Resonance of Stars (Greenstone Security #5) - Anne Malcom Page 0,50
of death. No, this was a quiet that hummed with life. The birds, horses, cattle in faraway fields.
Still, that gunshot rippled through it all. The fear. I hadn’t let myself think of that properly since it happened. It was going to fuck me up somehow, for sure. You couldn’t watch someone be murdered and not feel anything. Even someone like me. I’d held it together because I had to. I couldn’t let the trauma weaken me in the midst of all this. It could wait, I could mix it with my heartbreak after the trial.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t look back at Duke. I’d expected him to find me here, after everything that had happened today. It was insane that so much change could be packed into a measly twenty-four hours. Especially change in a man like Duke, who I would’ve thought changed about as easy as a mountain might.
But it seemed that his mind was changing about me. Despite how much I hated it, I already wished for his cold dislike, craved it. It was more manageable.
His scent wrapped me up when he got close. Leather and spice. It comforted me, so I held my breath trying to escape it. There was no reason for me to find comfort here. In him. It would be taken away from me soon enough. That was something to hold on to.
“We’ve got to get some shit done with the cattle,” he said, not seeming annoyed at the fact I was ignoring him. “Which means I’m gonna be late and not gonna be able to make good on my promise.” Some hair moved from the nape of my neck and he twirled it in his fingers.
My shiver had nothing to do with the slight bite in the air.
“Anastasia?” he said after more silence.
“This place,” I said, looking out at the sprawling landscape, at the shadows of the mountains. “It makes me feel different.” I turned my head back so I could take in this man.
Duke wasn’t looking at the view that millions of dollars couldn’t buy. Not even billions. This was a view you inherited, like brown eyes or mental illness. This was a view that couldn’t be owned.
But nonetheless, he wasn’t looking at the view that he held in his blood. He was looking at me. Like I was worth looking at. I hated that. I fucking hated that he wasn’t avoiding me, detesting me. I hated whatever I’d done to make him look at me like that, like I was the view you couldn’t buy.
“No,” he said finally. “Doesn’t make you different. It sheds everything you’ve been pretending to be.” He sighed, finally giving me a respite from his gaze. “That’s the beauty of the open skies of Montana. You can’t stand under them wearing lies.”
It was now that I turned to him, feeling more pissed off than brave. And fuck if he didn’t cut a beautiful profile. Etched out of the land, with the week’s worth of stubble quickly turning into a beard. With that fucking cowboy hat. He belonged here more than he belonged in that city of lies, protecting vapid movie stars like me.
“Why are you so sure I’m telling the truth now?” I demanded. “Why can’t you consider that the me you were so sure you didn’t like was the real me and I’m just acting now?”
Maddeningly, he paused again, either that fucking pensive or trying to rattle me. I’d bet on the latter.
But then he looked. He had the sunset and teasing in his gaze. “Because, baby, you’re just not that good of an actress.”
Then he turned on his boot and walked away, leaving me with a view I didn’t earn, would never own.
8
One Week Later
I hadn’t meant to stop.
I was on a mission to feed the horses. It was something I’d come to love to do and the ranch hands loved me for it, since it meant that they had less to do.
The work wasn’t glamorous, that was for sure, not that I was overly attached to the idea of glamor. Since that was all it was. An idea. A veneer. A thin coating of shine on top of layers of ugly.
I couldn’t remember a moment when I was truly happy, when my thoughts were quiet and my life seemed calm. Until I was feeding those horses. Doing something completely simple for another beautiful being.
So I’d been on my way to do that, find my quiet, my calm in the middle of all of this.