Page 10 of Falling Hard for the Billionaire Cowboy

"I'll call them myself. We'll see who they believe – the rightful owner or the trespasser."Ugh, did I really say that?

Please, someone – take me back to that moment. My face feels hot enough to fry an egg, and I know I must be tomato red. I stick my head out the window, desperate for the cool night air to soothe my burning cheeks.

I can't even bring myself to look at Santiago. The silence in the car is deafening, and I’m grateful for it. But as if fate hasn't tormented me enough today, Santiago chooses that moment to speak up.

"So, Hayley," he says, his eyes flicking to me before returning to the road. "You back for good this time, or are you just visiting?"

I swallow hard. "I'm... still thinking about it," I lie. The truth is, I've packed up my entire life in the city, ready to come home for good. But now that I know what's really going on, I'm not so sure anymore.

Desperate to change the subject, I ask, "What about you, Santiago? You ever leave Redstone?"

He chuckles. "Nah, never saw the need. I went to community college, and became a cop. Got married, got four kids now, with another on the way."

"Wow, that's...amazing " I say, surprised, but at the same time happy for him.

We reminisce about our high school days for a while, the familiar stories providing a welcome distraction.

"And he ended up moving down south, we haven't seen him since then," he finishes about one of the guys I remember only a little.

"Wow…" I mumble, processing all the information. So, one out of our set has turned into a cop, and the other has decided to steal eggs and make it to the front page of the local newspaper. I’m somewhat amused until Santiago steers the conversation back to me.

"You know, Austin – the guy you had the run-in with? He moved here about four or five years ago, a couple of years after you left for college. He's a good guy, Hayley. He’s a real stand-up fella."

I scoff. "Yeah, he seemed realstand-up," I say sarcastically.

Santiago sighs. "Have you been able to contact your folks yet?"

A twinge of guilt shoots through me at his question. The truth is, I've barely spoken with my parents recently. Ten years ago, they'd fallen victim to a scam that just about cost themeverything, including the ranch. We'd managed to hold onto it, but only through incredible sacrifice. I'd vowed then to become a lawyer, to make sure no one would ever take advantage of my family again. I'd worked very hard, earning a full scholarship to a university in the city. I left Redstone with big dreams and even bigger promises.

But life has a way of getting in the way of the best-laid plans. Between struggling to stay afloat in a new city and not wanting to burden my parents, I've rarely made it home. For the first few years, we video-called and chatted a lot. But as time passed and my workload increased, our communication dwindled to occasional calls and emails.

I remember my parents mentioning once that they felt lonely on the big, empty ranch. But I'd been so focused on law school, the bar exam, and finding a job that time just slipped away from me. I'd lost sight of what's important. Now that I think about it, I once got an email mentioning them wanting to travel the world someday. I never imagined they'd sell the house to do it.

"In the end, was it all worth it?" I mutter under my breath, regretting leaving a bitter taste in my mouth about all the times I could have spent with them, but didn’t. The people here know my parents better than I know them. How pathetic, I realize.

Santiago's voice snaps me back to reality. "Hayley? You got a place to stay tonight?"

I manage a weak smile. "Oh, um, you can drop me at a hotel. I'll figure it out."

"No problem," he says, and I can't be more grateful that he doesn't ask more questions.

As we drive through town, I realize I've forgotten one crucial detail: it's tourist season in Redstone. The streets are bustling with visitors, and every motel and guesthouse we pass has a glaring "No Vacancy" sign.

Santiago drives me around, and each time we pass a local, the same exchange plays out:

"Santiago, making rounds, aren't ya?"

"You know it!"

"Who's the pretty lady?"

"Martha's daughter!"

"Oh, that wee thing? She's even prettier now! Tell your mom I said hi!"

The warm greetings and casual conversations still make me uncomfortable. After so long in the city, the small-town familiarity feels almost alien.

Finally, we pull up to the last hotel in town – my last hope. I approach the receptionist, who greets me with a bright smile.

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