Chapter 3

three

. . .

River

I might as well have been staying in a hotel for all the personality the guest room offered here at the ranch. Walker had offered me the primary suite, saying it was technically mine now, but the thought of sleeping in Senior's old room creeped me out. Instead, I'd claimed the room I'd always used whenever I spent the night here. While I'm sure a few things had changed over the years, to my eye it was exactly the same. Same bed, same desk, same pictures on the wall. It even smelled the same.

The only thing different was the attached bathroom. Senior had upgraded it to include not only a large walk-in shower, but an epic egg-shaped soaking tub. I saw myself spending hours in that thing. I had close to ten thousand hours to spare until I could get out of here. I was pretty sure I could waste at least half of those taking long, luxurious bubble baths. That would probably piss Cross off, especially if I used all the hot water every day.

The likelihood of that in a place this size was pretty much nonexistent, but I had my Petty Betty pants firmly in place and no intention of removing them anytime soon.

Restless energy coursed through me at the thought of having to stay here, with him , for so much longer than I'd planned. But now that Senior'd had his say, I had no other options. Especially not with the ticking bomb in my luggage. I was trapped here for the sake of so much more than a house and some property.

My hands shook as I unzipped my overnight bag, pulling out the manila envelope I'd stashed inside for safekeeping. I'd always thought a package like this would come with serial killer handwriting or letters cut out from a glossy magazine. But even without those classic details, it felt sinister enough to be a threat. My name was the only thing scrawled across the front, which meant someone had been tracking me. That was the only way for it to show up at my little Alaskan hideaway like it did, shoved into the mail slot and waiting for me to wake up.

That thought alone was terrifying. What had I done to earn myself a stalker?

But it was so much worse than that because whoever my mysterious pen pal was, they weren't interested in me. Not really. This was about my parents. More specifically, the manner of their death.

Just reaching for the contents made my heart race, even though I already knew what was inside. The images burned themselves into my brain after my initial inspection, and I'd never be able to unsee them.

Nausea was a ball in my stomach as I pulled out the stack of crime scene photos, the little Post-it fluttering down to my lap as my eyes zeroed in on the destruction captured in all its horrific glory. I knew the mangled car well, but now it looked like nothing more than a lump made of sharp edges and broken glass. It was impossible to look away from the sight because my mother's sightless eyes stared at nothing from where her body had been laid out right next to my father.

Bright red blood covered their clothes. Mom's favorite date night dress and Dad's white button-down a shocking crimson. They'd told me the accident had killed them instantly, but this said differently. These photos were clear as day. And so were the bullet holes in each of my parents' foreheads.

I picked up the sticky note and swallowed the bile threatening to rise in my throat.

It wasn't an accident.

They're not who you think they are.

This was the real reason I'd be staying in Devil's Grove, Texas, for the foreseeable future. Not because of the Cross family. Not because of some ridiculous will. My parents were murdered.

And I was here to figure out who killed them.

I'd missed a lot of things about Texas when I moved away ten years ago, but the oppressive heat wasn't one of them. As I walked the grounds, headed for the stables, I wiped sweat off my brow and wished like hell I'd brought something more appropriate for the warm weather. I swore I could feel myself getting sunburnt through my jeans. At least I'd thought to bring a tank top.

Something in my chest loosened as the barn came into view, only to immediately seize up again as I noticed the man sitting in the shade polishing tack. The enormous man. His face was obscured by the brim of his straw cowboy hat, but I didn't need to see his features to know he was formidable.

"Who the fuck are you?" he grunted without looking up at me.

I stopped, one hand on my hip as I assessed him. "Who the fuck are you ?"

"You're not supposed to be here. Cross told Walker not to let his buckle bunnies roam the grounds unattended. This is a working ranch. It's not some resort."

Anger swelled hot and fast. I blamed my run-in with Cross for a lot of that. I was usually a pretty even-keeled girl and knew how to keep a level head no matter the situation. After the last ten years, I'd needed to. I wouldn't have survived otherwise. But being back here with hundreds of memories haunting me, I had none of my usual cool.

"Who the hell are you calling a buckle bunny, you sorry excuse for a rodeo clown?"

Bear would be proud of me. He'd taught me to fight for my place in the world. Stand my ground and not let anyone walk all over me just because I looked sweet.

That got the surly cowboy to look up from what he was doing, his bearded jaw not hiding the twitch of his lips. "I call ‘em like I see ‘em. I know a bunny when I see one."

"Is that how you talk to your boss?"

Gunmetal gray irises, a color I'd never seen, locked on mine. "What?"

Bolstering myself with all the bravado I could muster, I approached him, hand outstretched. "River Adams. New owner of Twisted Cross Ranch. And you are?"

"Bishop."

Apparently that was all he intended to say on the matter. He also didn't offer me his hand.

"Is that your only name? Traditionally most people have two."

"It's the only one I'm going to give you until I verify your story. I don't make a habit of giving strangers personal details about myself."

"You don't make a habit of manners, either."

He grunted.

"So the southern gentleman gene skipped you, huh? Noted."

"Suppose so."

"How many of you are there?"

Bishop went back to polishing the tack he still held between his fingers. "Well, boss, I guess that's something you should do your research on, now isn't it?"

The temptation to pop him right in his pretty face was high. Sadly, it wasn't the urge to turn to violence that shocked me.

Pretty? We think the asshole is pretty? What the hell is wrong with you, River, that you step one foot back on this ranch and are immediately attracted to toxic men?

"It seems like it. Maybe I'll look into budget cuts while I'm at it. My asshole quota has already been filled."

His lips twitched, and what could have been a snort of amusement or derision left him as he stood. He sauntered past me without so much as a ‘how do,' leaving me to gape after his towering form. The guy was six-five, six-six—maybe taller—and built with the kind of muscles only years of hands-on hard work could create. He was all coiled power and grace, wrapped up in ironclad control. This was not a man prone to fits of whimsy. Just one interaction had been enough to show me that. He was all about structure, and anyone who threatened that stability was to be held in the highest suspicion, if not outright mistrust.

Put all of those things together, and I had no trouble imagining him in fatigues. Or a loincloth... all oiled up, maybe?

Jesus, River.

What could I say? I'd been going through a dry spell, and coming back here was like offering salt water to someone stranded in the desert. It would be really bad for me, but that didn't mean I wouldn't crave it. Cowboys were my weakness. They always had been.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly parched as he faded from view, but the deep rumble of his voice still echoed in my mind. Why was I attracted to mean men? First Cross, now Bishop.

No.

Cross was off the table. Just because he was handsome and perfect and he made me feel like the only girl in the world one time didn't give him a place in my heart. No matter how many flutters he set off in my bathing suit parts.

Though I'd be lying if I said anyone else came close to matching those flutters.

I'd had other partners in the last ten years, obviously. But no one held a candle to Cross and the things he'd done to my body. In a matter of hours, he'd ruined me for anyone else. And I was still paying for it years later.

Bastard.

My phone buzzed from my back pocket, startling me out of my Cross-induced spiral. God, I didn't want to be here. I was already losing sight of who I'd worked so hard to become simply because the man was in my vicinity.

Pulling my cell free, I glanced at the screen, grinning as the only name I expected to see was displayed. Bear. My protector. My confidant.

Bear: You were supposed to text me when you landed. It's been hours.

Me: Sorry. It's been crazy. And we both know you tracked my flight the whole way here, so you already know I landed safely.

Bear: So? We had a deal. You go without me, you check in regularly.

Bear: How you holding up, cub?

Me: It's about what I expected. Give or take a few surprises.

Well, that was certainly one way to frame how Senior had pulled the rug out from beneath us all.

Bear: Need me to come down there?

The offer was a tempting one. More for the support than the protection. But there's no way the Cross brothers would react well to a man like Bear showing up on their property. My property?

I sighed, already picturing how that would play out. Best to leave it as my ‘nuclear' option.

Me: No.

Me: Not yet.