cabin.
Sawyer. Sawyer. Sawyer.
How did a guy like Archer compete with that?
Short answer? He couldn’t. But his whole idea of living like you might die tomorrow had one big error. At some point, he quit challenging himself, and responsibility avoidance became the safe road. What if embracing the moment didn’t mean anything goes, but jumping at the right chance when opportunity presented itself?
Grandma wanted an heir apparent to the ranch. Hidden Rock was a large and profitable landholding. The man, or woman, who owned it would become one of the most prosperous residents in the county, the kind of person who made something of themselves.
The type who could provide for a woman like Eden Valentina Bankcroft-Kew.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Grandma’s eyes hardened. “You’ve got what it takes to run this ranch in every way but the one that matters most. Do you understand how an operation like this works? Yes. Are you good with people, able to motivate them to work hard? Yes. Most importantly, this land is in your blood. Never forget, I came here as a twenty-year-old newlywed, scared to death, not knowing a tallyman from a tail rider. Five years later, I was a mother and a widow, with an extended family ready to snap this place from my clutches at the first sign of weakness. But I had the thing you lack—gumption. The sheer determination to stick it out, and that’s what I’ve done.
“The years haven’t been easy, life isn’t always a big party, but if you put your head down and focus, obstacles have a funny habit of falling away. I intended for this place to go to your father, but that fire took him from us far too soon. It doesn’t have to go to one of you three boys, but I’d like it to. I’d like it to go to you, if you can show you have the guts to knuckle down.”
Archer stared over the ranch, the animals grazing in the backfields, the mountains in the distance, and his blood stirred. This was home. He knew the property inside and out, had lived here since he was a four-year-old orphan.
Grandma appeared to measure his emotions. “Prove to me you’ve got the heart, and all this is yours.”
He passed a hand over his prickly stubble. If he became the heir apparent to Hidden Rock Ranch it wouldn’t be due to any act of benevolence. She’d own him and would no doubt ride his ass hard, but maybe the reward was worth the risk. High time to stop running away from responsibility and see what he was made of.
Instead of living up to his reputation, he’d create a new one.
For years he’d noticed simple ways to improve efficiencies, and what else could be better than working outside in God’s country? An image flashed through his head, of a fire-haired woman on the ranch house’s front porch, near the roses, a child clutched in each hand.
His children.
His woman.
“You have the summer to convince me.” Grandma snapped, glaring with an expression that said, Get your head out of the clouds.
Archer blinked. “What do I need to do?”
“Show me you can be an adult. Give notice at the dead-end dude-ranch job. No more trail rides for tips. No more running wild with tourist women. No more late nights at the bar. You will stay here, work hard, and learn the accounts. You don’t sneak off to Vegas and you sure as heck don’t engage in lewd sexual acts on Main Street.”
“Grandma, I told you—”
“Until the end of summer.” She held up her hands. “Part of me doesn’t know if you’ll last three days.”
“I can do it,” he said firmly.
“We’ll see.” Grandma narrowed her eyes. “We shall see if you’re the sort of man who puts up or gives up.”
“Oh, I’m putting up.”
“As long as you aren’t putting out. If I hear you’re wasting time with random women, that’s it . . .” She mimicked cutting with finger scissors. “Chance over.”
“No random women.” He didn’t care about women, only one woman, but no point splitting hairs when Grandma inadvertently left him a big gaping loophole. “Deal.”
He stuck out his hand.
Grandma stared at it.
“Go on, or do you want to spit shake?”
“Not on your life.” She shook it.
Damn, she had a firm grip for an eighty-year-old woman.
Despite the weight of responsibility descending on his shoulders, a lightness filled him. He had a purpose. Get the ranch. Get the girl. Life appeared to be a series of choices. Merely wishing for dreams to come true wasn’t good enough. To unlock what life has to offer, he had to be willing to admit he was the key.
Chapter Nine
IT DIDN’T TAKE long living in Brightwater before Edie realized two facts: (1) She was going to open up a coffee shop, she’d even thought of the perfect name, Haute Coffee. It would have a small, ever-changing menu and offer only the highest quality caffeinated beverages. (2) Archer Kane had a reputation that would make a drunken sailor blush.
If she casually dropped his name into a conversation with a local, she’d immediately be met by a knowing smile and a “Did you hear about the time . . . ?”
Did you hear about the time Archer Kane got caught bare-assed in the back of a Buick at the rodeo grounds?
Did you hear about the time Archer Kane helped the lost French tourist find more than directions to Lake Tahoe?
Did you hear about the time Archer Kane hooked up at the radio station and accidentally live broadcast it to the entire town?
I heard that was a threesome . . . No, a foursome . . . Uh-huh, a bona fide orgy.
Did you hear about . . . ?
She’d hoped the discovery would make it easy to put that ruggedly handsome cowboy out of her mind. But the man everyone described wasn’t the man she met. It was hard to reconcile the two sides. But then, hadn’t she gotten everything wrong with Reggie? Her ex-fiancé had pulled the wool over her eyes and anyway, she didn’t need to get distracted.
