they lifted off my old social media page aren’t even me!”
They were, in fact, ancient photos of my mom that I’d uploaded and posted after she died. Pictures from when she was young and alive. That was enough to trigger hot, angry tears before I’d even scanned through three of those twisted PR pieces.
“Bastard!” I add, tottering a step backward.
“Me? Fuck, you...you think I’m the one who did this?” He blinks like he’s straining to comprehend his own question.
“Who else? Unless you’re going to tell me Cornelius can pick up a phone and speak backstabber-ese...” I walk to the back of the truck and start cranking up the trailer hitch.
“You’ve lost it. Why the hell would I broadcast where I’m staying to the entire world? Much less your business. The whole fucking point of moving here was to get away.”
I flash him a vicious look that tells him I’m past done with his lies.
“I wish I knew,” I huff out. “Because if you pulled this crap trying to save your career, congratulations. It’s enough to get you and Tobin killed before you’re ever cast in another film!”
His brows pull together into angry, thick thunderheads. “You can’t even come up with a motive before you point your finger? Bullshit, Grace.”
“Is it? There must be a hundred articles online calling you disgraced, desperate, saying you had some kind of breakdown and trashed your career.” I take a deep breath, wondering who’s saying these words.
Oh, he’s got me hotter than a pistol, but I know my words hit him straight in the balls.
He gives back dagger eyes. I fold my arms, ready to stand my ground.
“It’s too perfect. A hot little scandal you can control. A kept woman, maybe. Someone to smile and look pretty and make you marketable again. Maybe that’s why you stepped up at that bar and implied we’re engaged. