“A conflict of interest because I want to sign a contract with Slipping Rock for my restaurant? What a lame excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. I’m the heir—”
“Don’t say another word, Kellan. I don’t want to hear your lies. I’m such an idiot, falling for no-good cowboys all the time.” She pushed against his chest. “Stupid, stupid me for thinking you were different.”
“I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you.”
She sniffed in a deep, fortifying breath. “Take me home. And don’t say another word about how regretful you are or how much you wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’m through listening to two-faced, low-down cowboy bullshit. Once and for all.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Kellan screwed up his mouth in a look of pain. Then, his expression turned flinty and he nodded. “I was wrong to bring you here tonight. But this conversation is far from over. When we’ve both had time to cool off, you and I are going to sit down and you’re going to hear me out.”
He turned on his heel and marched from the room.
Amy’s back muscles twinged as her mount, Nutmeg, surged along a steep trail over the rolling hills of Sorentino Farm. Her lips were tender from contact with Kellan’s stubbled face the night before, but on her morning horseback ride with Rachel to check the irrigation lines to their southwestern pasture, it was her thighs that commanded all her attention with an ache of awareness. Kellan’s mark.
Rachel led the excursion, her body fluid but strong in the saddle, her worn winter coat billowing in the breeze, and her ponytail swishing below the brim of her hat. Despite their frequent bickering and clash of personalities, Amy was proud of the woman Rachel had grown into—an unflappable force, the rock of the family that neither of their parents were.
While Amy had fled New Mexico in pursuit of her dream, Rachel stayed home and held the family and their farm together. If she sometimes felt weak or scared, she never showed it. She never wavered. From Amy’s earliest recollection of Rachel, three years her senior, she’d risen before dawn every day of the year, come snow or rain or record-breaking heat, and worked the farm. Taken care of business. Taken care of everyone.
At the crest of the trail, Rachel brought her mount to a stop. Amy pulled alongside her. The wind blew harder here than it had on the trail, whipping up from the valley to bite at her exposed cheeks and neck. Yet the view from this vantage point was awe inspiring, worth battling the raw weather. The New Mexico high desert stretched for miles of rolling hills swathed with deep green shrubbery and patchy snow, craggy rocks and canyons cut by rainwater. A single, red dirt hill rose above the others on the south-east edge of their land. Sidewinder Mesa.
“This is my favorite place to photograph,” Rachel said. She held her hands aloft, framing the air between her extended thumbs and index fingers. “At sunset, the mesa turns these unbelievable colors. The red in the dirt glows pink, or sometimes orange. Its shadow stretches into the valley as the sun gets lower.” She smiled a faraway smile. “I’ll come back tonight. If the snow sticks, it’s going to make for a terrific shot.”
“Your photographs hang all over the house, and they’re all amazing. Hard to believe it’s the same pile of rocks and dirt we grew up with. You make it all look so beautiful.”
“It
is
beautiful, all on its own.” She inhaled, her eyes sweeping the valley. Then her gaze locked on Amy. “I can’t lose this land, no matter what. Too much of who I am is in this desert. Scares the hell out of me to think about what we’ll have to sacrifice if Heritage Farm doesn’t work out.”
Amy’s heart sank. She nudged Nutmeg closer and squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can. I promise you, Rach, we’re not going to give this place up to Amarex or the bank without one heck of a fight.”
“Damn right. Been fighting for this place my whole life and I’m not about to give up anytime soon.” She tipped her head toward the valley. “Let’s get that irrigation canal checked out so we can get on with our work. The roof of the chicken coop has a leak, so I’ve got to run into town, pick up some supplies. About time I reroofed it anyway.”
Their mounts picked their way down the trail.
“How did you learn to do all this stuff?” Amy called up to her. “I grew up here, same as you, and I haven’t the first clue how to reroof a chicken coop. Sometimes it seems like you were born with a complete set of knowledge about how to run a farm.”
Rachel chuckled. “I wish. Trust me, I’ve made plenty of mistakes with this place over the years. You just weren’t here to see them. But lots of things, like construction, Dad taught me.”
“You’re kidding. Dad?”
“Jenna and you have it in your heads that Dad never did anything, and a lot of time that was true, but when he was around and he wasn’t hung over or napping in front of the television, he was a good teacher.”
They reached the valley and picked up the pace to the canal, their conversation paused while they flew over the terrain. With two recent storms, the water in the canal was flowing. They dismounted and set to work, clearing debris and breaking up the ice crusted over the grates.
The physical labor reminded Amy of her body’s various aches, which inevitably led to thoughts of Kellan and the disaster that was their final evening together, including the sleepless night that followed. After he drove her home and escorted her—awkwardly, painfully—to her front door, she’d spent the remaining hours of the night flat on her back, staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling of her bedroom, thinking about Kellan Reed, Brock McKenna, and her original example of a no-good cowboy, her father.
How many times did she need to have her illusions shattered before she learned her lesson? She’d sworn to herself, when her father died, leaving her mom brokenhearted and penniless, to never trust that type of man again. She vowed to learn from her mom’s mistakes, but despite her best intentions, she continued to perpetuate the cycle begun by her parents.
Brock McKenna rolled onto the set of
Ultimate Chef Showdown
the first day like he was born for the spotlight—his belt buckle shining, a black cowboy hat perched on his head, and a teasing smile playing on his perfect face. Amy was a goner. The first week of filming, she latched on to him like he was her salvation, a champion who would sweep her away from her pain.
A month later, with Amy still in the running to be a
Chef Showdown
finalist, news of her mom’s suicide attempt rocked her world off its axis once more. Not long after, Brock showed his true colors, and Amy humiliated herself with a tear-fueled rant in front of a full panel of judges and a camera that didn’t miss a second of her tirade.
