Page 83 of Cherry Tree Ranch

“She’s worried about you,” he pleads, without an ounce of emotion.

I wave a bandaged hand towards the black trees. “And yet this never would have happened if she hadn’t invited so many people to the party.”

“The bottom line is you can’t afford to wait this out. I have an investor friend who I told about this place.” He smiles. My dad actually smiles. “And, Dahlia, he’s interested in paying above market value to develop forty-acre ranchettes.”

My jaw drops. “Absolutely not!”

“You have no idea what it takes to get out of debt. Dahl –” he tries again to butter me up – “taking this deal could be the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I work my jaw sideways. “What percentage will you get if I sell to this guy?” I know my dad is always looking for the next deal, this time at my expense.

“That’s completely irrelevant.”

“But you would be getting a percentage?”

“It will be discussed.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I say, my blood boiling. “You were trying to get me to sell this whole time. Now, after finding out about the debt, you thought, it’s time to pounce. Well, guess what, Dad? I am not selling. I am not going anywhere. But you are. You need to leave!”

“Why don’t you step away now?” Dad tells Cash tightly.

“Cash isn’t going anywhere either.” I grit my teeth.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not.” Dad puffs out his chest. “Now that the ranch is yours. I bet he’d love to have his hand in all this. He probably had a hand in the fire too.” He speaks under his breath like a coward.

Cash takes a step sideways to leave, but I put my hand out and stop him.

I do my best not to scream. “He has a hand in the ranch because I want him to. And he had nothing to do with the fire. Are you kidding me?”

I’m about to walk away, then stop. I spin on my heel and decide to finally speak my truth.

“I’ve spent so much of my life doubting myself. With you, I can’t ever be a dreamer or be messy or say what’s on my mind. Well, I’m sick of second-guessing every choice I make – will it make you happy? Am I doing it right?” I throw my hands in the air. “Do you have any idea how much time and energy I spend thinking through every interaction with you? I anticipate your every reaction, trying to stay one step ahead. I do things the way you would do them, so I never disappoint.

“Well, I want to know what will happen if I follow my gut. I’m much more capable than you give me credit for. People like what I do, Dad. They like … liked the cherries with honey. And that came from me not doing things the way everyone else has always done them.

“You don’t have to believe I can do this. I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try, because it’s what feels right to me.” I slap my palm against my chest. “I won’t have regrets if I try, but I will if I give up.”

I realize in this moment of speaking up for myself that he has never once asked why I want the ranch. It’s the same old story – it’s all about what he wants for me. Always what he wants, what he wants, what he wants.

“Wow,” Dad says. “This is the thanks I get for everything I’ve ever done for you? You don’t understand because you live in your little world of believing things will always work out and that everyone has good in their heart, but that’s not real life, Dahlia.”

I scrunch my face in frustration. “I just lost my whole orchard. So, yeah, I know things don’t always work out. Even if I’m forced to sell in the end, you’re not getting one cent.”

“Well, let’s see how that works out for you.”

He turns coldly, gets in the Uber and leaves, throwing the listing agreement out of the window.

Adrenalin rushes through me. “He’s unbelievable!”

Cash gently takes my unbandaged hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know that wasn’t easy, but you were really brave, Dahlia. Come on, let’s go find Blue.”

We follow Blue’s hoofprints and step carefully over the mangled barbed wire he tore down as he escaped. He doesn’t have shoes on, which makes tracking him a little harder. The sun is sweltering and exacerbates the pain in my throbbing head and hand. Thankfully, there’s no sign the fire came close to his paddock. I pull strands of his black tail from the barbs on the wire, but can’t grasp them with my bandages.

“Here,” Cash says, taking the strands and stuffing them in his pocket. He uses a thumb to steal the tears from my cheeks and gives me another hug before we start up the steep hill behind the ranch.

Dense scrub oak claws at our skin, scratching our arms and backs as we duck under and fight through branches. We follow the tracks up on to the ditch trail. Water flows in the opposite direction of the ranch, down the ditch in a steady, beautiful stream. Part of me wishes I would be OK with myself if I busted the dam and diverted the water.

“Cash, look at this.” I point to where the ground is sloped and creased.