Page 7 of The Last Promise You Made

After a bust in Lexington had shown a relatively high amount of chemicals used by ranchers in their cattle feed on the money and the drugs, the task force had begun looking for the leader of the Lovatos at a cattle ranch. We’d divided and conquered. Some individuals went undercover at actual working farms, while I used my fake journalism connections to write an exposé on dude ranches across the country.

Once news broke about a Lovato connection to a biker gang in Willow Creek and a dude ranch there, I’d headed to Tennessee to check it out. But after spending a few weeks at the ranch, I’d cleared the Hatleys of any involvement. Sheriff Hatley was a by-the-book, upstanding kind of guy, and the resort his family ran had been theirs for generations. The money they were pulling in could all be tied neatly back to their legitimate business. The place was thriving but not overly flush.

And yet, I now held a letter in my hand that proved there was a connection.

Something I’d obviously missed. This was a direct link from the Lovatos to the ranch’s manager. The person in charge. The guy who’d gotten a burr up his ass about my questions and been angry enough to cage me against a wall when he’d caught me snooping in his office.

Blue eyes as clear as an evening sky and yet somehow still stormy flashed across my mind.

Blue eyes and dark hair that fell softly over a brow in a way that had my fingers itching to push it away.

A square jaw layered with stubble and a smile that both lit me up and made me want to wipe it off. A hard smile from lips that had punished me for daring him. For taunting him.

Lips that had liquified my insides right before he’d pushed me away as if I’d betrayed him. As if I’d had the worst kind of contagious disease.

I cleared my throat. “This man. Ryder. He’s your father?”

At first, she didn’t move at all, but then she gave a slight nod.

“And the woman in the hotel. She was your mama?”

The little girl’s eyes flooded. She nodded again, buried her face, and sobbed, shoulders shaking violently. I moved instantaneously, pulling her into me and holding on while she cried. A piece of me wanted to cry too. I wasn’t sure if it was in anger or frustration or hurt. Or maybe all three combined.

The last thing I wanted was to see Ryder Hatley again.

I certainly didn’t want to show up with a little girl in tow who was supposedly his.

A child he hadn’t told a soul he had.

A child I couldn’t understand him having and not loving when I’d seen him shower his niece with so much affection it had made me ache for things I’d sworn I’d never want.

I looked down at the letter. I had to read it because it was part of my job, and yet, it felt like another violation Ryder would somehow hold me responsible for. Whatever was in the envelope—whatever it said—I had a sneaking suspicion it was going to change everything. Not only for the task force but for me.

Chapter Three

Ryder

MINUS YOU

Performed by Brandon Davis

After a long, tedious afternoon working on the two new cabins, I should have been wiped out and more than ready to head home and fall into bed. Instead, I was weirdly wired. Something about Mila and the crow had sunk into me, and I ached for things I knew better than to want.

What I needed was to get laid. A single night lost in soft skin that would rip any thoughts of a pair of dark-haired beauties who haunted me from my mind. Except, I hadn’t been able to close the deal with any woman in months. After Ravyn left, it had been easy to get lost in others. It had felt like vengeance. These days, it wasn’t my ex-fiancée who held me back. Instead, it was a damn journalist who’d stayed at the ranch long enough to get caught snooping in my office.

A woman with hair so dark it looked like midnight skies and eyes that mysteriously changed from green to brown depending on the light. A woman who’d briefly made my deadened heart trip out a new pulse before she’d disappeared without so much as a goodbye.

Gia Kent’s vanishing act was a warning I needed to heed. A warning to keep my lips and hands to myself when it came to her. Thank God we hadn’t shared more than a single damn kiss. Because just that one had left me singed with the taste for her I couldn’t quite shed.

Maybe tonight I could finally leave her behind. Find some relief in someone who didn’t stir that ridiculous organ inside my chest. Relief with a side dish of peace rather than torment.

I passed on Mama’s offer for dinner, saying I’d grab something in town, got in my truck, and headed for Willow Creek. As I passed the town’s sign at the city limits, my lips curled upward.

Willow Creek?home of football heroes, rock stars, and ranchers.

The sign was only a couple of decades old, created after the band Watery Reflection built a compound above the lake. Our town was as proud of our celebrities as Bell Buckle was of their RC Cola and Moon Pies. The stadium at the high school was named after a dead football star, and the area behind the lake was now known as Watery Reflection Hill. We were proud of those ties to our community, but we were also protective of our famous folk. If the press came nosing around, we shut them down as fast as a raccoon opens a garbage can.

The quaint, old-time vibe of our downtown drew artists, photographers, and even film crews. The plethora of church steeples peeking over the rooftops, the cobblestone streets hinting of long-forgotten carriages, and the sidewalks strewn with lantern-shaped lampposts made it Hallmark-card perfect. Graceful weeping willow trees were mixed in with the magnolias on every corner, filling the air with scent and color when they bloomed. The storefronts were sun-worn brick with white columns and black shutters, and their lead-glass windows turned the street into a mass of gold and crystalized rainbows in the sunset.

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