Torrence
POV: Torrence
Population: 977.
I gawked at the green sign as I passed it. The number had diminished since I left Wimberley, Texas, for civilization in Denver.
Despite my need to leave the town, it still hurt to see it dwindling.
The truth was, I hadn’t been back to visit since Dad moved me away when I was twelve years old when my mother left us.
He couldn’t deal with the silent reminders of my mother’s leaving.
So, we moved.
He poured himself into the Marine Corps, leaving me with a few nannies until I properly cared for myself.
Being Mom was an only child, the farm was left to me now that my grandmother had passed away.
This was the reason for my visit, the reason I didn’t hightail it out after the funeral. I was going to the farm that raised me, the one my grandmother’s lawyer said was mine.
What use did I have for a farm? None. I knew little to nothing about having one. Just what I learned as a child while living here.
I rested my head against the headrest, turning my air conditioner up one notch. The weather in Texas competed closely to Hell.
“Almost there, Old Girl,” I said, rubbing my palm against the steering wheel. My poor Honda Civic had seen better days. Though the GPS was long gone, I had my phone to steer the way.
The dirt road that led to my grandmother’s farm stood covered with vegetation. I almost missed it.
I followed it down two or three miles until the trees cleared. The wrought iron gate was open, and Williamson’s Farm was engraved into a circular design in the center.
Chills worked down my spine as I turned onto the familiar driveway.
The old farmhouse sat half a football field away from the dirt road. Cattle and horses lined the fields on each side of the house.
I stopped, seeing a huge F-350 and a sports car parked underneath a large Magnolia tree.
Getting out, I instantly wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. The one thing I miss about Texas was the heat.
I shut the door, eyeing the big red barn and chicken coup in the distance. I’d spent so many summers gathering eggs for my grandparents.
Tears built in the corners of my eyes. I loved this farm, but I knew nothing about farming. I planned to sell it for obvious reasons. I’d run this place into the ground with my empty bank account and lack of knowhow.
I wrote romance novels for a living. I didn’t take care of farm animals.
Crunching over the gravel path to the house, I gathered myself mentally. It’d been hard seeing my grandmother in that casket.
So much guilt weighed on me like an invisible blanket.
The front steps creaked as I walked up the porch and made my way toward the entrance. I swung the screen door open and almost knocked, but I decided against it.
My grandmother’s house always smelled the same, like lavender and vanilla.
Unwanted tears threatened me. I needed to keep myself above water. Catching a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror, I cringed.
I’d gone without makeup for the funeral. There was no need for it.
Dark circles hung under each eye, declaring I’d spent most of the night driving from Denver to Texas.
“Get it together,” I whispered.
My auburn hair was curled, the only part of me that didn’t look completely dead at the moment.
“Ms. Harper?”
I turned toward the doorway.
Mr. Hammons, my grandmother’s lawyer, stood in the doorway to the living room. He was my height, which wasn’t tall, five foot four, give or take a few inches.
But his tailored suit and those crocodile shoes cost more than my entire apartment back home.
“Mr. Hammons. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He waved me off, looking over his shoulder at something.
“Come join us.”
I stopped. ? Why was there an us?
He smiled, showing a perfect row of teeth underneath his handlebar mustache. “Mr. Jacks is here. Your grandmother’s farm hand.”
It made sense. My grandfather was in a nursing home with dementia, and my grandmother couldn’t manage the farm alone.
I hated to tell this man to find a new job because I couldn’t employ him.
I walked over the old wooden floor, my heels clicking and my palms sweating. I rounded the corner of the living room, shocked to see the same furniture from my youth. My great-grandmother’s purple afghan still sat on the back of the small brown couch.
But what shocked me the most was the giant man standing beside the mantel.
His midnight-colored cowboy hat tilted over his eyes, but the rest of him…D, I needed to sit down.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking until Mr. Hammons cleared his throat. “Please, take a seat, Ms. Harper. Mr. Jacks would like to stand.”
I wanted to make it the last few steps.
Somehow, I pulled the ability out of my butt and took a seat.
Mr. Jacks shifted, drawing the rim of his hat upward. Steely blue eyes caught mine from across the room.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, and wrung my fingers together in my lap. Cowboy’s face looked sculpted out of stone. His square jaw was covered in dirty blond hair.
Those lips were thick. Kissable.
And lifted into a snarl.
I blinked, reality setting in. Was this man snarling at me?
I glared back at him, trying to understand this situation.
He looked like someone I would write about in my books, but that snarl had to go.
