Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Well, I was callin' because I wanted to make sure ya'll had everything you needed."
The words come out all prim and proper, like I'm hosting some charity gala instead of reaching out to my teenage sister-in-law.
Stupid, Savannah.
Of course, they have what they need. Colt is a thirty-one-year-old man with Ashby blood and entitlement running through his veins. He left with millions of dollars stashed somewhere—probably offshore accounts.
They're not two teenagers on the run with a duffel bag and desperation. They're layin' low in Jackson Hole, for fuck's sake. They traded the rolling hills of ranch dynasty for new-money mountain views with better shopping and fewer ghosts.
"I mean..." I blow out a breath. "I miss him, Destiny. I didn't get to see the baby. I was there at the club when you left, so I got a glimpse. But..."
The words tangle up like barbed wire in my chest. Family shouldn't be this hard, shouldn't feel like reaching across some invisible line drawn in the dirt when we were children. I can plan galas for five hundred people without breaking a sweat, but one phone call to family leaves me breathless with uncertainty.
She saves me from myself. "No, I get it. You're an aunt." Destiny huffs out a small breath, and I can almost see her looking down at the baby, protective and fierce. "She looks just like you, ya know. I was lookin' at your Instagram and... wow. She's like your little twin."
I'm not sure what to say back to that. Thanks? I'm sorry? The idea of a little miniature me out there in the world, bein' raised by Destiny and my brother feels like somethin' from a fever dream. A little Ashby princess growin' up in Jackson Hole instead of Montana dirt.
"That's... something," I finally manage, my voice smooth. I change the subject. "I just want you to know that the Ashby ranch is your home now too. Just as much as it is Colt's." I straighten my shoulders, speaking in my hostess voice. "Where is Colt, by the way? Is he there?"
"No. He's at a meeting."
"A meeting?" My eyebrow arches all on its own. Colt and "meeting" in the same sentence usually involves bourbon, women, or trouble. Sometimes all three.
"Yeah," she sighs, murmuring things to the baby as it coos. "Some development deal. Anyway, thanks for letting me know about the welcome. At the ranch."
"Oh, it's no problem at all." I'm pacing now, one booted foot in front of the other across the polished hardwood. "Do ya'll have any plans to come back? Or should I make some plans to come see you?"
She doesn't reply immediately, and the silence stretches between us like barbed wire across a dry gulch. I'm kicking myself for being so forward, for revealing how desperately I want something real in this family of perfect appearances.
"Well… I don't think we're comin' back, Savannah. We have a house here. Colt has business now. He hasn't mentioned anything about Montana, to be honest. And I'm not tryin' to be hurtful here, but he hasn't brought you or Cash up once since we left. If it makes you feel any better, he doesn't talk about Legion either. Though… you know. That would be a reason to stay away."
"Right," I sigh, and my breath catches on something sharp in my chest. "I get it. Colt's his own man. He was never interested in running a ranch. He did more than Wyatt, obviously. But this is definitely Cash's domain. And of course, you want your own house. Who doesn't."
The silence makes my skin itch. I've been photographed too many times to not know when I'm losing someone's attention. Four million followers and not one person who really wants to listen.
Think, Savannah. Think.
I straighten my spine by instinct, the way Mother taught me when I was seven. Perfect posture sells the lifestyle. Perfect words sell the lie.
"Legion isn't gonna be a problem, though. We talked about it last night. That's why he gave me your number."
My voice comes out smoother than the bourbon Cash drinks. I can feel the practiced smile stretching my face—the one that made it into Eleanor's coffee table books.
"Yeah, I know," Destiny says. "But… I'm not afraid of Legion, Savannah. If I stay away, it's because I want to."
"Of course." I'm smiling my biggest Little Ashby Princess smile when these words come out. Despite the fact that she can't see it. The corners of my mouth ache with the effort, and I catch my reflection in the window glass—a pretty mannequin, posed just right in her perfect prison of a house.
Sometimes I hate myself. Not the occasional self-doubt that fills Instagram captions about "authentic moments" and "real talk," but the kind that hurts to admit.
"Yes. I know that. And he's… your brother. So. No. Of course not. I just want to make sure that you know you're welcome here. And Destiny, the Ashby Ranch isn't just part of you now, it's part of Marigold."