Page 86 of Peaches

Wells frowns, looking back to Huck. “You can’t do that,” he says simply.

But Huck’s smile only widens. “Indeed I can. Please pay Brooks my respects,” he says, turning to head back out through the door.

Rhett is hot on his trail. “You come in here again,” he growls, “and I will tear you apart with my bare fucking hands.”

“Is that a threat?” the mayor cuts in, looking at Rhett with disdain.

Rhett shoots him an icy glare.

“Enough,” Kasey snaps, pointing a finger toward the door. “This is not the time or place. Our family is grieving. You need to go. Now.”

We all watch as the men turn to walk out the door, traces of dark twin smiles on their faces.

“Motherfucker,” Wells says, looking back toward the door, like he might be able to curse his uncle from where he stands.

“Asshole,” Rhett agrees, looking down at the paper.

“He’s not going to get it,” Kasey says. “The ranch. He’s not going to get it.” It’s almost a relief to hear him sound so sure.

“We have the cash now, right?” Wells asks.

Kasey shoots Rhett a glare.

“What?” Rhett shrugs. “You’re the one who gave him a gun and brought him to Rustler Ranch.”

“You’rethe fucking reason I had to,” Kasey seethes.

“Guys,” Wells says, throwing his hands between them. “Not now.”

“We’ve got this,” Rhett tells Kasey. He lowers his voice before adding, “We just need a lawyer.”

Kasey only frowns, the confidence he held already gone again.

Suddenly the doors to the bar burst open, revealing a tall, slender woman with long dark hair that cascades around her beautiful tanned skin. Her deep brown eyes scan the room, looking at each of us as a smile slowly grows from her plump lips. Golden bracelets around her wrist jangle together as she steps into the bar, her stiletto boots clacking against the worn hardwood floor.

My first thought is that she’s a tourist who must have taken a wrong turn into Saddlebrook Falls—based on her manicured nails and stylish clothes, her tastes are far too expensive to have landed here on purpose. But then I see the way her eyes brighten when they land on Kasey, and I turn to find him standing so still it’s as if he’s paralyzed. His eyes are wide with fear, like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Kasey,” she says as she saunters toward him.

“Ava?” he asks, shock written on every feature of his face.

And then it hits me. Ava Jones. The sheriff’s daughter.

“Looks like a party’s already started,” Ava says, sweeping her gaze around the room full of people before her eyes glue back to Kasey and she leans in to whisper, “I heard somebody’s in need of a wife?”

EPILOGUE

OLIVIA

We stand beneath a cluster of towering oaks draped in Spanish moss, their gnarled branches spreading wide around us in a romantic, near-ethereal embrace. It’s golden hour in South Carolina, and the glow from the setting sun washes over the beautiful bride as she takes careful, confident steps toward the emotional red-haired man waiting for her at the altar.

Unlike most of the people around me though, I’m not watching her. My attention fastens to the older man next to her who leads her down the aisle, soaking in the way his rich honeyed skin contrasts against the dark suit he wears, how his gray-brown hair sweeps to the side in a way that strikes against the formality in everything else around us.

Clive Calhoun.

My father.

It’s been two days since we arrived in Charleston for Céline’s nuptials to her almost-husband, Nathan. Two days since we were ushered into the sunny sitting room of my father’s house and welcomed with nothing but open arms by him and his wife, Colette.

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