4. Reed

4

Reed

Seven years ago

T he drive from my house to the barn was always bumpy, my tires rolling over dried hoof imprints and holes in the makeshift trail. I lived on the far side of my parents’ property and made this trip daily. It was a routine ingrained in my bones, so much so that I knew where every dip was, which to avoid and which weren’t as bad.

The truck jostled back and forth over every divot in the path, dirt kicking up in the wind and blowing inside my old pickup. It was on its last leg, but it was free, so I used it as the work truck on the ranch.

I’d already fed the cows, so next on my agenda was to trim the rescue horses’ hooves, something I did about every six weeks. Sometimes we had so many of them that it’d take a couple days to get through the bunch, but right now, we were a little low on rescues with six of them having just gotten adopted out last week.

To get to the barn, I had to use the trail that cut across one of the pastures. The drive was easily the most beautiful, peaceful commute to work anyone could ask for. The meadows of Idaho stretched on forever, butting up to hills and mountains, all of which surrounded Bottom of the Buckle Ranch.

It was why I’d built my house on the other end of their property. Without having to pay for the land, I’d easily been approved for a construction loan and designed the whole place myself. It was secluded, but close enough that if my parents or siblings needed anything from me, I was only a few minutes away.

I got out to open the gate before driving through, making sure to close it behind my truck so no cows escaped. On the rare occasion Bailey forgot to close it, my dad would give him hell. He did it with love, though. We all knew my father, somewhere deep down inside him, was never truly mad at any of us. He was a tough love kind of guy.

Bringing my truck to a stop outside the barn, I opened my door to find my sister beelining it for me.

“Don’t bother getting out of your truck,” Lettie called.

“What is it today?” I mumbled under my breath, quiet enough to where she couldn’t hear it over my exhaust.

“You better not have just said something mean about me,” she said, coming within a foot of me before she stopped.

“I’d never.”

She rolled her eyes. The concept was true, but she knew her brothers would never stop giving her shit. It was practically our job. She was our only sister.

“I need you to pick up Brandy,” she said.

“Can’t someone else? I’ve got work to do.” I didn’t hate Brandy by any means—she just wasn’t the greatest influence for Lettie. She was always talking her into doing stupid shit, and if I had half a mind, I’d think she did it to intentionally piss me off. Brandy was that kind of girl; she’d find out you didn’t like something and do it ten times over again just to spite you.

Lettie held a hand up to block the sun from her eyes. “Everyone else is busy.”

“Doesn’t she have a car?” I knew the one she drove like it was my own. A faded white and orange ‘69 Bronco with cream rims and a cracked windshield.

“It’s not running right now.”

“And that’s my problem because…?”

“Because she needs to come over.”

I shrugged. “Horses can wait for her to work them.” Brandy had been coming by the ranch for years to help our mother with the rescue horses, whether it be desensitizing, training, or medicating them. It also came in handy that she knew how to do various ranch chores as well. I had to admit—seeing her fix a fence was pretty cute, if that was even possible. I wasn’t a blind man. Brandy Rose was an attractive woman. But that didn’t cover up the fact that she was as dangerous as she was pretty.

“Please, Reed. Just this once,” Lettie begged.

I heaved a sigh, staring out my windshield with my hand draped over the steering wheel. “Fine. Is she ready now?”

“Yes! Thank you! I’ll text her to let her know you’re on your way.” She leaned into the cab, giving me a quick hug before she pulled her phone out of her back pocket to text Brandy.

“Mhmm,” I mumbled, closing the door once Lettie stepped away.

It wasn’t too far of a drive to Brandy’s mother’s house, taking me about twenty minutes until I was pulling up to the curb. I didn’t have her number, and honking felt rude, so I waited in the truck. I assumed Lettie had given her an ETA, but after about fifteen minutes of sitting there, I was beginning to think she wasn’t going to come out.

After hearing the windchime rustle in the wind for the millionth time, I checked my phone to see that ten more minutes had passed. If I had to hear that twinkling sound again, I’d likely lose my mind, so I tossed my cell on the seat beside me and opened the driver’s side door.

