Page 12 of Deceit & Desire

I gritted my teeth and sighed as I pulled back out onto the road, my gut knotted with dread. “I just hope we don’t end up paying for it in more ways than one. That guy threatened to call the cops on me.”

* * *

The truck rattleddown the long dirt drive leading to Twisted Creek Ranch, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a damn lead blanket. As I killed the engine, the trailer shifted behind us, the colt inside letting out a sharp, nervous whinny.

Zoe leaned her head against the window, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still sharp as she scanned the yard. She straightened slightly when a figure emerged from the barn, wiping his hands on a rag.

Rick Moore.

He’d come to Montana straight out of high school, leaving Alabama and his small-town roots in Bay Minette behind for wide-open skies and steady work. Now, at just 21—barely old enough to buy a beer—Rick had proven himself to be one of the hardest workers on the ranch. He didn’t cut corners, didn’t grumble, and didn’t expect anything he didn’t earn. His strong Southern drawl set him apart, a constant reminder of where he’d come from, and the man worked like he was trying to prove something to himself. I respected that.

Unlike Cody Jacobson—who barely scraped by doing the bare minimum and only stuck around because Mr. Brandt was sick, dealing with the early stages of lung cancer, and didn’t have the time or the energy to fire him—Rick was reliable. Dependable. The kind of guy who didn’t need to be told what to do twice.

His stride slowed when he saw the trailer, his brow furrowing like he already knew this wasn’t just a routine trip.

“What’d you bring back now, York?” Rick called, his voice carrying that rich Alabama drawl, each word slow and deliberate. He tucked the rag into his back pocket as he strode closer. “That trailer’s seen more action than I have all week.”

I climbed out of the truck, my boots crunching on the gravel as I walked toward him.

“Michaelson’s man decided to play cowboy with a whip,” I said, the anger from earlier still simmering in my chest. “We couldn’t leave the colt with him at Tanner’s Hollow Farm.”

Rick shook his head as he stepped closer, his expression darkening.

“Figures.” He glanced at the trailer, his sharp eyes assessing the situation. “Need a hand?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get him unloaded.”

Rick moved to the side of the trailer, his movements efficient and deliberate. The colt’s eyes rolled nervously as the trailer door swung open, its sides heaving with each labored breath. Rick let out a low, calming murmur, the kind of thing that always seemed to work better than any command.

“Poor guy’s been through hell,” Rick said softly, his hand brushing lightly against the colt’s neck. “Let me grab the halter and lead.”

Zoe stepped out of the truck, lingering by the trailer as Rick and I worked to steady the colt. She didn’t say much, just watched quietly, her arms folded as if she was trying to hold herself together.

The colt snorted and shifted, but Rick’s touch stayed steady, his voice low and reassuring as he fastened the halter and clipped on the lead.

“Easy, boy,” Rick murmured. “We’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

I held the colt steady as Rick eased him down the ramp. Once on solid ground, the colt shivered but didn’t try to bolt. Rick handed me the lead for a moment while he gave the horse a quick once-over, his practiced hands moving over its trembling frame.

Zoe’s voice broke the silence. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Rick glanced her way, his expression softening just a little.

“It’ll take time, but he’s got a good chance now that he’s in better hands,” he said. “You did the right thing bringing him here.”

Zoe’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction, but I could see the weight of everything still hanging heavy in her eyes. She didn’t need to say it, and neither did I—we both knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Rick gave the colt a gentle pat, then looked at me. “Let’s get him settled. Looks like it’s been one hell of a day.”

He wasn’t wrong. And as we led the colt toward the barn, I couldn’t help but wonder how many more days like this we’d have before Michaelson and his people finally left us in peace.

Or if they would ever do any such thing.

Chapter5

Time Isn’t Enough

PLAYLIST: ”LABYRINTH” BY TAYLOR SWIFT

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