Page 7 of Falling Hard for the Billionaire Cowboy

I open my mouth to answer, then close it again. The truth is, I can't remember. Between my hectic job in the city and the gradual drift that often comes with distance, our communications had become sporadic at best. Emails here and there, the occasional text... but an actual conversation? I can't pinpoint the last time.

I hesitate, torn between my suspicions and how his words make sense. But as I look down, I see something that I had missed earlier.

Soot-covered footsteps - on the porch and inside the house.

My mind begins to race, and I remember I had smelled smoke earlier.

Looking back to this moment, I can only blame how tired my brain was. But at that moment, a cold realization washed over me—what if he had burned something to hide a truth? I had almost fallen for his handsome face and disarming smile.

"No," I say, taking a step back. "I don't believe you. This is my family's home, and there's no way my parents would have sold it without telling me. You're lying."

Austin's expression hardens, the warmth in his eyes cooling. "Miss Miller, I understand this is difficult to accept, but I assure you, I'm not lying. I have all the legal documents inside…"

"Anyone can forge documents," I cut him off. "For all I know, you’re some sort of con artist. How do you explain my parents not telling me about this supposed sale?"

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. "I can't explain your family's communication issues. That's between you and them. But I've been living here for years now, and I have every right to be here."

"Prove it," I challenge. "Call my parents right now. Let me talk to them."

Austin's jaw clenches. "I don't have their contact information. They didn't leave it when they moved out."

"How convenient," I scoff. "Some buyer you are, not even getting the previous owners' information."

"Look," Austin says, his patience clearly wearing thin, "I've tried to be understanding, but this is getting ridiculous. You can't show up at my door in the middle of the night and accuse me of being a criminal."

Now, my anger is rising. "It's not 'someone's home,' it's my home! And I'm not leaving until I get some real answers."

"You need to leave," Austin says, his voice low. "Now. You're not welcome here."

Those words sting more than I care to admit. This is my childhood home—the very place I've long dreamed of returning to. And now this stranger is telling me I'm not welcome?

"I'm not going anywhere," I declare, crossing my arms in defiance. "This is my property, and if anyone's leaving, it'll be you."

Austin's silvery grey eyes flash with anger. "That's it. I've had enough of this nonsense." He reaches for his own phone. "If you won't leave willingly, I'll have to call the police."

A spark of panic ignites in my chest, but I refuse to back down. "Go ahead," I challenge, pulling out my own phone. "I'll call them myself. We'll see who they believe – the rightful owner or the trespasser."

"Are you serious right now?" Austin sounds incredulous. "You do realize that in their eyes, you're the one trespassing? I have all the legal documentation. What do you have? A sob story about your parents not keeping you in the loop?"

His words hit me like a slap in the face, but I push aside the hurt and doubt. I can't let him see how much his statement affects me.

"We'll see about that," I say, my finger hovering over the emergency call button. "I've known the local sheriff since I was a kid. He'll know I'm telling the truth."

Austin throws his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Call them. But don't say I didn't warn you. This isn't going to end well for you."

My hand is shaking as I press the button, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. What if he is telling the truth? What if my parents actually had sold the ranch without telling me? But no, that is impossible. There has to be another explanation.

As the phone begins to ring, I lock eyes with Austin. His eyes feel like they are drawing me in for an instant. For a brief moment, I have a flicker of doubt. But then I remember all thesummers spent here, all the memories this place holds. This is my home, and I am going to fight for it.

"Hello, emergency services," a calm voice answers at the other end of the line. "What's your emergency?"

I take a steadying breath, my gaze never leaving Austin's. "Yes, hello. I need to report a trespasser at 1542 Willow Creek Road. He's claiming to own my family's property."

As I speak, I see Austin shake his head in disbelief. He mouths something that looks like "You're making a big mistake," but I ignore him.

There is no reason to listen to a jerk,or is there?

Chapter four

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