I jogged back to my diesel, which was still running, and the heat from the cab imbued me with a measure of bravery. I pulled my gloves off with my teeth and buckled my seatbelt with shaking hands. This was, by far, the most harebrained rescue I'd been involved in, and it wasn't over yet. I still had to unload a horse and get her settled back at my place—if I managed to avoid some crazy asshole's wrath. I wasn't going to hit the pillow until well after midnight, I was sure.
I waited for Lila to pull out, and I cursed under my breath at how quickly she peeled out of her snowy driveway. She had to slow down, or she was going to get herself killed. Slowly, I followed her, pulling the trailer as smoothly as I knew how in these conditions. I hadn't grown up in the Rockies where snow dusted the world more months than not, but I sure as hell was learning.
The wind had calmed some, and visibility was better for now, so as I made a left turn out of the driveway and onto the county road, I had a perfect view through the windshield of an F-250 as I passed by it. A man, scruffy with a red beard and a black beanie, scowled at me as I drove past. He hit his brakes.
My pulse thundered, and I turned my eyes forward, keeping my thoughts on the road. "Watch the road," I muttered out loud. Talking out loud was definitely my weirdest trait… well, one of them. "Watch the road. He's not going to shoo—"
A loudbangmade me jump and scream, my knuckles going white on the steering wheel. But it wasn't a gun. He'd slammed his gate closed. I looked in my rearview mirror to find Mr. Thompson kicking his gate and throwing his hat into the snow. I forced a breath into my lungs, but it caught, and I shuddered out an exhale.
"Jesus," I said in the quiet cab. I drove in silence for a while, unable to concentrate on anything other than putting distance between my truck and that man back there.
Anytime I was in a snowstorm, my chest ached, and my muscles tightened involuntarily—an unfortunate side effect when I lived somewhere like Park City. I tried to ignore the memories that flooded my awareness. Flashes of howling snow and biting cold rushed through my system with ruthless persistence. They were as foggy as my vision had been that day, and I was pretty sure my mind had covered up the incident to protect me. To intentionally forget.
But my body remembered.
It wasn't until I was back on the pavement and heading to my ranch in Heber Valley that my phone rang suddenly, pulling me out of my haze. I fished the phone out of my pocket and checked the caller ID, only to groan softly.
It was my mother.
"Of all times," I hissed. She was an hour behind me, time zone-wise, and she never called at convenient times. I considered ignoring her. I considered pressing the voicemail button. But the mini pony in the trailer behind me only reminded me why I needed the witch to be happy with me. I answered with tight lips. "Not a good time."
"It never is with you, darling," Sylvia replied, unaffected and with silver-tongued sweetness. "And anyway, I won't take much of your time."
I checked my rearview mirrors again, oddly paranoid about being followed. What if he went to the ranch? "I paid you this month already, Mom."Not sure I'll be able to make the payment next month, but a win is a win.
"Yes, but all I want to know, love, is if you will be here for Thanksgiving."
My eyelids fell in irritation. "Seriously?"
"Your brother patently refuses to join us, the ungrateful child."
My "ungrateful" brother had been tricked by our own mother into a bizarre lease that had almost forced him to marry his roommate, Gemma. Knox and Gemma ended up falling in love anyway, and they were probably going to avoid marriage to make a petty point, but Mom hadn't taken the rejection well. And while he had escaped, she still had her hooks in me. She clearly planned to use that against me.
"I guess I'm just as ungrateful, then." I said that with my usual sass, but I knew Mom would have the final say in what I did.
"You can't really be thinking about staying out there for the holidays. You won't even come to see your father? "
It wasn't a question. It was an order. "Will Dad even be there?" I asked bitterly. The only reliable thing about our father was that we knew he wouldn't be around. He traveled the world and worked remotely while our mother grew their wealth with their real estate empire in Oregon. I'd known the answer when I'd asked it. He wouldn't be there.
"Of course, he will," Sylvia lied smoothly. Fluent in bullshit, that woman.
"Cool," I replied flatly.
"So, you'll come?" she clarified.
I thought about the deed to my ranch that my mother owned, and with resignation, I said, "Sure, Mom."
"How is the… farm?" Sylvia asked. Her voice sounded tighter than a stretched rubber band. Just as likely to snap at me, too.
"It's a rescue ranch, and as you well know, it's struggling."
"Well," Sylvia said, apparently relaxing, "I'm happy to continue financing the majority of your payments on the property. That's what families do."
That's what controlling mothers do to keep their children in line. "Thanks," I bit out.
"One more thing," my mother said, and this time, her tone had regained all the confidence and assurance it had initially, having confirmed that she had complete control over my life. "As you know, Knox and Gemma canceled their wedding. I have deposits on everything—the venue, the invitations, the food, the floral arrangements. I am extremely put out, and I'll lose thousands."
That was pennies to her. I did my best to sound sympathetic. "Oh, well… that sucks."
