Page 32 of Buckled in Barbwire

“Call it whatever you want, but my plans remain the same.”

“You’re not listening.” Impatience raises her voice.

“Right back at you.” I grind the toe of my boot into the dirt. “You ran off to heal and find yourself. Worry about that, Bianca. Your friend is in capable hands. We’ll reach an understanding that’s mutually beneficial.”

Silence echoes down the line for several seconds. “I’m calling Dad.”

“Be my guest,” I laugh. “Who do you think suggested your precious friend in the first place?”

Her response is a jumble of colorful curses that would make a hardened criminal blush. “Don’t make me fly home early.”

“If that’s what you think is best.” I expel what’s left of my patience in a long-winded sigh. “Great catching up, but I need to go.”

“We’re not finished.”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Now isn’t the time.”

“Make time.”

“Jimmy and our cousins are waiting on me. We’re at the auction barn.”

“Let them wait longer,” she growls. “This is more important, unless you really want to earn the title of villain.”

“It’s a done deal, Bianca. You need to accept that. Call me every insult in the book if it makes you feel better. I can play the bad guy. That won’t change the outcome.”

“What’s happened to you?” The wobble in her voice almost penetrates my resolve.

Instead, I square my shoulders and remember what’s at stake. “You should know by now that I’ll do anything for the farm. It’s my one true purpose.”

“Even if that means sacrificing your happiness and forcing others into dishonest situations?”

“It’s not permanent.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you’re trying to do. Leave. Paisley. Alone.” Three resounding slaps punctuate the demand. The image of her smacking a fist against the table is comical.

My chuckle is rewarded with another streak of expletives. I sober and push off the wall to conclude this spiral. “As I already mentioned, it’s too late. The whole town is fully invested in our little charade.”

“You can undo it,” she urges.

Which would defeat the entire purpose. “We’ll talk later. Enjoy yourself over there, sis.”

Bianca is shouting into the phone as I disconnect the call. I tuck my phone away and stroll to where Jimmy is propped against the auction pen entrance. My two cousins flank their dad as I approach. Byron is the oldest and hasn’t been quiet about wanting more responsibility. It must be a new trend. But Chance isn’t following along. The younger brother seems perfectly content completing whatever oddjobs are tossed in his direction, with little ambition to speak of.

I nod at the trio. “Where were we?”

Uncle Jimmy’s eyes narrow on the lingering tension tightening my features. “All good?”

“Yep, just had to deal with Bianca’s moods.”

He offers a quiet hum in understanding. “She’s still in Europe?”

“For now,” I say dismissively.

The three of them resume the overview of our upcoming registered horse sale. These meetings are a formality I’m forced to endure during my father’s personal leave. Once I’m officially in charge, my tolerance for nonsensical shit won’t be so high. The predicted profits and current catalog entries might as well be white noise. At least until their voices come to an abrupt halt.

Dad saunters into the building as if he’d just stepped out to run a quick errand. The four of us turn to stare at his unexpected attendance. Our jaws hang slack at a similar angle.

He’s waving something in his hand. “Got a package for you, Brody.”

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