Page 6 of Bull Rush

Hazel

After I getthe ladies to their bird-watching appointment and arrange to have Grace take them to lunch and the local winery after, I make my way into town. Purgatory Falls, Colorado, is one of the most gorgeous places in the state, maybe even the country. It was founded in the 1860s but grew during Colorado’s silver boom over a decade later. Ramsey’s family had been one of the first to set a stake on the edge of town, but they hadn’t been the only homesteaders out here. The Briggs—my family, the Silvertons, and the McDaniels also made their homes here in the late nineteenth century, and the town still embraces its historical roots—one of the things that continues to draw tourists in by the busload. The other being the massive glittery casino on the edge of town.

Main Street is lined with historic storefronts, quaint cafes, and old-school saloons that have been converted in more recent years to appease visitors who want to feel like they’re steppingback in time. Flower boxes line the sidewalks and cloth banners dangle from the lampposts with advertisements for the upcoming fall Harvest Fest. It looks like something from a storybook, and thanks to the local bakery, Hotcakes, it smells like one too when I step out of my car.

One of my best friends, Marlowe, is the owner, and she grins when she sees me enter, nodding at me as she runs back and forth along the cases, gathering an order of breads and Danishes for Mrs. McDaniel. I nod back and make my way to the corner booth. There’s a little nook back there with a table and a perfect view of the town square, perfect for quiet people watching or gossiping with Marlowe in between customers. Late mornings are usually her quiet time before she gets a noon rush of people grabbing sandwiches and midday caffeine fixes, and I come here semi-regularly for a chat and early lunch whenever I can get away from the inn. I definitely need the escape today given the dark hulking piece of metal on my lawn. Marlowe raises a brow in question when she sees my face, and I must be doing a poor job of covering my restingI wish my husband was still in prison face.I throw my purse over the back of the wooden chair and pull my phone out, flipping through some emails while I wait for her to finish ringing Mrs. McDaniel up.

“I didn’t expect you today,” Marlowe says as her attention turns to me, and she takes the seat across from me.

“Well, it’s already been a dumpster fire of a morning, so I figured I deserved a break.”

“Uh-oh. Is Albert giving you grief about not updating the electrical again?” She looks at me thoughtfully. Albert, my maintenance guy, had his own list of necessary upgrades, above and beyond my cosmetic ones, that needed to happen if we want to keep the inn in running order, and somehow, hismanaged to be much more expensive than the new duvets and bathroom tile I’ve been coveting.

“It’s been okay this week. No major issues, but it’s on the list. As soon as I get the refinance to go through.”

“How’s that going? Have you talked tohimyet?” Her lips press together warily.

It’s impossible for the Stockton brothers not to come up in conversation. They run the casino on land that backs up to the ranch, and it employs half the newcomers in town. They also own half the buildings on Main Street, the one car dealership on the edge of town, and they might as well have their names tattooed on half of the city council members’ asses for how much they do their bidding. Soon enough, they’ll be renaming the city after them.

But most of my friends are kind enough not to mention the youngest brother’s name, the one who ran off to the Midwest to make his millions far away from this little town he grew up in—and me. The only thing he owns in this town is my ranch and inn, but it’s enough to make my life hell.

“Funny you should ask.” Sarcasm leeches through my tone as I look out the window.

“It didn’t go well?”

“That’s an understatement. I came downstairs this morning to my Grannies with Gumption group peering out the window, tittering about some guy’s ass and thighs. This had me wildly confused because Albert and Sam aren’t exactly famous for either… and lo and behold, it’s Ramsey, fully nude and showering at the back of his RV on the lawn next to the ranch house.”

“Outside?” Marlowe’s face contorts with horror.

“Outside in full view of the dining room.” I sigh as I watch a group of tourists make their way down the street.

“So he did it on purpose.”

“He claims he didn’t think any of the windows faced that direction.”

“Does he have eyes?”

“Who knows what he has anymore? But he’s here. And I can only imagine what that means.”

“Is he moving back?”

“Hell no!” I answer her sharply. The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and now my nerves can’t handle the idea. “He couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t he?” she asks reluctantly, drawing her lips to one side in contemplation. “I mean, if you’re still married and all the settlement paperwork didn’t go through…” The implication is there. Everything was his to start with, and Colorado law seemed pretty clear about the dispersal of assets in a contested divorce.

“I don’t know. I have my meeting with my lawyer this week. Yet another thing I can’t afford.” I sigh. “I can’t imagine him wanting it back. He couldn’t run away from there fast enough.” I feel sick at the thought of losing everything because he’s changed his mind.

“Yeah, but now after everything… He might have changed his mind. Prison can change people. Let alone the kind of things he went through…” Marlowe looks at me thoughtfully.

She’s the romantic of our friend group, so she’s always had a soft spot for Ramsey’s tortured soul. The fact that he went to prison because he murdered the guy who was trying to kill his teammate and friend had her all atwitter when it happened. Frankly, it had the whole town lauding him as a hero and happy to answer media calls about Stockton’s humble beginnings in Purgatory Falls. Not that they were very humble. Unless you consider organized crime, theft, racketeering, and three thousand acres humble.

“Well, he can’t come back. It’s mine now, and I’ve movedon. I’m getting married in six months, and the last thing I need is him around fucking everything up.” It’s that simple. It has to be.

“Did he look as good as he does on TV?” Marlowe can’t seem to control the small smirk that spreads as she asks the question. For being the sweet one, she still loves to stir things up. I give her a sour look in return, and she holds up her hands. “I’m just asking, objectively. Inquiring minds and all that.”

“The grannies certainly thought so. I thought he was going to give them a heart attack with the way they were clutching their pearls over him.”

“And you?”