Page 147 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

My dad frowned. “Because that’s not your job.”

“I like fixing things, Dad.”

He chuckled and sauntered toward me. “I know.” When he reached Pidge, he propped an elbow on a wheel and looked up at me.

I’d spent my whole life trying to make his dark eyes light up with pride. I’d faced every challenge he or my brothers had put in front of me, and I’d succeeded in most of them. Even then, I’d never felt like he, or anyone else, respected me.

Not when they so often stacked the odds in my favor without asking.

An ounce of logic would pull my arguments apart, but I never let it. I held on like a dog with a rope who refused to surrender their prize.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted the ranch?” he asked.

I wasn’t surprised that Todd had contacted him. I’d practiced my answers all the way home, so I swallowed and spoke. “I thought you knew.”

Dad shook his head. “I figured you’d be happy to leave and live your life.”

More tears joined a lump in my throat. I swallowed it all down and said, “This is my life.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He moved to me and held out a hand, and I took it. His rough callouses felt so different from William’s smooth skin.

“I like this life,” I assured him.

My dad looked into my eyes for a moment before he said, “You’ve been hiding here.”

“Hiding?”

He nodded. “From whatever happened at Harvard.”

I bristled. After seeing Adam Fowler at the garden party, my mind had taken plenty of trips down memory lane.

“You were close to the top of your class. Your instructors raved about you. Why did you leave?”

I had hoped to keep it in the past, but like all things that had changed the course of my life, it once again reared its ugly head.

“Can you tell me?” he asked.

It took me a moment to get yet another lump in my throat under control. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I think it does.”

Maybe he was right, so I climbed down and told him about how Adam Fowler had been trying to tick boxes in his diversity chart. I insinuated that he’d made a pass at me but kept it at that. My dad owned plenty of guns, and I had a feeling that, even in his sixties, he was still willing to drive across the country to shoot any man who had spoken to his little girl that way.

As I talked, weight seemed to drain off my shoulders. By the time I finished, I felt lighter but also heavier.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” my dad said.

“Thanks, but to be honest, while I was a good lawyer, I enjoy being here more.” I waved a hand indicating the ranch.

“You’re good at being here,” my dad said. “That’s different than enjoying being here.”

Was it? I wasn’t sure.

“William told me I had to speak with you before we could cancel the sale of the ranch.”

I nodded.

“Why?”

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