Page 65 of Cabins Cows Critics
We move into the kitchen, and I finish making my sandwich while I tell him all about it, and for a few minutes, I forget. Then Poppy calls out.
“Dean!” she yells as she stomps down the stairs, bringing the tap tap of Cuddles’ and Lulu’s tiny hooves as they follow behind her. “Dean, there are people here with cameras. Are we going to be on TV?”
Dean goes to deal with them, but I grab my sandwich, take a bite, and step into his path.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“You don’t have to. Don’t let these vultures force you to do anything.”
“They’ll just keep coming. If I am going to stay, it’s time I stopped running and faced the truth of who I am.”
“If you’re sure?”
I’m not sure. My stomach is doing somersaults and my pulse is beating so loud that it’s echoing in my ears, but I need to do this.
I take another bite of my sandwich, hoping that with something in my gut, I’ll feel less nervous about what comes next. I used to be in front of cameras all the time. I was the star of a fucking reality show, though there was so little reality in it, I’m not sure they can really call it that. But this is different. This time, it’s the real me stepping in front of the camera. Well, here goes nothing.
I pull open the screen door and step outside, there are two men, one from Channel Seventeen, with one of those big cameras on stands that they are setting up framing the ranch in the background, and the other, a blond guy wearing a dark blue suit that is clearly too thin for the cold weather we’re having, standing by a black Mercedes, talking on a cell phone and not really paying much attention to the other guy or to me. The second the Channel Seventeen reporter spots me, though, he turns the camera on the stand my way and rushes over.
I tip my hat to him.
“Welcome to the Beaker Brothers Ranch,” I say, and it gains the attention of the other guy, and he squints my way as if he’s trying to see through the deep tan, facial scruff, and cowboy hat.
“Theodore, what are your plans for the company?” the Channel Seventeen reporter asks immediately, throwing questions at me without even giving me time to answer if I could. “Why are you hiding on a ranch? Are the rumors you were disowned true?”
The other guy calmly steps between us.
“Mr. Richmont will have a statement for you shortly. Please give me a moment to confer with my client,” he tells him, passing the reporter a business card, and for some reason, he actually listens and returns to his camera.
This guy looks way too young to be a lawyer?
“If we could talk inside for a few minutes?” he asks as he hands me his card, too. Richmont Group is embossed on the front in gold foil, and on the back, it reads, Executive Assistant, Matthew Wilson. I knew he looked too young to be a lawyer. “Please, Mr. Richmont.”
I nod, and he follows me up to the house.
“I should have expected that if the reporters were starting to show up, the suits wouldn’t be far behind. So, how did you know I was here?” I ask as we step through the door.
“We’ve always known your whereabouts, Mr. Richmont.”
Chapter twenty-six
Hayden
COOL NIGHTS AND OPEN HEARTS
Mybasketcontainsahorseshoe and a red ribbon, which are only two of the ten things I need to gather on this scavenger hunt. Thankfully, the moment the guests all ran off to start collecting their items, I spotted one of the horseshoes the guys had hidden around the ranch hanging from a nail on the side of the mini barn, and the ribbon was tied to the branch of a nearby tree. Next on the list is a feather. The sun is starting to set over the mountains, bathing the ranch in a warm orange glow that is a stark contrast to the chill that grows deeper by the second.
A van that I swear had a giant number seventeen on the side screams out of the ranch, and then I spot a tall blond guy in a dark blue suit walking out of the house and toward a shiny black car. He’s on his phone but is far too far away for me to hear what he’s saying. Then, he climbs into his car and kicks up dirt and snow sludge on his way out of the ranch, too. A sinking feeling hits my gut as I realize that van could have been a reporter forsome media channel. Have they found Connor already? Did he call them? He wanted to stop running, and his idea to use the company’s profits to help keep this place going, expand it even sounded amazing, but I could tell he was nervous about stepping back into that world. Like he was worried that he would return to the person he was before he left all those years ago. If it all gets too much, will he run again? Now that I have him in my life, I can’t imagine my life without him, but I can’t tell him that. He went into this thing with the same expectations I did; it was always supposed to end when Christmas was over. But how do I walk away from the best thing to ever happen to me?
I walk up toward the chicken coop while texting Connor. He asked for my number after we sorted everything out, which is good because I want to make sure that was a news van I saw leaving the ranch, and he knows.
HAYDEN:
Hey, just saw a van that looked a lot like a news one pull out of the ranch. Just in case you were headed up to the house. Might want to keep an eye out.
His reply comes through in ten seconds.
CONNOR:
