Page 139 of Things Left Unsaid

“Everything. That you have to live here, that you have to be with people you don’t know. That you’re sleeping in the room beside a stranger?—”

“You’re not a stranger. And Icouldbe at the Bar 9. You gave me that option. I never expected you to. And after getting to know Callan, I can’t imagine how he’d cope with you moving, so it’s more impactful of an offer than I first recognized.”

“He’d have been fine with Mrs. Abelman. But you’re right. He has attachment issues. Also Clyde’s fault.”

Her brow lifts. “You’re downgrading him to his first name?”

I nod. “That man’s been no father to me. I always called him that because of the younger kids.”

“How bad…” She bites back the words.

“Go on. Ask,” I say calmly.

“How bad were things when you were younger? I saw some of it, but what Callan shares… it makes me think you hid more from me.”

“I did. Things were pretty damn bad.” When I drain my bottle dry, I retrieve another beer. “Want anything?”

“No. I’m good.”

Grunting, I return to the table and flip the cap on the edge again. “Pretty much from the start, he and Mum disagreed on how to raise me. He worried she was making me too soft.”

Her mouth rounds before she flattens her lips. “What an asshole.”

“He is. It got worse when I was scared about the monster under my bed.” I chuckle at nothing. “That earned me my first whooping.”

“I hate that man.”

“You and me both. But it was only the beginning. Anything that set him off about me not being a perfect alpha male at age four, I needed to learn a lesson. I swiftly realized nothing I did would please him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a crappy rancher. He doesn’t understand the land. Not like Uncle Clay did. I take after him. We listen,watch, and react.” I tap my nose. “But Clyde’s jealous. He thinks it’s a language when, really, it’s just taking note and being proactive. I made suggestions for anti-wildfire measures last year and he said it was a waste of money.” I shake my head. “Dumb fuck.”

“So he beat you becausehedidn’t measure up?”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah. In part, at least. I remember Uncle Clayton was teaching me about foraging crops one day. Alfalfa is a natural species here?—”

She smirks. “Rancher’s daughter, Colt. I know that.”

“You might have forgotten. Anyway, he was talking about starting a breeding program, wanting to integrate legumes like sainfoin and meadow bromegrass into our land.

“He got me researching the different species, learning what the pros and cons of each variety were. Pretty soon, I could talk about it like an eight-year-old pro. The importance of it made sense to me.

“Clyde clipped me once for being boring because it was all I could talk about.” My smile is bittersweet. “That time with Clayton as the land’s guardian is why our herd is as hardy as it is.”

“Why did Clayton let your father treat you that way?”

“I don’t know.”

We share a look. Hers disturbed, mine fatigued.

“How did Lindsay even fall for him? Bleugh.”

“She was new to Canada. New to the province. New to everything. He charmed her, and then afterward, she learned he was a bastard. He’s relatively handsome and, don’t forget, we’re rich. I’m not saying Mum’s a gold-digger, but she was raised in a poor area of the UK. Coming to Canada was something she’d dreamed of.”

“Why Canada?”

“My grandmother fell in love with a Canadian during the war. She was set to cross the Atlantic and then he was killed in action. They were married and everything, but she didn’t dare make the move without him.”

---