Page 47 of The Mountain Echoes
This is her standard tactic when she feels she’s going to cry.
I smile warmly at her and cup her cheek. “I love you, too, squirt.”
She growls at the old nickname—claims she hates it—but I’m pretty sure she secretly likes it.
I finish some work in the office, check in with my ranch foreman, and then thirty minutes later find myself at Longhorn Ranch.
It’s a lovely spring day. Chilly but clear. It tricks you into forgetting how hard winter was.
The sky is a spotless blue, and the air smells like a promise—because soon we’ll be planting, kicking off the long, stubborn cycle of sowing, growing, and praying the land pays us back.
Around here, spring doesn’t just mean flowers and thawing ground. It means debt coming due, seed costs rising, and the hope that by fall, there’ll be enough to sell, enough to survive, and maybe even enough to breathe easy for a while.
Nadine nods at me when she sees me.
She’s sitting on the porch, going through a tablet. I like her very much, and I’m hoping she’ll become an asset, managing more than just the farm and orchard at Longhorn when I buy it.
“How’s it goin’, Nadine?”
“It’s goin’.”
I smile at her and tilt my chin toward the house. “How are things inside?”
“Same ol’, same ol’.”
“Except Rami is gone and his oldest daughter is here,” I remind her, aware that I’m uncomfortable saying Aria’s name aloud.
She chuckles. “Except that.”
I walk into the living room and hear the clinking of ice and glass. It’s only noon, so I guess Hudson is already pouring bourbon like it’s water.
“Mav.” Hudson lifts his glass in a toast. “You here for the dog and pony show?”
Celine floats into the living room, dressed in a black dress that hugs every curve. Her hair is coiffed to perfection. She’s wearing fire-engine red lipstick. The diamonds around her neck, wrist, and on her ears shine as brightly as her eyes do, which are shimmering with tears.
She’s in her mourning ensemble.
I can’t help but compare her to the woman who had worn a black dress as well. Her hair was in a braid. She wore no makeup. Her eyes were flat, blank. She wore no diamonds.
I don’t have a type when it comes to women. I like having sex with women whom I can talk to, though not always. I don’t mind casual hookups, but I’ve also had relationships—though my companions might call it an exaggeration—that lasted a couple of months with women who I enjoyed both in and out of bed.
But none of the women I’ve been with in the past years have intrigued me more than Aria.
“Mav.” Celine goes on tip-toe and hugs me and lingers. “Thank God.”
I set her away from me when I see Hudson smirk.
“I didn’t know I was the Almighty.”
“You might be today,” she purrs, sliding her arm into mine and walking me to a couch. “Mac’s on his way in a bit. He wants Nadine and Earl here…God only knows why.”
I don’t like how dismissive she is of people who work hard and get their hands dirty so she can wear diamonds, but I’m keeping the peace with her, so I refrain fromtelling her off and simply say, “They were with Rami for a long time.”
She sits next to me. “Would you like a drink?”
On cue, we hear the soft rattle of ice from Hudson. He’s by the full bar tucked into the corner of the living room—a piece that wouldn’t be out of place in a five-star hotel. The oak counter gleams under the afternoon light, flanked by high-backed leather stools that still carry the faint creak of old conversations.
Behind it, an antique mirror reflects the room in hazy fragments, its shelves lined with jewel-toned bottles—bourbon, vermouth, tequila—all waiting like silent witnesses to the dramas they cause.
