Page 16 of The Mountain Echoes
“You’ll never lose me,” I promise.
“Damn right I won’t—bet your sexy ass on it.”
I set the phone down next to me after I ended the call.
I look around, and nostalgia slams into me. For a moment there, when I was talking to Sanya, I was back in Napa, my old life, the one where I had fun, where there was no heartbreak, no rejection.
But I’m in Wildflower Canyon, in the room where I grew up, even though it looks nothing like how it used to.
I walk to the window and look out.
I see some of the guests are leaving; some are drinking on the porch. Someone has lit up the outdoor fire pit, and people are around it, the smokers, mostly.
I see Maverick Kincaid. He’s talking to Earl.
They both look up at the window I’m standing at. I don’t know if they can see me. The evening sun isn’t throwing as much light, and the room is dark.
I know I should go back down and be the good daughter. But this is the Celine show, and I’m merely a guest.
And does it matter? Papa is dead. These people didn’t love him as I did, as I still do. They didn’t know him, accept him for the good and the bad. Love him through his cruelty because Papa could be harsh. Forgive him his stubborn pride, because that drove so many of his decisions.
These people who ate the catered food, drank Papa’s bourbon, they’d never know the heartache of loving a father who loved my sister more, who cared for her more.
I close my eyes to hold the tears back. Papa wouldn’t appreciate them.
“She’s weaker than you, Aria. She needs me more.”
“I needed you, too, Papa,” I whisper into the emptiness of the room, which echoes the silent space in my heart.
CHAPTER 4
maverick
Hudson’s got a practiced charm, the slick way of talking that never means a damn thing. I’ve dealt with enough suits and sons-of-somebody to know a liar when I see one, and Hudson isall that.
“She’s always had eyes on him,” Celine tells me when we see him follow Aria up the stairs.
I refrain from saying, Aria isn’t the onefollowingHudson.
Celine closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “They used to…they used to have a thing.”
I arch an eyebrow.
I can’t imagine that staid woman having anything to do with a smarmy son of a bitch like Hudson.
Celine is naïve, and I can see her falling for him, but Aria looks shrewd, and from all accounts, granted, most of which come from her younger sister, who doesn’t seemto like her, Aria is cunning enough not to fall for a dickhead like Hudson.
“She made such a fuss when we fell in love.” She’s had a few glasses, and her tongue is looser than usual. “Papa had to ask her to leave. You know? Because she was being such a bitch.”
Something seems off about the story, but I think it’d be in poor taste for me to drill it out of the daughter of a man whom we just buried.
I didn’t know Rami Delgado well. No one did—maybe Earl and Nadine. There was a coldness to him. He was a cowboy through and through. Swore like a sailor. Worked harder than most. Made his share of bad decisions.
I know he struggled, but ranching’s never been the most profitable business. These days, the most valuable thing a rancher owns isn’t his cattle or his crops—it’s the land. And hotel, resort, and other developers are hungry for it.
Some folks want to turn Wildflower Canyon into the next Jackson Hole. But more of us still believe in what it is—pristine ranch country. Sure, some sell out, and we watch our soil get paved over and repackaged intorustic luxurywith a side of room service. But the heart of this place holds.
I was worried a few months back when Duke Wilder looked ready to sell off his ranch piece by piece, turning it into some airport and resort monstrosity. But thank God, he changed his mind.