This was a time for looking forward.
She signed a lease on the old five-and-dime, delighted to discover it came with a one-bedroom apartment upstairs. The plaster on the walls was cracked and the floors were crooked in subtle but noticeable ways. It was a place that would horrify Mother but she wasn’t Eden Bankcroft-Kew anymore. Her family fortune was safely out of Reggie’s sticky fingers, and she spared no time assembling a team to retrofit the old store into the coffee shop of her dreams. What should take months could be accomplished in half the time, for the right price.
Edie had waited her whole life for something to happen. S
he didn’t mind paying extra to make that something start as soon as humanly possible.
Despite her wealth, she didn’t want to be viewed around Brightwater as a Bankcroft first, connected to her cousin’s vast riches, which rivaled her own. Quincy argued this point until he was blue in the face but she didn’t budge. She needed a fresh start, and Edie Banks was a reboot of her old self. The alter ego she’d always imagined while suffocating in her sumptuous Upper East Side penthouse. Her trust was helpful, but she wanted to work, she wanted to be simple, she wanted to be normal.
Edie Banks could live in a dingy apartment while creating her own thriving business.
Edie Banks was independent.
A warm sensation spread through her chest like a ray of sunshine. She bent and slipped into her running shoes, lacing them up. Happiness, yes that was the feeling coursing through her. Happiness to be living beneath these beautiful mountains. Happiness to be taking control of her life. Her past was just that, and all she wanted to do now was race toward the future. Edie Banks would also compete in the Sierras’s half-marathon at summer’s end, a perfect way to burn off the confections she’d been sampling in her kitchen, plus serve as a tangible reminder she remained tough, in body and spirit.
She fled the back door and took off down The Dales’ long driveway. This was her last night at Quincy’s. Tomorrow she’d be moving to the new apartment, becoming Edie in earnest. Reggie hadn’t contacted her again, but unease lingered that he’d disappear so easily. He was a Wall Street shark, clearly saw her as an investment, and played not only to win, but also to obliterate the competition.
She increased her pace, breathing hard. Moving to Brightwater was an unexpected opportunity. As much as she hated the impetus, there was no denying her new home felt . . . well . . . homey. She loved shopping at the Save-U-More, greeting the cashiers on a first name basis. There was a bench in the town square beneath a maple tree that always received the perfect amount of dappled afternoon sun. The fresh air zapped stress and there was a security in being surrounded not by concrete and advertisements, but jagged peaks and forest, a scene that inspired child-like wonder. Life in New York was no picnic—sure it had more than its fair share of glitz and excitement, but amid the bustle and relentless pace she often felt utterly alone.
The country road was quiet, and cool morning air filled her lungs. God, she loved this, really loved this. Running early in the morning when the rolling fields were blanketed in light fog, the sun hovering but not quite breaching the peaks. These were mornings to believe in dreams. Not dreams of a stale, safe life with a man who didn’t truly love her but one where she could someday have that dinner table surrounded by family, messes, and children’s laughter. But instead of Reggie sitting beside her, there could be another man, a good man, with the laugh and easy smile.
If thoughts of a certain cowboy entered, wondering where he was, what he was doing, she pushed herself harder. Soon, sweat slicked her back and she reached a long driveway right as her watch beeped the four-mile mark, her halfway point for today. She’d been going farther every week, getting stronger and faster. Bracing her hands on her hips she peered through the trees, caught sight of a run-down white farmhouse up the hill, the roof canting to one side and covered in a thick sheath of moss.
A sign near the mailbox hung on one hook, squeaking in the breeze—“Five Diamonds Farm.” “Diamond in the Rough” would have been a better choice. She paused to do a series of quad and calf stretches as a cloud of dust kicked up farther down the gravel road. A truck approached, not Archer’s green Philomena. She couldn’t help checking any truck she saw these last few weeks. In ranch country this meant having a perpetual swivel neck. Stupid, but she wasn’t able to stop. Since leaving her at The Dales, Archer had made himself scarce. He’d called to check on her once and she was polite, distant even, as the phone shook in her hands. His deep, friendly voice affected her whole body, imagine what seeing him again would do?
The truck geared down abruptly, slowing to a crawl. Edie waved cautiously, aware she was alone on a backcountry road. Relief sank through her to see an elderly woman behind the wheel, peering through turquoise bifocals and leveling a stern scowl. If looks could kill Edie’d be on the ground with a kill shot blasted through her forehead. Then, just like that, the older woman hit the accelerator and tore off.
Edie coughed in the ensuing dust cloud. Who knew what had gotten into that woman. Make a mental note to avoid her at all costs in the future.
Add that bullet point right after the one about no messing around with a cowboy flirt. This was the time to be disciplined. Focused.
