Page 12 of Rugged Guardian

“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But maybe it is.”

We finish our beers in silence, each lost in our thoughts. When we’re done, I leave some cash on the bar and stand up. “Thanks, Marian.”

Daryl glances at me as we get back in the truck. “So, you gonna talk to her?”

I don’t answer right away, staring out at the fading light over the mountains. The thought of talking to Angelica, of trying to make things right between us, is terrifying. But the thought of losing her again, of letting this feud and the past ruin any chance we have...that’s even worse.

“Yeah,” I finally say, the word more certain than I feel. “Yeah, I think I have to.”

Daryl nods, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Good. About time you started thinking with your heart instead of your head.”

I chuckle, though it’s a dry sound. “Yeah, maybe.”

The next morning, my thoughts keep circling back to Angelica. The way her eyes lit up when she saw me and how her face softened when she smiled. Her expression when I read that ledger entry, like all the hope we’d been clinging to was ripped away in an instant.

I sip my coffee, the bitter taste grounding me in the present. I look at my phone, hoping to find a message from her.

I can’t keep living in the past. I can’t let it dictate my future. If there’s a chance that Angelica and I can work things out, I owe it to both of us to try.

But how do you bridge a gap that’s been widening for generations? How do you forgive a betrayal that’s festered for so long it’s become part of who you are?

I don’t have the answers, but I know I can’t keep running from the questions.

It’s time to stop letting the past dictate my life. It’s time to talk to Angelica and see if there’s a way forward, even if that means confronting the pain of the past.

CHAPTER 7

ANGELICA

It’s been three days, and every second without Waylon feels like a lifetime. I try to distract myself, focusing on the cabin and the repairs I can do alone, but everything reminds me of Waylon.

I pace the cabin, my footsteps echoing in the silence, but all I hear is Waylon’s voice and his anger and disappointment when he left. I haven’t been able to shake the gnawing sensation in my chest, a mix of guilt and longing that won’t let me rest. Knowing what’s in the ledger is a suffocating weight. How could my great-grandfather have done that? Did my grandparents and parents know?

My family has had this land for generations. Yet my great-grandfather cheated his way into owning it. The guilt of his actions weighs on me. The land passed to me after my parents passed, but it’s more than property. It symbolizes all the wrongs committed, and I can’t hold on to it knowing that. But it would mean giving up something I’ve always believed was a part of my family.

I glance at my phone on the kitchen counter, hoping for a message, a missed call—something from Waylon. But there’s nothing. I need to see Waylon, to talk to him. But what if he doesn’t care anymore? What if he doesn’t want to see me?

I grab my keys off the table. I can’t sit around here anymore, waiting for something to change. I need to do this, and I need to do it now. I’m going to King Tap. If Waylon isn’t there, they’ll know where he is.

I know what I have to do. A phone call won’t suffice.

I need to see Waylon face-to-face.

My heart pounds as I drive to King Tap. I barely register the trees lining the winding road and the mountain air crisp as it fills the car. All I can think about is fighting for the man I never stopped loving.

Pulling into the gravel lot outside the bar, I take a deep breath. This might be the last chance—the only chance—I have to make things right.

I push open the door, and the scent of wood and beer greets me. I don’t know if I’m walking into enemy territory, but I know I have to do this.

The low murmur of conversation fills the space as I scan the room, searching for him. But he’s not here. I walk up to the bar, where a redheaded bartender is wiping down the counter.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. My stomach is clenched in knots, but I know if I don’t do this, it’ll haunt me forever.

She looks up, her eyes sharp. “What can I get for you?”

“I was hoping to find Waylon,” I say, glancing around the room again. “Is he here?”

The bartender pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. “He’s not here right now.” She smooths her red hair, tucking it behind her ear. “But he’ll be here soon. You want to wait?”

---