Page 123 of When the Smoke Clears

“That’s fair.”

“I think you’re under the impression that you’re going to need to oversee everything that happens. And on a big-picture scale, you are. But you’re going to have to get comfortable delegating,” I tell him pointedly.

“Says the woman who’s always trying to shoo me out to work.” He kisses the top of my head.

“I just don’t like being in the way.”

Like lightning, he readjusts his grip and pulls me atop him again. “Would you stop that? You’re notinthe way. You are the only way. The only path I care about is the one where you are.” He reaches up to run his fingers through my loose hair, but they tangle near my ear and I snicker. He doesn’t acknowledge either.

“I used to think that expanding was only about what was best for Strickland Ranch. The legacy. I wanted to make my parents proud.”

I quiet to take in the seriousness of what he’s sharing.

“Now I know it’s not just that. I still want those things. I want to do everything in my power to keep Strickland Ranch thriving and growing. But I also want to build a life with you. So only the things that make that a possibility matter to me.”

I lean down and press a tender kiss to his lips. “Fine. I am the way.” I grin against his mouth and his lifts into a returning smile.

“Fuck, I love you.”

My heart tips over itself. “I love hearing you say that.”

He lifts his head up, pulling me tighter against him, and growling repeatedly in my ear, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I giggle as he rolls us over, sliding his growing erection between my legs again. “Show me again,” I whisper.

Chapter 45

Stephanie

Nothinginmylifelooks the way it used to. In some ways, I’ve been living in limbo for twenty years. The days I’ve spent at Mother’s have been quiet. Quiet sorrow, quiet rage, quiet shame.

Kathryn and I spoke once more after our initial conversation. We shared details about our lives with Alan and discovered that we have too much in common to be coincidence. Oldest daughters of widowed mothers, families with land or assumed assets to be inherited, mothers to daughters not sons, and absent ex-husbands. We also have similar features, including our blonde hair and blue eyes.

I haven’t figured out what it all means, aside from Alan being a controlling, psychotic bigamist.

After finding Maci and her boyfriend postcoital in the yard, I’ve not heard from her. I know she was surprised at my leaving abruptly, but I could hardly tell her what happened when James came by. It will only solidify her animosity toward me.

It’s not until Thanksgiving when I’m at my short-term rental enjoying a bottle of wine and a charcuterie tray that I begin to contemplate what I’m going to do with my newfound information. I still haven’t heard from Alan. Given what I’ve gleaned from Maci and Kathryn recently, my body tingles on and off like a live wire.

Alan has to be in control. He made a choice not to tell me about Colt, and now he hasn’t called me even though hemustknow I’ve left. It’s all indicative of a plan. So what is it?

Even after ten years with him, I still can’t anticipate his moves. Frustration fuels my focused thoughts today.

That’s ok. I have a plan, too.

Someone starts screaming, waking me. I jerk upright, finding myself still on the couch in my rental. The incessant noise isn’t a person, but my phone wailing on the kitchen island. I stumble to it, courtesy of my second bottle of wine.

“Hello?” I’ve never sounded this rough in my life.

“Mrs. Young, this is AYT Security. We received a fire alert. Do you need us to dispatch the fire department?”

Blinking to clear my blurry vision, I press a hand against the cool counter to maintain my balance. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ma’am, is your house on fire?” There’s an urgency to the man’s voice.

“Fire?” I scan the kitchen and living room. “No, I—Wait.” My brain catches up faster than my vision. “AYT? Is this about the house in Dallas?”

“Yes ma’am. Is your house on fire?”

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