Page 37 of Buckled in Barbwire

“Have you always been this…?”

“Calculating?”

That’s far too complimentary.” I analyze his features, searching for a crack that reveals the truth. “This isn’t you. Why are you going to such extremes?”

“My mother died. Our family is fractured. The weight of our empire now rests on my shoulders. That about sums it up, yeah?”

“Don’t use your grief as an excuse to be an asshole.”

“You have no idea what I’m feeling.”

My gaze scans his frigid demeanor again. “I’m beginning to believe you feel nothing at all.”

“Now you’re finally getting it.” He chuckles but the dark noise is something from a nightmare. “Rest assured, I’m fulfilling my promise to her by ensuring our legacy continues to thrive.”

“She wouldn’t approve of this.”

His expression goes arctic and I almost shiver. “You have no idea what she wanted.”

My gulp is audible, but I don’t waver. “I know she wouldn’t have wanted this. She wouldn’t want you stooping to such levels.”

“There you go again, sticking your assumptions where they don’t belong.” He dips until our noses almost touch. “Haven’t you learned by now that you’re not part of our family?”

“But aren’t you trying to force me to be just that?”

“In name only.”

“Not interested.” I shove past him and whip out my phone. “Bianca will never believe what you’re trying to do.”

“And she won’t until it’s too late,” Brody calls after me.

But I barely hear him over the outgoing call ringing in my ear.

“Holy hay bales!” The familiar voice bellows across the parking lot and stops me in my tracks. “Are my old eyes deceiving me or is Brody Benson at a charity event?”

I turn to acknowledge Ted Malone’s humor. He’s been friends with my dad since they were kids and remains a permanent staple in our lives. Some of that might have to do with him being the town mayor for at least a dozen or so years.

A breeze kicks up dust while I meet him halfway to the gate. “Don’t make me sound like such a Scrooge. I’m always happy to support a worthy cause.”

Especially if it involves tracking down a certain cowgirl and ruffling her rhinestones.

Ted bobs his head as we walk to the park entrance. “Just busting your chops. Benson Farmstead is always the first to donate.”

“And I’ll be sure to keep it that way.”

His meaty palm grips my shoulder. “Cloverleaf Meadows is in your debt. If you ever need anything, be sure to holler.”

“You know I will.” Not that I’ve ever called in a favor, but it’s good to have in my back pocket.

“I’ve been meaning to ask”—he lowers his voice before adding—“is it true you’re getting married?”

A chuckle puffs free and I scrub over my lips. Dad must’ve shared his grand scheme. “That’s the plan.”

Ted hums. “And Paisley Keaton is your intended bride?”

I survey the crowd gathered for the event, searching for a particular shade of twinkly blonde. “If she’ll have me.”

“Now that’s interesting,” he muses. “I talked to Bill the other day and he didn’t know a thing about his daughter getting hitched.”

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