But Quincy kept the “Boys of Brightwater” calendar in his kitchen, tucked in a junk drawer. She’d found it while searching for a teaspoon, snuck a peek, and there on the cover was Archer. All those delicious muscles keeping her up at night were on display for her own personal ogling. And despite what she heard around town, she kept creeping back to drool over that dang calendar. It’s okay to look if you never touched, right? It was clear Archer had made conquests all over town. Did he want her to be another? Her mind raced at the possibilities, even as it felt dangerous, like accelerating toward a cliff. Safer never to find out.
ARCHER STEPPED THROUGH the doorway into the Brightwater sheriff’s office. Straight ahead sat the deputy, his second cousin, Kit, sleeves rolled to reveal half of the Semper Fidelis tattoo inked across his forearm, black boots perched on his desktop. The radio was turned to full volume. Over the speakers, someone shared their opinion, loudly. Another person chimed in, talking over them. He knew those sorts of talk shows made Sawyer’s skin crawl. Everyone had the right to vent, but who needed to hear it? The only reason his brother tolerated the noise was because Kit couldn’t deal with the alternative, silence.
“What crawled up your ass?” Kit called. “You look as down as a lone kid on a seesaw.”
“Good day to you too.” Archer wandered to Sawyer’s big center desk, and took a bite out of the peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich sitting on a square of wax paper. His brother had been eating the exact same lunch for nearly twenty-nine years. Steady, predictable—that was Sawyer. Archer moved to set the sandwich back down when his brother seized his wrist, not looking up from the report he was reading.
“Touch my food again and you’re a dead man.”
“Don’t think executions fall under your jurisdiction.”
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Kit raked a hand through his ginger hair. “Your bar stool is getting cold over at The Dirty Shame. I was wondering if we’d have to order a search party.”
“Take Sawyer along. He could use a drink.” Or five.
“That guy?” Kit cocked a chin at Sawyer with a grin. “Nah, he’s a long beard and a few mumbles away from being a hermit.”
“That guy,” Sawyer muttered, turning the page on his report, “is your boss. He has the authority to fire your ass.”
“Ah, you’d miss me too much,” Kit said good-naturedly. “But seriously, where’ve you been, man?”
Archer shrugged. The Hidden Rock deal was between him and Grandma. No one else’s business. “Just tired from working.” That part was the gospel truth. Up at five a.m., he wasn’t hitting the pillow until eleven at night.
“Do I need to get you an AARP card?” His cousin chuckled low and long. Kit liked serving up shit, which would be fine, if he’d take his own medicine. He tapped a deck of cards on the table. “How about some Texas Hold ’Em, boys?”
“I’m up to my neck in paperwork,” Sawyer said tersely.
Archer knew he didn’t like to gamble. That’s fine. Some men made their own luck, and his brother was one. But it was time to stop being jealous of Sawyer. His brother worked damn hard and Archer was learning sustained drive and dedication were traits to admire in a man.
“It’s not goin’ anywhere,” Kit wheedled. “Come on, man, one quick game. Stop being the boss for once.”
Sawyer whistled for his dog Maverick to come over and he gave
it an affectionate scratch behind the ears. “Lucky bastard. No one questions your choices.” He glanced between Archer and Kit with his customary stoic expression. “I want to finish up and take this guy out for a run.”
Archer rocked on his boot heels, in possession of a bit of information that would certainly fluster his unflappable brother. “Hey, Sawyer, guess who I saw parking outside the Save-U-More this morning?”
“No idea.”
“That’s why they call it a guess.”
Sawyer folded his arms behind his head. “I never guess.”
“Guess not.”
“Wise guy.” The phone on his desk rang, and Sawyer picked it up.
Wait until his big brother found out Annie Carson, his first love, was back in town after ten years. She’d grown up on the farm next to the Hidden Rock Ranch, the younger daughter of Kooky Carson, a local artist who might be a world-famous photographer, but was locally famous for staging the first and only hug-in at the Brightwater Town Square, and often espoused theories that airplane contrails were actual poison from the government or that aliens from Area 51 were relocated to the valley for integration.
Annie didn’t seem to have any screws loose, but he couldn’t wait to see his brother’s reaction when he discovered she was home. He for one, looked forward to seeing his collected brother get a little rattled. But if Sawyer wanted to shoot him down, he could discover this information the hard way, by himself.
Besides, he wasn’t here for Annie.
Sawyer hung up while Kit muttered under his breath. Brightwater wasn’t a hotbed of law enforcement. Did the small-town beat get boring for his cousin, especially after two tours in Afghanistan? Kit never said. He’d ramble like a smartass all day, but never about himself.
Well, too bad, Archer wasn’t here for a card game either. He’d heard whispers about Edie’s new shop buzzing around town, and not the good kind. He might not be a genius, but it didn’t take too many brain cells to determine the source of the ugly rumors. Marigold Flint had been working overtime to make sure Freckles’ dream was dead on arrival.