“Ms. Harper. I mentioned the farm was being left to you,” Mr. Hammons mumbled. “But that wasn’t entirely true. Fifty percent of the farm is being left to you.”
I dragged my gaze away from the irritated cowboy to Mr. Hammons. “I don’t understand,” I said. “I’m the only living relative. Who is the other half going to?”
Mr. Hammons glanced over at this guy.
I blinked. This guy? Seriously? Their farm hand? How long had he worked here?
Mr. Hammons cleared his throat. “Your grandfather’s military benefits will pay for his nursing home dues. However, the house was enlisted in a trust in case of death, which is where we’re at considering your grandmother. She left it to Mr. Jacks and yourself. No other blood relatives will be able to gain access to this house.”
I blinked, knowing my grandfather was taken care of lifted so much pressure off my shoulders.
Now, I had to deal with this guy.
“Mr. Jacks, is it?” I asked.
He stood up straight, making him taller than I imagined. I hated the way his button-down fitted to him.
Not to mention the way he filled out his jeans.
“It is, Mr. Jacks,” he said coolly.
His voice was southern and deep, and it made my thighs quake. I pushed away my traitorous thoughts. “Well, Mr. Jacks. I hope we’re on the same page, but I don’t plan to keep the farm. I want to sell it.”
The next few moments were a blur.
Mr. Hammons stared at me with shock and fear on his face. Fear of what? I had no idea.
Until the culprit stirred from the corner, Mr. Jacks walked over, looming over me in a pathetic attempt at a scare tactic.
“I didn’t expect any more from you, Torrence.”
I placed my hand on my chest and scoffed. “I don’t know who you think you are…”
“I’m the man that’s been taking care of this place, and your grandparents because you’re too busy writing smut to do it yourself.”
I stood up, my vision blurring as I angled my head to look at him. The ends of his dirty-blond hair peeked out from underneath his hat. I imagined it looked disheveled underneath.
But something told me that he looked good no matter what.
“I don’t appreciate you telling me about myself, . I don’t appreciate you making assumptions about me, either. I’m selling my part of this farm whether you like it or not.”
I reached and involuntarily poked his chest.
It was hard.
I hated how hard it was under that black button-down.
“My name is Mason Jacks, not Cowboy Anything. I’ve been running this farm for a decade. I won’t let some entitled brat come and sell anything.”
I ground my teeth together, glancing at Mr. Hammon’s uncomfortable face. This was getting out of hand. I didn’t know this man. He didn’t know me.
This hostility was out of the blue.
For me, at least.
“I think we can probably sit down and figure something out,” Mr. Hammons said. “However.” He glanced down at his watch. “I have an appointment across town in thirty minutes. Perhaps you two can meet me tomorrow…”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I need to get back home. I can’t stay around here.”
“Give your share to me, and you can leave,” Mason said.
It wasn’t that bad of an idea. Hell, I had no interest in this farm. However, seeing my grandmother’s sweet face above the mantel with my grandfather pierced my chest.
I didn’t want this ranch hand who wasn’t part of the family to get the place. Plus, I needed the money badly. I owed up to my eyeballs in student loan debt, and I couldn’t make a living paying so much at a time.
Selling the farm, or some of it, would help me breathe easier.
“I’m not giving you anything,” I spat. “Maybe if you came here with a different attitude, I would have considered it.”
He chuckled, and it slid over my skin. “Maybe if you’d at least called your grandmother and checked on her, I wouldn’t have these harbored feelings.”
I tightened my fingers into tight fists at my sides.
“Mr. Hammons, could you kindly give me the keys? One day won’t hurt.”
He dug around in his suit pocket, pulling out a single key and handing it over.
I curled it into my palm, feeling Mason’s gaze on my face.
“I’ll make it over tomorrow, Mr. Hammons. Please email me your address when you get a chance.”
He began to gather his things while I dared a look at Mason. “You can leave now. I’m not in the mood for house guests for obvious reasons.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward; two dimples dented his cheeks underneath that blanket of scruff. “Well, that’s so sad because I live here.”
I blinked, waiting for someone to let me in on the joke.
“You ? You’re joking ... you live here?” I asked, pointing down.
Mason only stared. Apparently, he wasn’t joking.
I looked at Mr. Hammons, who was attempting to make a run for it, but he only waved over his shoulder.
“Have a nice night, Torrence. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The screen door shut, suddenly suffocating me with his musk. I ground my teeth, trying to find something I didn’t like about it.
“I think we need to talk, Torrence,” Mason said behind me.
