Page 78 of For Fillies and Monsters

Sensing my hesitation, he looks back at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the show of his teeth. “Buttering you up so you give me a better deal on the land.” He winks and then continues, “I wanted the cattle; you wouldn’t believe how many my family sells in a year. But I have no property of my own in Moztecha, and someday, I hope to settle down here; plant roots.”

“You’d give up your family legacy to live in a place like Moztecha?” I sound incredulous, but that’s because I can’t fathom what he’s saying. Dale has told me a little about Mateo, including that he’s disgustingly wealthy, and one of the biggest cattle ranchers in Texas, just a couple towns over.

“No, no. I’m unfortunately the heir to my family’s business, but I’d like to have it—” He pauses, looking past me. I look over my shoulder to where Dale is standing on the fence, the warm sun baking her face. I trace his eyes back, now softened. “To visit.” It’s a whisper, but it’s all I need to hear. I wish for Dale’s happiness, maybe even above my own, and this man is clearly as obsessed with her as I am, even if he doesn’t say as much.

I nod. “Okay, how many acres are you looking for?”

“A hundred, maybe? Do you have a particular area you have no attachment to? I can make any place beautiful.”

“With all his money,” Dale chimes in, jumping into the conversation, oblivious to the one that we just had without her. He smiles at her, a crooked tip of his lips, perfect white teeth flashing through, and if I wasn’t already sotwisted up over another man, I might swoon. Dale, on the other hand, does, but she brushes it off by leaning into the fence. I side-eye her as heat crawls up her tan neck in dark splotches.

“You said it, not me,” he teases her.

“What about the back corner?” Gus steps in, clearly feeling left out, and I roll my eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“The corner with the large rock pile? The fence is horrible back there, the cows are always getting out, and then we wouldn’t have to fix it. Not to mention, it would put some space between you and that nasty neighbor.” It’s a logical solution, I see that.

But I’ve never been logical. When the world points left, I go right,just for fun.

“No, sorry, that corner is no good. I might wish my worst enemy to build a home there, but not you. You could bury a body back there and no one would ever find it.” I wave Gus off as he steps toward me. “You’re my friend now, and if you’re going to buy some land, it’s going to be a decent piece. I don’t want crappy land to come between our friendship.”

“I don’t mind—” Mateo starts.

“I insist. There’s a good piece in the right pasture that has some natural water flowing through it; you’ll need that for your cows until you can get it developed. If you help me build a fence out there, we can split it. We can head out there now and look at it, if you want.”

Mateo nods, and he and Dale follow behind me as I head toward my work pickup to drive us out there.

I don’t look back at Gus. I don’t acknowledge his questions or his frustrations. I continue to ignore him, just as I have been, at least for the rest of the day.

Tomorrow, I will try to turn a new leaf.Key word, try.

THIRTY-FOUR

STETSON

May 31st, 2024

I needthis stalemate to end between Gus and me. And by that, I mean I need to get over my shit. Gus has done nothing but be helpful and take mypotentiallybratty attitude in stride. Which seems so out of character for someone who most likely treats brats with punishment on their knees. As much as I crave that particular outcome, I need to end this before it comes to that.

I need to find peace. Before I do something stupid, like beg for punishment.

Stepping out onto the deck, I see Gus’s exposed back glistening as he heads back into the barn, full wheelbarrow in tow. It’s not heavy—only has hay in it—but his muscles still ripple with each step, each lift of his arms.

Am I drooling? Not off to a good start.

Shaking my head, I walk over to him, presenting a confident front I don’t feel. He pauses, sensing me, but continues doling out the flakes to his whinnying admirers. I watch him work, allowing myself only a moment to watch a particularly large droplet of sweat race across his back and disappear into the waist of his jeans.

Oh, to be a droplet of sweat.

Clearing my throat and tossing my braided hair over one shoulder, I tap my foot. I don’t know why it’s so hard to admit one’s fault, to ask for a truce when you’re the one who fired the first bullet—beg for forgiveness when you ache to commit the sin again. But it fucking is, and I can’t seem to get my mouth to move.

“Need something?” He doesn’t even turn around when he says it, and that only pisses me off more.

“No,” I reluctantly grit out, when in fact, yes, I came here to extend an olive branch.

Remember?

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