Page 6 of Catching Sparks

Anna shrugs. “It’s a safe place. Somewhere no one will come looking for a statement. Nobody here will know who he is, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”

It’s how Brody’s been able to start a normal life here with Anna despite his success. Anywhere other than Cherry Peak, and they’d be swarmed night and day.

Reporters still come snooping around here from time to time, but they grow bored quickly when nobody agrees to give them anything they want to know.

“Wade’s actually letting him stay? I’m sorry, but I can’t wrap my head around that.” Darren leans back in the booth, arms crossing over his chest and elbow digging into my side.

I shove it away. “Please tell me he’s making Sir Douchealot stay in the stables.”

“The guest house, actually. I voted for the cattle shed, but Anna told me that would have been cruel.”

“Don’t be a fun killer, Anna,” I scold.

Anna rolls her lips, giving her head a quick shake. “I’m not! Trust me, I want him here less than all of you do. But we’re doing this for Reggie, and he deserves for us to make sure his son doesn’t sleep with the cows, asshole or not. He’s trusting us with him.”

“We know, sweetheart. My grandmother has told my grandfather the same thing a million times since I first brought it up,” Brody says.

“So, let me get this straight,” Bryce starts, leaning her forearms on the table. “Garrison Beckett is going to be staying at Steele Ranch doing what? And for how long?”

Anna meets our best friend’s waiting stare. “That’s up to Wade. But we all know he isn’t going to let him stay on his land without pulling his weight.”

She’s damn right about that. Wade Steele is a hard-ass rancher, and there’s no way in hell he’d let this city boy come in and take advantage of his family.

“As far as how long, we don’t know. A couple of months at least,” Brody adds.

“A couple of months?” I blow a sharp breath between my teeth.

The happy couple grimaces as one. My brother finishes his drink, and then I’m waving the waitress over, ordering a round of shots for everyone. Five minutes later, we’re tipping them back.

“I have a feeling we’ll be doing this a bit more often over the next few weeks,” I say, ignoring the lingering burn in my throat.

“Here’s to a long two months,” Bryce sings, and I swear the town itself cringes along with us.

3

GARRISON

My rental car sloshes through the puddles, getting sprayed with mud as I drive along the main road in Cherry Peak. My mouth is set in a hard line, my teeth clenching harder and harder with every pothole my tires sink into. I get jostled around in my seat again, and this time, I bark a curse, my tailbone growing sore.

This tiny speck-on-the-map town leaves a fuck ton to be desired. The small RCMP building seems to be the only form of protection offered, and the fire station is nothing more than a rotted old car garage. Surely, the people who call this place home can’t be content with this. Their insurance rates must be through the roof.

“Fuck my life,” I say on an exhale as I follow the GPS route to Steele Ranch.

The moment I hit gravel, I force myself not to turn back and hop on the first plane back to Toronto. This punishment is ridiculous. I had two days to up and pack my life in preparation for this forced “holiday,” and still, my anger rages, showing no sign of calming.

I’m a thirty-year-old man with a bank account in the nine digits. This should not have happened. I almost didn’t believe my father at first. Not until he called a meeting yesterday with the entire board and they told me the exact same fucking thing he did. I’m still in shock.

I grip the steering wheel harder than I should when the Steele Ranch gate comes into view. It’s a lot bigger than I expected. In any other case, I’d probably be impressed with it. Unfortunately, impressed is the last thing I feel right now.

Luckily for me, the gate is already open, and I stiffen my spine before driving through it and up the—no surprise—gravel road. The house waiting at the top of the drive snags my attention. It’s old but not falling apart like the majority of the nearby town is. Despite the mud puddles and brown grass surrounding it, it’s quite beautiful.

A few more moments and I’m parking on the side of the road beside the house, not finding a driveway more fitting. I breathe in for three seconds and let it back out for the same before turning off the car and stepping out.

Only for my left foot to sink into a goddamn pothole. Filled. With. Muddy. Water.

It seeps into my leather shoe and black sock before finding the bottom hem of my slacks. I see red as I lift my foot and kick it in an attempt to send the water flying. The movement has me stumbling, my back hitting the open car door, sending a shot of pain flaring through my already sore tailbone.

I have to dig my teeth into my tongue to keep from shouting out.

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