Page 22 of The Last Promise You Made

We’d moved so many times growing up that I’d seen friends as temporary fixtures, toys that got switched out as you outgrew them. And during my high school years, being the new face each fall had been pure torture. I’d been the geeky loner with a love of spy novels and movies that had neared obsession territory.

We blew past the driveway to Hatley Ranch and the stone pillars holding a carved wrought iron masterpiece with the name of the ranch twirled below the silhouette of a bucking bronco. While I’d known Ryder didn’t live on the main grounds of the ranch, I’d never gotten to his place last year. After he’d found me snooping in his office, it would have completely blown my cover if I’d shown up at his house too.

Ryder’s turn signal blinked just before he pulled down a gravel drive tucked between several tall, southern magnolias that would bloom in a few weeks. The road wound through more thick foliage, including several live oak trees with enormous limbs crawling along the ground like octopus arms. A rustic, red covered bridge only large enough for a single vehicle to cross at a time covered the creek and led to a slight rise on the other side.

When the house finally came into view, shock roared through me.

The research I’d done on the family before I’d ever set foot in Willow Creek had uncovered that he’d designed and built the house himself. He’d gone to college to be an architect but had dropped out to come home and help the failing ranch. So, while I knew he’d built the house, I’d expected it to be something more along the lines of the family’s two-story farmhouse or a rustic log cabin and not the glass marvel standing in front of me.

The entire building was made primarily of windows with hints of sleek pine and river rock peeking out. The slant of the roof echoed the slope of the mountains beyond it before dropping off and giving way to tranquil valley views of not just the Hatley land but also the lake in the distance.

It was art in the form of a building. It was breathtaking.

The grumpy cowboy had created this from nothing more than his imagination and the land. What did that say about him?

My heart was slamming weirdly in my chest as we followed the curve of the driveway to the side of the house where a three-car garage was attached to the main structure by a glass breezeway.

All three doors rolled up at the same time, and Ryder drove the pickup into the first bay. In the second slot was an old-school muscle car my brother would drool over, and the third was empty. It was perhaps the cleanest garage I’d ever seen. No shelves of sports equipment or yard tools. Several large, standing toolboxes that looked almost brand new were scattered amongst sleek cupboards that blended in with the walls. Nothing was out of place, and everything was sparkling clean.

Ryder slid out of the truck and waved me into the last slot.

I pulled in, trying to gather my wits.

Ryder opened the back passenger door for Addy as I climbed out. The two of them stared at each other as if taking each other’s measure. I popped the Escalade’s tailgate, pulled out a small duffel I used as my go-bag, and joined them.

Addy unlatched her buckle and went to grab the backpack right as Ryder did. Their hands collided, and the little girl jerked away as if burned. A shadow of concern flickered over Ryder’s face.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and offered Addy his hand.

She didn’t take it.

He backed up, cleared his throat, and said, “Come on in, and we’ll get you settled.”

Addy jumped to the ground and looked at me with wide, nervous eyes.

“It’s okay,” I said in Spanish. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ryder hit a button on the wall to close the garage doors and then led us into the glass breezeway. The ceiling was made of pine planks, glimmering with gold and lacquered until it was almost as shiny as the glass itself. Large slabs of slate beneath our feet mimicked the stone of the mountains.

Addy’s hand slid into mine, and I looked down at her. She was as overwhelmed by the place as I was.

Ryder unlocked a second door and waved us through. We entered a mudroom of sorts where he hung his hat. His hair was barely mussed beneath it, but he still ran a hand through it, and I sensed he was as nervous as the rest of us.

The mudroom opened into a kitchen with oversized, professional-looking steel appliances and two walls of glass. The slate floor tiles were repeated on a smaller scale in the backsplash, as if mimicking the boulders visible outside the windows. The vaulted pine ceiling rose like trees to where whispers of blue sky and puffy clouds danced across the largest skylights I’d ever seen in a home. A long counter of shiny wood divided the kitchen from a living area reached via two stone steps.

The entire house felt as if the outdoors had grown into it, or vice versa. A seamless blending of nature and home that was only accentuated by the earth tones of the leather furniture and the large tree trunk coffee table.

No art hung on any of the handful of walls that weren’t glass. The house didn’t need it. The view was clearly intended to be the primary decoration.

“Holy sh—cow.” The words finally slipped out of me as I stared out at the valley from what felt like the treetops.

Addy squeezed my hand, and we both turned our heads in Ryder’s direction.

He was standing on another pair of stone steps leading toward the foyer with its large double doors of glass and wrought iron gleaming behind him. That nervousness I’d witnessed in the mudroom seemed to have grown. I’d seen him growly. Snarly. Angry. But not uncertain. And it pricked at something deep inside me that wanted to comfort him. An unwanted softness that I didn’t let into my life often.

Addy and I moved through the room to join him on the steps.

“Where do you watch TV?” I asked.

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