My boots hit the asphalt and I closed the door behind me before rounding the front of the truck, heading up the path to her front door. Halfway there, the door swung open, stopping me in my tracks. Brandy appeared as she squeezed through the few-inch gap she gave herself, then quickly closed it behind her. Her eyes were on the doormat, her hand gripped tight on the strap of her bag. She stepped down off the concrete porch, then looked up to find me standing there. She covered up her brief look of surprise easily.

“Impatient, much?” she snapped, brushing past me as she headed for my truck.

Even with those two words, I knew something was off.

Her shoulders were slightly slumped, her usual snarky tone dim. This wasn’t the sassy Brandy I knew.

She was already in the passenger seat by the time I turned and headed back for the driver’s side.

“Lettie said you were ready to go.” I shifted into drive and headed out of the neighborhood.

“I was,” she replied.

“She told you I was on the way,” I stated.

“Yeah, and?”

“So why’d it take you so long to come out?” Really, I didn’t care about having to wait. I wanted to know why she emerged from that house looking like a butterfly caught in a glass jar with no way out.

“I was busy.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Busy with what?”

I was pushing her buttons, igniting that flame deep inside her. Brandy wasn’t herself without that heat.

She whirled on me. “Is it really that important?”

I didn’t even have to glance her way to feel her bright hazel eyes on me.

“No need to get defensive,” I said, keeping my gaze on the road.

She stared at me a minute, presumably glaring, then turned her focus back out the windshield. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the seat.

The cab was quiet for a few minutes before she quietly said, “My dad hit my mom.”

My boot slammed on the brake, the tires screeching across the pavement as the truck slid to a stop. No one was behind us on the desolate road, but my eyes stayed trained on the side mirror. Every cell in my body raged at what she said, yet I was frozen. I couldn’t move a finger if I tried.

She didn’t say a word. Just sat there staring out the windshield.

My teeth ground together, my jaw threatening to crack.

“Can you at least get out of the middle of the road?” she asked, still attempting—and failing—to keep that sass in her tone.

I pried my foot off the brake, easing the truck to the dirt pull-off. I didn’t put it in park. I couldn’t . My left hand was glued to the steering wheel, possibly crushing it to bits under my grip, and my other hand was fisted on my thigh so tightly I was surprised a finger didn’t crack. I was one second away from turning back and making her father regret he put a hand on her mom.

“Reed, you’re scaring me.”

Another grind of my teeth. A tick in my jaw. An urge to turn around and beat the living shit out of her dad.

It all ran through me at once.

And I thought she was just taking her time getting ready, doing it to piss me off. Behind that front door, hell had broken loose. How long before I arrived did it happen? Was I sitting there when his knuckles connected with her skin? Or was it his palm?

“I thought your dad left years ago,” I managed to get out.

“He did.” There was no rise in her tone, no quick breaths from her lungs. She was calm. “But he comes back now and again.”

“How often?” I gritted out. My voice was low. So lethally low. And yet, she didn’t flinch.

“Every few months,” she answered.

“No. How often does he hit her?”

“Oh,” she said, a bit deflated, like she didn’t want me to ask that. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” I repeated. I turned to her then, prying my hand from the steering wheel.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t cry. No, Brandy was too stubborn for tears. “When he comes home.”

I stared at her. Just fucking stared as the question I wanted to ask, needed to ask, sat on my tongue like an anchor. If I got the answer I dreaded, there’d be no pulling me out of the sea of rage.

“Does he hit you?”

She looked at me then, and I saw all the hurt. Brandy was laid vulnerable in a way she never wanted to be. “No.”

“Are you lying?”

Her mouth formed a thin line. “No.”

“If I find out you’re fucking lying, Brandy—”

“You’ll what, Reed? Go in there and save the fucking day?”

A burst of air flew through my nose as I looked back out the windshield. I ran a hand along my jaw, wishing I could alleviate the ache that had formed with how tense it was.

“Let me guess. Brandy Rose doesn’t want saving.”

I looked back to her, her eyes darting around my face.

“You need to stay out of it.”

“Does Lettie know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because not everyone needs to know what goes on behind closed doors.”

I shook my head, not bothering to turn on my blinker as I pulled back onto the road.

Brandy didn’t want those secrets coming out, and I understood that. Tough, little Brandy didn’t want to be saved, but I was determined to open every single one of those doors she hid behind.

She could ensconce herself behind a damn brick wall if she wanted, but it wouldn’t be from me.