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  you’ll come back and pick me up.”

  He gives me a long hard look. “Or maybe you and your brothers decide that West Bend isn’t the place for you anymore,” he says. “And you decide to go ahead and get gone, leave this town in peace.”

  “The way you left my mother in peace?” I ask. I can’t help myself. I want to know whether he killed her, and I want to hear it from his lips. I want to look him in the eye when he answers.

  Jed’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “Your mother,” he says, “never knew her place. That was really her problem, you know. People get uppity, think they deserve better than they’re born to. They think they’re better than their lot in life. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though, does it?”

  “You did it. You killed her," I say. Anger rushes through me, floods me like a wave, and I lunge for Jed without thinking.

  In a flash, Jed draws his weapon, and I’m looking at the barrel of his gun. “You really think that’s a good idea, Saint?” he asks. “Out here, in the middle of nowhere? Someone unhinged like you would be easy to get rid of. Just as easy as your crazy mother."

  “Shoot me, Jed,” I say, taunting him. “If you’re going to do it, just go ahead and do it instead of talking about it. Look me in the face and kill me like a man. Or do you only kill women?"

  He stands, his hands steady, holding the gun at me, and I think he might actually shoot me right here, leave me for dead in front of my camper, but he just stares at me. “Nah, Saint,” he says. “I’m not going to shoot you here. I don’t need to. You’ve got more powerful enemies than me.”

  “You have no idea the world of shit you’re in, you stupid prick," I say, my teeth gritted.

  He laughs as he backs away slowly with his gun aimed at my head. I contemplate rushing him, or pulling my weapon on him. But I don't – because of the image that flashes in my head. When I think about drawing on him, I see Autumn's face. And I know I can't do that to her. I'm going to make sure she's safe.

  “Yeah, Saint?” he asks, several feet away, nearly back up against his patrol vehicle. “Seems to me that I’ve gotten away with shit just fine.”

  The thing that consoles me as he backs into his vehicle and then down my driveway is that it’s just a matter of fucking time. Tempest's crew is working the angles to take them down, in a way that doesn't come back on us, that doesn't involve me being sent to prison, away from Autumn and Olivia.

  Before them, I wouldn't have given a shit about possibly going to prison. Before them, I'd been living full-throttle, on the edge, with no obligations and no demands placed on me. Because I thought that was really living.

  Now, I'm beginning to realize I was just running.

  And I don’t want to run anymore.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Autumn

  “I haven't been clear enough that I'm not selling my orchard, Mr. Benson?” I ask, looking down at the name on the business card I'm holding. I’m standing on the front porch, and it’s been a hell of a fucking morning. I just fired a great foreman – the best one I've had, besides Luke – because Luke sent him to watch me. Harvest is over, so it's not like I need someone running the orchard right now anyway, and the fact that he was watching me for Luke is unsettling.

  I've been on edge all morning. And now this guy shows up, uninvited, someone else from the mining company. Not even the douchebag board member or whoever who took me out to dinner last night. This guy is just a lackey of some kind.

  It’s enough to make me want to start greeting visitors with a shotgun instead of a smile.

  Greta pokes her head out the screen door with Olivia balanced on her hip, and I shake my head no, waving her back inside, casually but quickly.

  He’s not a good man.

  You don’t know the whole story. I can explain.

  Luke’s words echo in my head as I look at the representative from the mining company, but I push them away. Luke is an immature asshole who’s just trying to cover up the fact that he acted like a jerk and dumped you over a text message for another woman. You can’t trust your instincts when it comes to men.

  “I’m not sure we got off on the right foot, Ms. Mayburn,” he says, walking up to the steps. I know immediately that this is the kind of guy who likes to stand a little too close, talk a little too loudly, the classic kinds of intimidation techniques guys like him in suits and expensive cars like to use. Except it just makes me angry.

  “What’s the right foot, exactly, Mr. Benson?” I ask, my tone sharp. “I told your boss last night that I have no intention of selling this place – and I certainly don't intend to stop speaking my mind about whatever it is the mining company is doing here in West Bend."

  He steps closer to me, crossing the space I’d put between us. “Maybe no one’s given you the right incentive yet.”

  I put my hand up, blocking him from coming any closer, and my palm hits his chest. “I don’t think there’s enough incentive in the world that’s going to get me to give you what you want here,” I say, forcing a calm in my voice that I definitely don’t feel right now. “I’d like you to get off my property now.”

  He smiles, the expression cold. I don’t guess that someone like him gets told no very often. “There’s a shotgun just inside the front door of my house,” I lie, my voice firm. I have a shotgun, but it's in a locked cabinet in the cidery, not the main house. I've never had a reason to need it, here in West Bend. “The nanny inside knows how to use it. So I’d thank you kindly to get the fuck off my front porch and get into that expensive car of yours and get the hell out of here before my nanny has to put a bullet through your head."

  He smirks, looking at me with a mixture of disgust and hatred, as he smooths his oxford shirt with the palm of his hand and then slowly backs up. “You should be careful with your weapons, Ms. Mayburn,” he says, his tone flat. “They can be real dangerous, you know, especially in a house with a child. Accidents happen every day.”

  “Is that a warning?” I ask.

  “Just a little friendly advice,” he says. “One businessperson to another. Wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen.”

  When he leaves, I collapse into one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, my hands trembling. I’m only there for a moment before the front door opens and Greta pokes her head out. “I got Olivia down for a nap,” she says. “And I came out for the last part of that conversation. Heard the bit about the shotgun.”

  “It was the only thing I could think of to say.”

  Greta shrugs. “I’m a good shot, for the record,” she says.

  We’re standing there, silent, for a few minutes, when I hear the sound of a vehicle on the road, before I see it turning into the driveway.

  Luke’s truck.

  Son of a bitch. I silently curse my damn luck.

  “That’s Luke's truck, isn’t it?” Greta asks. “You know, I forgot I…um…left some water boiling on the stove. I was just making a cup of tea and…yeah.”

  I hear the screen door slam closed, but I’m already down the front porch steps and walking out to Luke’s truck, reaching him before he’s even out of the vehicle. “I hope you’re not about to get out of the truck,” I say. “Because I can save you some time and tell you to just get right back in there, put it in reverse, and back the hell out of here. I’ve had it up to here with bullshit today, Luke. I don’t need yours on top of the fucking mining company rep that was just here."

  “Someone from the mining company was here?” Luke asks. “When?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not any of your business, Luke Saint,” I say. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told him – get the hell off my orchard. I have things to do, and they don’t involve you.”

  I whirl around, heading for the cidery, anything to get away from Luke. Because if I stand there looking at him, if I stand there just a little too close to him -- close enough to smell him, close enough to trigger the memory of his lips on mine, his hands running over my naked skin -- I’m goin