Page 24 of Want You Back

“I’m redoing the parlor.” I shrugged like this was no big deal, rather than a personal mission to tackle the past, wrestle it to the ground.

“Are you seriously that bored?” Faith shook her head, leaning against the banister and not venturing farther into the work zone.

“That tired of living in a museum. Redoing your old room for Hannah was fun.” I’d spent the last few years delegating most of the hands-on labor in my projects, especially after the TV show started. Working on the ranch house was a nice way to flex my rusty skills. Hannah had been assisting me until Kat messaged that she could use a helper at the barn. Probably for the best since Faith didn’t look particularly ready to parent. “I’m going to tackle the other rooms in the house, one by one, bring them into the current century, make it more palatable to buyers.”

I added the part about buyers thinking Faith would like that as she had a singular focus on selling, but she frowned.

“Any buyer will likely raze the ranch house and start fresh with something befitting an estate of this size, not a hodgepodge of design styles dating back a hundred years.” Faith gestured at the house around us. “But feel free to knock yourself out in the meantime.”

I didn’t care for the pinch in my chest at the thought of this house being demolished. It had strong bones. The right buyer could do a lot with it. The pinch became a dull burn as Faith made a beeline to the dining room liquor cabinet.

“Is that your breakfast?” I asked. I’d run with Hollywood types. I knew full well that drinking could start with brunch and continue onwards, but since we’d been back at the ranch, Faith seemed determined to punish her liver—and the rest of us—for her fate.

“Maverick.” She gave me a chilly glare. The older sister who had driven me into town so many times that summer before high school to see Colt, the one who’d arranged for birthday and graduation presents, the one who’d tried hard to soften the impact of our father’s indifference seemed long gone, replaced by a stranger with a familiar indifference and talent for dismissal. “It’s a lunch cocktail, not a red flag.”

“You should get out,” I urged. Fixing whatever ailed Faith wasn’t within my power, but perhaps I could distract her. “Go into town, maybe to the salon.”

“I’m not trusting anyone in Lovelorn with my hair.” She sighed dramatically like she hadn’t spent years doing exactly that. “And what’s with you getting all comfortable here? Redecorating? Signing up for that trail ride with Hannah? Hanging around with Colt Jennings again?”

“His kid is friends with Hannah, and he’s the sheriff.” My voice came out testier than I’d intended. I hadn’t seen Colt beyond a few moments when dropping off or picking up the girls, but I was counting down to the trail ride. Something seemed to have shifted the night I’d made pizza, and I wanted to explore further, get to know who Colt was now, not simply remember who he’d been to me. “Our paths are going to cross.”

“That all that’s crossing?” Faith gave me a pointed look before cackling. I’d never confirmed anything for her, but she’d been one of the few people to guess I had a crush on Colt in high school. She’d been nicer about it then, though, softly hinting and later breezily accepting my coming out. “Too soon for that joke?”

Rather than reply, I made a frustrated noise. I wouldn’t out Colt, but I had to admit the attraction was still there, on my side at least.

“Whatever.” Faith waved the hand that wasn’t holding her whiskey tumbler. “I’m going to take the weekend of the trail ride to head to Denver. I’ve scheduled a consultation with a different law firm.”

The first firm she’d consulted had quoted an eye-popping fee for challenging the will with no guarantees it would be successful, so I wasn’t surprised Faith was shopping around.

“Okay. Are you driving there?” I glanced meaningfully at her drink.

“Flying. Friend with an estate near Durango owes me a favor.” Faith shrugged like agreeing to fly in a small private plane was no big deal. I’d always admired her brashness, the ability to seize what she wanted, whether a designer dress or a particular oil baron.

“You don’t get nervous flying?”

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same tree twice.” Faith pursed her lips. “And I refuse to be held prisoner by this family’s bad luck.”

“Was it all bad?” When I was younger, all I’d been able to see was my father’s withdrawal and bitter shell, but now that he was gone, I’d found myself questioning the accuracy of my assumptions. Our mother had been the photo taker, seldom the subject, but in the few photos we had of Mom, she was smiling, squinting off into the Colorado sun. Nearly twenty-five years had passed, and I could still hear her laugh. On better days, Faith had that same laugh. “You’re older. You remember more. Were Dad and Mom ever happy as a couple?”

“Hell if I know, and I’ve given up caring.” Faith floated back toward the front stairs, whiskey in hand. “Don’t go romanticizing this place.”

With that warning, she left me alone with my project, which felt far more foolish now. Faith had always run hot and cold. When she wanted to be, she was a generous big sister who had tried to fill some of the cracks in our father’s parenting. I’d put a lot of memories into the truck she’d made sure I had in high school. However, when she wasn’t in good sibling mode, she could be bitter and sullen, and the drinking wasn’t helping at all.

I hadn’t expected her to help with my plans for the house, but her outright dismissal had me less than eager to return to work. Accordingly, I moved on to checking my empty inbox. It was a down market for tourism, and no hotels were in the market for a washed-up reality star advisor. Funny how when I was in California, I’d inwardly celebrated my growth as I’d found my talent in turning broken hotels into beloved retreats. Here, though, I was surrounded by broken things that refused easy fixes and by memories that called into question whether I’d done any growing at all.

As I shut my laptop with a decisive click, I caught sight of the wall calendar in the kitchen. The trail ride was coming up, and I had yet to get my butt in a saddle. The trail ride meant seeing Colt, so my pulse predictably went giddyup at the thought. I needed to check on Hannah anyway, so I made my way to the big horse barn. Off in the fields, some of the summer hands worked with the crops while others, likely the more permanent hands, moved cattle from one pasture to another. Learning names was a work in progress, but noticing familiar faces was a step forward.

“What can I do for you?” Grayson, not Kat, loomed large in the doorway of the nearest stall, holding a pitchfork as I entered the barn.

“I was looking for Kat. I’m doing that trail ride with Hannah. I…uh…need to pick a horse. And possibly get some practice.”

“Smart, not waiting till the day of.” Grayson might have been making a joke, but he didn’t laugh, so I didn’t either. “Kat took Hannah out for some practice of her own and a chance to check some nearby fencing. But I can get you saddled.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I held up my hands. “I’m sure you’ve got a million other things to do.”

“Yep, and you’re one of them.” He gave a firm nod, shutting the stall door behind him and heading down the row of horses. “I’m gonna take the opportunity to run some numbers by you. Busy season here, and I want to make sure you’re up to speed.”

“Okay.” I trailed behind him as he passed Willow’s horse, Pepperjack, and the empty stall where Magnolia usually resided. He paused near a fierce-looking chestnut horse of mammoth proportions named Firecracker. “Pick me something…biddable.”

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