Page 8 of Chasing Bandit

I looked at Nash, who was scowling now. “That’s a lot to put on Wylie, Dad. He isn’t even dating anyone.”

Yeah, tell him, Nash.

He shrugged. “I can’t change it. That deed’s been with the Martin & Associates Law Firm family for over one hundred years, and they know the words by heart. Wylie has to marry before I give up my ownership of the ranch or it’ll pass to you in three months, Nash.”

My heart raced as I struggled to process his words. The whiskey amplified everything, making the situation feel even more surreal, though even if I’d been sober, it wouldn't have made sense.

“I don’t get how some old grandfather I never even met is allowed to make decisions for my life. Times have changed, Homer.” I pointed up at the sky with the glass in my hand.

My dad shrugged like it was nothing. “It's impacted every generation since. It’s impacting you. That’s life.”

“Is this why you married Mom? So that you could take over Cameron ranch from Grandfather when you were 20?” Anger reared its ugly head as I wondered if my parents' relationship had been arranged out of convenience.

“Of course not, son. I loved your mother more than life itself. Marrying her was the best thing I ever did, and I’ll miss her for the rest of my life regardless of what Marianne and I had and have now.”

Good.

“How the hell do you expect me to find someone to agree to a marriage in three months when I’m not even dating?" I demanded.

He shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I think one of the Vector siblings is still single. Maybe if you play your cards right, Stevie’ll agree to a marriage of convenience."

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He stood up and tossed a copy of what I assumed was the ancient deed that was now controlling my life, my inheritance, and my potential first marriage on his desk.

“It’s all right here, son. Take some time to think about it. You’ve got three months to figure things out or it’s going to Nash, though I’d strongly suggest you find someone sooner than later. Once the marriage is legal, and the paperwork filed, the clock starts ticking on the twelve months.”

He left the office as my eyes ping-ponged between the deed, Nash, and the back of my father’s office where an old family rifle was hanging on the wall.

“Don’t do it…” Nash cautioned as I weighed my options again.

But Nash could never talk me out of my reckless decisions even though he was the steady middle child, always trying to keep the peace and be the voice of reason. I, however, was the oldest, wildest, and ready to fight for family and my freedom at all times. Especially when I felt confined and like I was being forced to do something I didn’t want to do.

I jumped up, downed the last of my whiskey, smashed the glass on the table and ripped the rifle from the wall.

“Aw, hell, here we go,” Nash groaned as I raced out of the office, across the living room, and out onto the deck.

Nash chased after me, yelling, “Don’t fucking shoot in the direction of my wife!” he bellowed.

As if I’d ever put my family—the next generation of Camerons—in harm’s way.

I sprinted off to the woods, not caring about the voices shouting behind me full of confusion and concern. I knew my dad kept this rifle loaded at all times, so I wouldn’t be disappointed.

Getting far enough away from the rest of the family, I took aim at one of the dead trees dotting the skyline of the ranch. It was one I’d been meaning to remove for months now but hadn’t had the time to pull out the stump grinder. Now, it felt like a metaphor for the deadness inside of me being uprooted uncomfortably and blown to bits.

I took a deep breath and steadied my hands, feeling the weight of the rifle crushing me like the weight of the words my dad had just dropped on me. Bringing it up to my shoulder, I grasped the lever and pulled it down smoothly, hearing the satisfying click as the chamber opened. I checked to find a bullet already placed, then pushed the lever back up, locking it with a firm snap. The rifle was ready.

I took aim at the tree in the distance, focusing on a spot in the center, and steadied my breath. With a final exhale, I squeezed the trigger, feeling the powerful kick as the shot rang out and the butt pressed back into my arm with a firm kick. I channeled my frustration and anger into the next three shots as splintered bits of wood cascaded onto the mossy floor along with the plans for my life.

Chapter 6 – Wylie

The next morning…

“Seriously, Wylie?” Stevie's voice cut through my hungover snoring.

I cracked open an eye, squinting against a blinding beam of light before quickly clamping my lids shut again.

“What the hell are you pointing in my eyes? A damn light saber?” I grumbled.

---