Page 19 of Then You Happened
“Hmm.”
It’s his only response, and if he does it to make me ask what it means, it works. “Hmm?”
“Just that I’m only the first step.”
“First step?”
“Yeah. I’m the first rung on the ladder. Who knows who else this person or persons may be calling and complaining to? Are they creating a legal record as recourse to try to get you shut down if they aren’t successful in running you off?”
“Rusty.” His name is a sigh of disbelief, but it isn’t anything I haven’t already thought of before. Hickman Ranch on the opposite side of town used to warn Fletcher of encroaching on their territory. The Destin twins and their protests to us buying the land when we moved here. So many sharks in these waters.
“I know you as best as you let anyone know you, Tate. I know you’re up here busting your ass all by yourself and that even if ranching isn’t your first love, you wouldn’t hurt a damn fly.” He tilts his head from side to side. “But the rest of the town doesn’t see what I see when it comes to you. They’ve never taken time to. Lone Star is a small town. You know that better than most. One mistake, and you’re judged. People talk, exaggerate, and pretty soon, the rumor becomes someone else’s version of reality. Then by mistake number two . . . you’re vilified.”
“What are you getting at?”
“While your husband ran up accounts and promised the moon while not delivering or paying his debts, you stayed like a queen in your castle, living that high life of yours.” I grit my teeth at the misconception but don’t react. “Then Fletcher goes and dies, and it appears as if you act like nothing has changed. Rumors fly that you’re still out taking those photographs you take. You still avoid town. You still think that you’re better than Lone Star. Maybe people just don’t know what to think, so they just fall into line with the gossip.”
It’s a circular argument that I’ll never win.
“And maybe they’re all just chauvinist assholes who can’t handle the thought of a woman running a ranch and a successful breeding program,” I counter.
Where his words should ignite my temper and put me on the defensive, all I can do is shake my head. I’m so damn tired of all of this that I can’t even find the effort to care anymore.
Even if I did, nothing would change the minds in this town.
Nothing.
I’ve tried.
“Look, I appreciate the pep talk, but—”
“You have to win the town over. Plain and simple. Fletcher may have charmed the pants off everyone with his promises to bring notoriety to Lone Star by breeding winning rodeo horses . . . but he stole your property right out from underneath the Destin twins by offering way over the asking price. Family roots run deep here in Texas and this here was their great-grandpapa’s land. That was the first mistake . . . and not delivering on those pie-in-the-sky promises was the second one. People here don’t take kindly to those who don’t follow through on their word.”
“And both of those things should have fallen on Fletcher’s shoulders, not mine, but here we are.”
The purse of his lips is slow, and his sigh is audible. His blatant silence when it came to the rumors in town about what exactly Fletcher did is noticeable. “Comments like that aren’t going to win anyone over . . . and technically, it was both of you.”
“Don’t you see that what you’re telling me doesn’t matter because I can’t change any of it? You tell me not to give up but then turn around and tell me that the only way to make good on what Fletcher did is to leave,” I counter.
“Just telling you like it is. You guys never caused me any problems out here. You have a highly desirable piece of land. I’d hate for someone to run you off it with all these threats. The best way to combat that is to make a name for yourself. One that Fletcher was unable to. Hire someone who knows their shit to help. Get customers to come here from all over to buy your foals.
No one will run a successful woman out of town when she’s bringing Lone Star some notoriety.”
I keep my eyes fixed on Ruby. Her legs are painted in spots of white and her muscles ripple beneath the surface with her every movement, putting on a subtle display of the winning blood coursing through her veins.
“She is a beauty,” he murmurs
“She sure is. She was Fletcher’s pie in the sky, sired by a Kentucky Derby winner, but after coming here and realizing how unrealistic breeding her was, he settled on quarter horses.”
“Smart move,” he says, stepping back from the fence, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he heads back to his cruiser without another word.
Even after his engine fades into the distance, I still stand against the fence.
Memories swirling.
Hope fading.
Uncertainty swelling.
