Page 7 of Run to Me
You’re ready for this.
More shuffling. More whispers. The crowd is restless. Eyes flit across the room, measuring each other. This is my game to play, and I didn’t come to lose.
“Remember,” he adds, just before the room erupts into the buzz of post-announcement jitters, “the auction starts at eight sharp.”
Eight sharp. My gaze snaps back to the corner where Ace stands. He meets my eyes, but looks away, and then a slow tilt of his head. I gather my papers and push through the double doors.
Serena stops me right outside the door. “Well?”
The papers tremble in my hands, a small betrayal. I don’t answer right away. Her touch on my shoulder is reassurance and expectation. She’s patient, even when she’s curious. I give a little shrug.
“That bad, huh?” Her laugh is an easy release, cutting through the air.
“Not bad,” I say, but it’s not convincing. The papers crumple in my grip. “Just a lot to take in.”
Serena is always pushing me to do what she knows I can. What I’m not sure I can.
“Your vision is good. Did you see him?”
I don’t need to ask who she means. “Yeah, he was here.”
“I still can’t believe you guys are going to be battling it out. It’s got to make the sex that much hotter.”
I smack her shoulder. “Shut up. Someone could hear you. Nothing is worse than small town gossip.”
“Oh, whatever. How do you feel about him wanting the ranch? Isn’t it upsetting? That he might own your family’s ranch? His last name will be on that sign.”
I try not to think about it. Ace isn’t a bad guy, his father is. But she’s right. Honestly, I’m surprised his father isn’t coming after the ranch as a way to stick it to my father one last time.
“Every rancher in Texas is coming to this auction. Our property has been maintained for generations. Ace has every right to want a place to call his own especially after the shitty things his father has said.”
“Wait, you guys talk? I figured you just met up and screwed like rabid animals.”
“God, you’re feral.”
Selena can sometimes be a bit much, but she has no filter. Says whatever is on her mind, no matter what others think.
“You know what you want, Liv,” Serena says, as if she’s saying goodbye and good luck at the same time.
“I do.”
She smacks my shoulder and smiles. “Then go fucking get it. Don’t let anyone stop you. Not even him.”
ACE
My father sets his sights on me from across the dinner table, his mouth curving around words that strike. “The Grant ranch is nothing but a foolish dream. Why are you wasting your time? When I die, you might inherit this one. Why would you want to take over someone else’s legacy?”
I grip the table’s edge, forcing my jaw steady, as he unfurls his latest condemnation of my ambitions. He has never believed in me and all my life I have tried to make him proud. He might hint, but I know he will never give the ranch over to me. Even as his son, I’m not good enough. I’ll show him what it means to care for the land you own instead of just using it to make money. He doesn’t get his hands as dirty as I do. I’m fucking sick of it. He has used me since I was little for ranch work - giving him a way to cut costs and make more profit. Not anymore.
His fork slams onto the plate. “A waste of time,” he adds, narrowing his eyes as if daring me to speak. But I’ve learned that lesson. I keep my mouth shut. “The Grant ranch can’t compete with mine.” His gaze moves over me, assessing, like he’s wondering why I can’t see the obvious truth. For someone who has been around me my whole life, he knows very little about me.
The room is too cold, too big. I remember the first time he brought me here, a child trying to fit into a world of stiff expectations. You see my father isn’t just the owner of this ranch, but a wealthy businessman who uses it as a disguise. To make other people think he works hard. In reality, he doesn’t lift a finger but takes all the credit.
“The ranching business isn’t for the sentimental,” he says, contempt coating every word. “It takes more than big ideas and blind hope. It takes a lot of hard work and money. Neither of which you have.”
His disdain sits heavy on my shoulders, but I lift my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He likes to do this, bulldoze over everyone’s dreams while playing the all-knowing patriarch. As a child, I didn’t have a choice, but as an adult, I’ll be damned if I let him tell me how to spend my hard earned money.
“It takes guts,” he says, driving the word home like a final nail in the coffin. “And the kind of experience you just don’t have. I tried to steer you clear, but you never did listen.”
