PROLOGUE
IMOGEN
The smell of stale coffee and tobacco permeates the air of the old lawyer’s office, somehow made worse by the overwhelming floral perfume Petunia wears.
Grandpa’s widow sniffles, wiping her nose with a handkerchief as we wait for the solicitor to finally meet with us about the reading of my grandfather’s will. Well,I’mwaiting for the reading of the will. I’m not entirely sure why she’s here after only knowing my grandfather a year.
I barely know anything about the woman who claims to be hiswidow. They weren’t married—at least, not to my knowledge, though I doubt the man who raised me would forget to mention something so huge. Petunia is twenty years younger, spry, and from what I know after working at the old folk’s village, a frequent flyer. She isn’t living there, but she’s often visiting for…other reasons.
I never had a problem with her before. Now, though, as I sit quietly in my grief after losing the only person who ever cared about me, I can’t stand her. But I don’t tell her to leave. The solicitor asked for her to be here at the reading of the will, so that means something, I guess.
And yet, I can’t help but resent her for making my grandfather’s last moments about her. Not only now, not just when we said goodbye in hospice, but every moment after, too. The funeral, the planning, the wake. Everything had to be about her.
Hate might be a strong word, but I hate her.
The door to the office opens, and a man I vaguely recognise enters. Dark rim glasses cover most of his round face, dark, thick moustache twitching. He moves to the desk we sit in front of, looking between Petunia and I with a frown.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mr Lambert says, taking a seat at the desk.
Before I can thank him, Petunia does it for me. “Thank you.” She dramatically sniffles again before wiping her dry eyes. “It’s been so difficult.”
I press my lips together, the fight gone. I have to remind myself that it’s not her fault. Maybe she did love my grandfather. Who am I to say otherwise?
Numbness brought on by the cold reality of my life settles in my chest. It aches, which I guess is better than the pain of losing him.
Mr Lambert clears his throat. “Well, this won’t take long.” His dark eyes find mine. “Looks like Max adjusted his will a few months ago.”
Something about those words makes my stomach sink. But I keep my mouth shut as he reads through the remnants of my grandfather’s estate. The house, his car, the small amount of money he had—it all goes to Petunia.
“To Imogen,” Mr Lambert finishes, “I leave you enough to pay off your student debt and my second property in Willow Ridge.”
My head snaps up at that. Petunia makes a sound of disbelief, but I’m stuck on those words. I never wanted anything from mygrandfather. I just wanthim.I don’t want to be dealing with the fallout of his death—dealing with the greedy woman beside me.
But Willow Ridge could mean a new start away from all…this. Away from the grief. Somehow, Grandad knew it was where I wanted to go after everything.
And a new start is exactly what I need.
ONE
CALDER
Chill air greets me as I make my way out of the bunk house towards the barn and stables. The dim light coming from the morning sun glints off the frosty grass, and each breath I take fogs in front of me.
“We’re in for a cold fucking winter,” my twin grumbles, rubbing his hands together. “It’s going to be hell.”
I bump him with my shoulder as we enter the barn. “Live a little, Ghost,” I reply, smiling at his groan. He fucking hates the nickname, but it’s not my fault our parents named him after the friendly neighbourhood spirit. “Anyway, it’ll probably be exactly like every single one that’s come before. We’ll be cold, there’ll be some snow, and the only hot gossip we’ll get is from the rangers about the idiots still camping on the mountain during a damn snowstorm.”
Casper says nothing as he shakes his head. Eh, he knows I’m right.
When winter comes and the snow starts falling, that’s when the first time campers arrive in Willow Ridge.
Thank fuck we have a competent team of rangers who like to go out there and rescue them.
We silently go through our morning chores with the help of the other trainer, Finch. The routine we have now that the ranch continues to grow is pretty insane. Casper and I have always worked well as a team, being twins and all, but it helps having another set of hands to help muck the stalls.
Our newest addition to the stables meets me at the door. The kids of the ranch named her Star, which is cliche but fitting since she has a patch of white hair on her forehead shaped like a star.
“Well, look at you,” I murmur, rubbing a hand down her nose. “Settling in well?”
