Page 6 of Sugar
“Okay, so what’s your plan then?”
My silence is deafening.
“Look, I’ve seen the terms, Kasey. There isn’t much wiggle room around any of the parameters. You or one of your brothersneeds to be married to legally inherit the land, or your uncle stands to take it.”
“Steal it, you mean.”
“It’s not theft if it’s done right.”
I scoff. “How the hell have you seen the paperwork?”
She shrugs. “I found some things on my father’s desk. I guess Huck’s been ripening him up to strike if needed.”
A dart of white-hot anger shoots through me. “I fucking dare either of them to step one foot on this ranch.”
“Easy tiger.” Ava throws her hands up. “My point is you don’t have a plan that’s going to solve anything. Throwing punches won’t stop this from happening, it’ll just make matters worse. Let me in. Let me help.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Dammit, Kasey. Just let me in the goddamn door!” she shouts.
Her raised voice catches me off guard. I give her a long look, trying not to notice the way her hair sticks to her cheek or the flush that blooms beneath it. “I almost forgot how bossy you are,” I grumble.
“Thrilled for an opportunity to remind you that I always get what I want.”
The words nearly crush me. “Yeah. You sure do.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s not what I?—”
“Just come in so we can get whatever this is over with.” I move out of the way to give her room to pass.
She swallows and looks at me. And then she steps inside, carefully moving around me so that no part of her touches any part of me. “Nice place,” she says lightly, eyes roaming around the living room.
I try not to let myself feel the weight of what it means to have her inside my cabin. It might be her first time in this living room, but it sure as hell isn’t her first time on the ranch. We usedto spend hours together in the game barn, drinking stolen beers and smoking stolen cigarettes. I used to peel her clothes off in the dark and fuck her on the old couch by the beer pong table.
I wipe the memory from my mind, anchoring back to the here and now. “Thanks,” I say, walking straight for the kitchen. I don’t want her to sit down onthiscouch and get comfortable. I don’t want her in the same room as me for any longer than necessary. I’ll hear whatever she wants to say and then bid her one big fat adieu.
Thankfully, she trails behind me and sidles up to the counter. “Drinking already?” she asks, eyeing the open beer. The tip of her nose is red, matching the flush still lingering in her cheeks. I catch her shoulders shaking with a shiver.
I frown, ignoring her question. “Do you want some coffee? Might warm you up.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.”
Turning to brew a mug, I say, “Let’s have it then.”
I hear her snort. “I’ve already told you. Marriage is the quick fix to all your problems.”
A wave of heat climbs up the back of my neck where I can feel the weight of her eyes on me. I squeeze my eyes shut as another memory crashes over me: lying with her on a patch of warm sand, a gold band pinched between my fingers and my heart in my throat. It’s there and gone in an instant, a mere scrap, but it rips that old wound wide open.
I almost hate myself for it—another slip.
I don’t say anything as the coffee drips into the old ceramic mug, trying to force myself to tamp down the effect of her being here, inside my home. Never in a million years did I think I would see her again, let alone be making her a fucking cup of coffee in my kitchen like she didn’t utterly destroy me all those years ago.
When the mug is full and the dripping ceases, I pick it up and carry it to the fridge to pull out the creamer. “Sugar?” I ask, the word pistoning through me.
“No thanks,” she says softly.
I set the coffee and a carton of creamer down in front of her, reaching in the nearest drawer for a spoon. I drop that down too, and it clangs loudly against the counter. Ava flinches.
