Page 67 of Ashes of the Past
“You should get back inside,” I say, trying to regain some semblance of control. “You need to rest.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m going, but only because I’ve got paperwork to catch up on, not because you told me to.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. Also, I can take care of the paperwork. I…”
He grins, and for a moment, he looks like his old self—strong, confident, unshakable.
“It was part of the job requirements for managing the ranch. Your dad wanted you to be able to focus on your dreams.”
“I—”
“I’m not arguing,” he says over his shoulder.
I harumph, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
Jerk. Stubborn ass.
And then I laugh because he is all those things, but he’s also right; it’s what he was hired to do.
I watch him go, my heart still racing from the kiss. As he steps into the sunlight, his silhouette is framed by the charred remains of the barn.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and see Clay’s name flashing on the screen.
Why in the hell is he calling me so early?
My stomach sinks. I send the call to voicemail, not in the mood to deal with him right now.
I’m never in the mood to deal with that asshole.
The phone buzzes again. And again. By the third call, I’m grinding my teeth, but I still don’t answer. Then, a text comes through.
Pick up your damn phone. It’s an emergency. I know you’re checking the cattle and the fence line right now.
How does he know that, other than I’m a creature of habit?
My stomach drops and a little anxiety takes over. He shouldn’t know my schedule; he was never here at the ranch when I started doing the morning rides. But his brother would know.
Was Lane spying on me and reporting back to his brother?
I close my eyes and push out the thoughts. I’m being paranoid because of lack of sleep and everything that’s been happening. I’m overthinking and making problems where there aren’t any.
My phone rings again, this time, I sigh and swipe to answer. “What is it, Clay?”
I can hear his heavy, angry breathing, and my entire body tenses. The memory of how many times I stood in front of him, bracing myself for the onslaught of his words and punches, makes me slowly start to disassociate from what was happening.
“What the hell, Brynn? Lane’s been fired?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have something to do with this? You bitch! My brother is your responsibility, and you fired him?”
“Lane is not my responsibility.”
“I can’t find him. He’s not answering anyone’s calls. If he went off the wagon and is dead somewhere, this is on you!” He’s screaming now.
I can almost picture his red face, flared nostrils, spit coming out of his mouth. I can almost see him pulling his hand back.
I blow out a breath and blink, remembering that we’re on the phone and I don’t have to deal with this anymore.