An
Ultimate Chef Showdown
moment for the ages, the four-minute clip had gone viral in an instant, and in less than a day, she had become an Internet sensation. Late-night talk show hosts included jokes about her in their monologues and nightly celebrity gossip news programs seized on her humiliation. She thought she’d finally been hurt deep enough for the lesson to stick.
Damn Kellan Reed. Damn his trustworthy face and slick moves and MAC knife collection. Damn him for worming his way past her defenses and splaying her spirit open only to trounce on it.
Like mother, like daughter.
No
. As tempting as it was to fall into the unhealthy fear that had consumed her for most of her life, she was learning with each painful experience she endured, the difference between her and her mother. Learning she was stronger than she ever thought possible. Her mother had let her grief over the cowboy who broke her heart destroy her, but Amy was still standing. Time after time, broken heart after broken heart, she was still moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other.
She still felt hope.
She still believed in love.
And that was the difference.
When they were done clearing the grates of the canal, Rachel stood, brushing ice from the sleeve of her jacket. “What gives, Amy? You’re too quiet. You haven’t said word one about your date. Did something happen with Kellan?”
A rush of warmth pricked Amy’s cheeks at hearing his name aloud. She didn’t want to talk about him, didn’t want to admit to her stupidity. She poked her finger on the rounded tip of her ice pick. “Um . . . I forgot to ask him about setting up tours of his ranch for our guests.”
Sighing, Rachel doffed her hat and ran her fingers through her mussed hair. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”
Amy stared at Rachel, shocked. As far as she could recall, this was the first time she’d ever heard Rachel mention sex directly. She’d muddled her way through an awkward, brief relationship in her senior year of high school, but according to Jenna, hadn’t dated since and certainly didn’t act or dress like she was interested in attracting a man. For the longest time, the sisters chalked up Rachel’s indifference to the dating scene to her preference for solitude, but in the past couple years, Amy and Jenna had taken to speculating about the possibility that Rachel was gay. Maybe her lack of a love life was due more to a lack of available partners in Eastern New Mexico ranch country.
Yet here Rachel was, asking Amy a pointed question about her sex life. Not that Amy was ready or willing to discuss it. “What I did or didn’t do with Kellan is none of your concern.”
Rachel stowed her ice pick in her saddlebag and jerked the strap tight. Probably sensing her owner’s agitation, the horse whinnied and sidestepped out of arm’s reach. “It didn’t go so well, judging by how defensive you’re getting.” Her voice was quiet, her tone frustrated. “You know, sleeping around with men you barely know is toxic for you in so many ways. Why couldn’t you take it slow this time?”
Amy felt her anger winding up. She was feeling bad enough without Rachel adding her two cents. Too often, her conversations with Rachel disintegrated into arguments. They’d always had a terrible time communicating with each other, and probably always would, but that didn’t give Rachel the right to lecture her . . . especially on a topic Amy was certain her sister knew nothing about. “You are not the morality police. And you’re not my parent, either, so back off.”
“No, I’m not going to back off, because you’re adding unnecessary complications to our business with your self-destructive behavior.”
“That’s bullshit,” Amy growled through her teeth.
“You think so?” Rachel’s breath puffed like smoke in the brisk, morning air. She sipped from her canteen and took her time screwing the lid on. Amy waited, breathing hard through her nose because her jaw refused to unclench. “We’re opening a new business—one that relies on local ranchers’ support—and we can’t afford to burn bridges, especially with a rancher as influential and connected as Kellan Reed. When are you going to learn to be less careless about who you give yourself to?”
Amy wrenched her molars apart as her anger unleashed. “I don’t care how naturally bossy you are, you don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Someone’s got to. Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch you and Jenna turn into idiots around men, and then, when things go south, watch you both cope with the repercussions of your bad decisions? I’m entitled to an opinion because I love you both, and I’m sick and tired of you allowing yourself to be treated like crap. You’re twenty-eight. You have to stop acting like some insecure teenager looking for validation through sex.”
“Are you calling me a slut?”
Rachel stomped closer. “Don’t twist my words. All I’m saying is you deserve better than a one-night stand.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter. I thought Kellan was different from the others and I was wrong.” Amy heard the shrillness of her voice and swallowed, reining in her anger. “I should’ve stuck to my rules and steered clear of him the minute he came on to me at the Quick Stand. But I didn’t, so here we are. Why don’t you lay off, okay? I’m beating myself up enough for the both of us.” She kicked a rock and watched it tumble into a cholla cactus, then kicked another. “Besides, I can’t think of anyone less capable of giving me relationship advice than you.”
Tsk
ing loudly, Rachel stalked to the canal and stared at the water. “You and Jenna think I’m this . . . this
prude
. Like I couldn’t possibly fathom how difficult it is for you two to keep your legs together every time some good-looking man waltzes across your paths.”
Amy raised a hand in a gesture for Rachel to stop. “Save it, Rach. It won’t happen again. Kellan and I agreed last night to go our separate ways.” Her voice hitched. “But even so, just because you’ve never had a moment of weakness over a man doesn’t give you the right to lecture me about the choices I make.”
Rachel stomped to her horse and swung into the saddle. She fiddled with the reins and said quietly, “That’s not completely true.”
Because she was a few inches shorter than Rachel, it took Amy a couple bouncing tries to remount. “Excuse me?”
Rachel squinted into the distance. “Look, I’ve been where you are, I’ve had moments of weakness I regret, which is why I can see the path you’re headed down with Kellan. It doesn’t lead anywhere good, I can tell you that. Not for you and not for our new business either.”