With that, he turns his horse and rides off toward the house like he didn’t just abandon me in the middle of nowhere with a hundred pound of luggage and a half-ruined blowout.
No offer to help. No apology. Not even a backward glance.
Lovely. So I guess I’m walking.
Welcome to hell. Population: Me.
It tookme a solid thirty minutes—thirty fucking minutes—to drag my overpacked and overpriced luggage across his godforsaken ranch. I’m drenched insweat, dirt clings to my clothes like glitter at Coachella, and cow saliva is marinating in my hair like some sick, twisted hair mask. I’m one cracked nail away from a complete mental breakdown.
Finally, I reach his house. It’s nothing like the cold, glass-walled mansion I grew up in. This place is old. Sturdy. The white paint is faded and peeling in places, weathered soft by years of sun and wind. The porch stretches wide across the front, the wooden boards creaking beneath every angry step of mine. An old rocking chair sits near the railing, and honestly? It looks like it’s seen some shit.
So have I.
I throw myself into it with a dramatic sigh, the chair groaning beneath my weight as it starts to sway. My head drops back, resting against the wood, and I let my eyes roam across the land.
There’s a giant oak tree off to the left, its branches thick and tangled, casting just enough shade to sit and read a book. A red barn sits a little ways out, sun-bleached and solid. Further back, there’s a shed with a dented tin roof and a busted door that somehow still feels put together—like everything here is rough around the edges but still standing. It feels peaceful and calm, in a sense.
Which pisses me off even more.
Just as the knots in my back start to loosen, I hear the front door click shut, heavy boots on the old wood, the creak of the porch boarding under his weight.
“Restin’ already, darlin’?” He grumbles, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his jeans.
I don’t even bother hiding the glare I shoot him. “Well, considering I just hiked Mt. Everest to get to your front door, yeah. I’m taking a fucking seat.” I kick my legs off the ground, swaying back and forth.
His eyes narrow. “Listen here, you brat,” he snaps, “you’re in my house under your daddy’s orders. So grab your shit and come inside before I drag it in myself and toss it in the damn barn.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, fuck you.”
He spins on his heel like I didn’t even speak, stomping towards the front door like he’s above the conversation.
“Oh, that’s it?” I shout after him, dragging my suitcase across the weathered floor. “You just get to bark orders and fuck off without even helping? What, are you allergic to decency?”
He doesn’t spare me a glance as he shouts. “I’m allergic to whiny-ass princesses who think hard work is a death sentence.”
“Call me princess and I will flatten your truck tires with my bare hands!”
He stops at the door, looking over his shoulder, smirking like he lives to piss me off. “Try me, darlin’. I’ve got four spares.”
My jaw practically vibrates with tension. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
“And you’re a pain in mine.”
He disappears inside, letting the screen door slam behind him.
I yank my suitcase harder, muttering every curse I know under my breath.
Like I said, bullshit.
carter
. . .
When Vartan called me and told me that his daughter needed to learn responsibility, I thought he was calling me to vent.
I guess he had other plans. He shipped his daughter, whom I’ve met once when she was too young to remember, to my ranch.
I’m so fucking thrilled.
