Page 7 of Catching Sparks

“You’re not plannin’ on parking there, are you?”

Lip curling, I whirl on the person speaking to me and slam the car door shut. I press my palms to the car and huff a heavy breath.

“What?”

“Can’t park there.”

It isn’t Brody standing across the road with his arms closed. As if it’d be that easy. Instead, I’d bet a hundred grand I’m looking at Wade Steele. The weathered cowboy hat and boots aren’t what gives him away. No, it’s the dark, cruel scowl on his wrinkled face instead. Out of all the things my father warned me about Wade, his take-no-shit attitude was the one he spent the most time on.

“I don’t see anywhere better,” I tell him bluntly.

The arms he has crossed over his jacketed torso tense. “Leave it there and I’ll have it towed off my land.”

“Where else would you prefer it, then?” I ask through clenched teeth.

He nods toward the bare section of land in front of the house, where tire tracks have been dug so deep into the soil they’ve filled with water, either from rain or the melting snow piles. “There’s fine.”

“On the lawn?”

“Does it look like some type’a garden, boy? Get the car off the road before someone runs it off,” he orders.

Right. I get back in the car, the weight of his stare heavy on my face. It isn’t even a fucking second after I’ve parked in the proper spot that he’s barking at me again.

“Get your things, and I’ll show you where you’ll be stayin’.”

My eye twitches as I stitch my lips closed and move to the trunk. The wheels of my large suitcase sink into the dirt, making me grimace. They only sink further when I slide my carry-on over the handle and drag it behind me toward Wade.

He inspects my luggage with more judgment than I think I’ve ever been subject to before pointing past the house.

“Guest house is behind those trees. Only got one set of keys, so don’t lose ’em. No parties or you’re gone. No people I don’t know on this land or you’re gone. Be at the house tomorrow morning at six-thirty or you’re gone,” he says.

“Got it,” I reply tensely, taking the key ring from his extended hand.

The gravel road goes right past the thick line of trees, but it’s impossible to see much else. I don’t bother with a thank you before shuffling past him and starting down the road, every rock sending my suitcase bobbing and pulling on my arm socket.

It’s a miracle I’m able to keep my mouth shut. Nothing I want to say would help the situation any. I’d end up on my ass outside the gates in a blink, and I’d rather be here of all places than stranded in that town.

The stale water in my shoe squishes in my sock, grating on my nerves until they fray. Pissed and frustrated, I make my way up the road, ignoring the wide eyes of the passing workers on the right side of the ranch, where the horses roam inside and around a tall stable.

I’ve never so much as seen a horse in person before. I try not to gawk at the tall and beefy midnight-black one lingering in the field, watching me.

It’s not until I’m clearing the treeline that I stop feeling those beady brown eyes on my back. For an animal, it’s incredibly fucking rude. I roll my jaw as my suitcase wheels catch on yet another rock, and I give it a hard yank, impatient and beyond done with this entire situation already.

My first impression of Wade still is that he’s going to make my life hell just because he can. I don’t plan on making it easy on him to do so, but I have to play my cards right. No way am I letting my father take Swift Edge from me. Not in this life and not in any other. If I have to keep my tongue tucked behind my teeth for the next few weeks, then so be it.

I repeat that to myself as I come to a stop at a fork in the road. One side continues past the smaller guest house while the other . . . while the other leads me right to the front fucking door.

“Hey.”

Brody Steele’s voice carries in the wind from his place on the front steps. He’s sitting on the top one, his tall frame hunched over his knees, booted feet splayed wide, and tan jacket flecked with mud.

My black slacks and knee-length suede jacket make me feel out of place. If I’m supposed to dress like him . . . My stomach rolls.

“What are you doing back already?” I ask him, snappier than he deserves, but I don’t have it in me to apologize.

“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” he retorts.

I drag my ruined suitcase behind me as I get closer to the house. I’m brimming with the urge to attack him for the welcome I received on this stupid ranch and the events leading up to today, but somehow, I manage to hold myself back.

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