Page 13 of Rugged Guardian

I nod, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Her tone is softer now, almost sympathetic.

“A soft drink, please. I need to be clearheaded when he gets here.”

She nods, turning to grab a glass. “Are you the woman I’ve heard about?” She gives me a look that makes me think she already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, my eyes drifting to the door again. “You could say that. We’ve known each other nearly all our lives.”

“I’ve wondered if we’d get to meet. I’m Marian,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel and extending one to me. We shake hands, and she smiles. “I’ll call him and let him know someone’s here to see him.”

“Thanks.”

Marian hands me my drink and goes to make the call.

I haven’t tried calling Waylon, partly because I know we need to have this conversation in person and mostly because I’m not sure he’d answer my call.

I sip my drink, but the cold liquid does little to calm the tension knotting my stomach. I sit at one of the tables near the back, away from the noise of everyone, and pull out my phone. I’ve been avoiding this, but I know I need to do it.

I open my email, typing a message to my brother, explaining what I’m about to do. The words come slowly at first, each one like a weight on my chest, but once I start, I can’t stop. I tell him about the ledger, about how our great-grandfather cheated to win the land. I tell him I plan to give it back to Waylon, to do what’s right, even if it means losing a part of our family’s legacy.

His response comes almost immediately, the anger practically radiating off the screen.

You can’t be serious, Angelica. That land is ours. You can’t just give it away.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I knew he wouldn’t understand. I knew he’d be angry. But this isn’t his decision to make. The land was left to me, and it’s up to me to decide what to do with it.

It’s mine to give, I type back. Dad left the deed to me. And you said you didn’t care about the land. I don’t want it if it didn’t come into our family fair and square. It doesn’t feel right to keep it. We have more integrity than that.

It takes a few minutes before his response comes through.

Think about what you’re doing, Ang. This isn’t just about you. It’s about our family.

I stare at the screen, feeling the weight of his words. He’s right—it’s not just about me. But it is about doing the right thing. And I can’t ignore that.

I set my phone down and look around the bar as I sip my drink. The place is filling up now, with people laughing and talking. But I can’t focus on them. All I can think about is Waylon and what will happen when he walks through that door.

Minutes tick by, each one dragging slower than the last. My mind races with a hundred different scenarios, each ending in disaster. What if he’s angry? What if he doesn’t want the land? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?

But then the door opens, and there he is.

Waylon walks in, his tall frame cutting through the room with authority. He spots me almost immediately, his dark eyes hard as they lock onto mine.

“Angelica,” he says, his voice low and gravelly as he approaches the table. He towers over me as I sit there, frozen. “What are you doing here?”

“Waylon,” I manage to say, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. “Sit with me.”

He hesitates before pulling out a chair and sitting across from me, his eyes never leaving mine. For a moment, neither of us says anything, the tension between us almost unbearable.

“You came looking for me,” he repeats, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “I did.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. The weight of what I’m about to say settles heavily on my shoulders, but I can’t back down now. I came here to do this, and I’m going to see it through.

“I’ve been thinking,” I start, my voice trembling slightly. “About the land.”

His eyes flicker at the mention of the land, and I know I have his full attention.

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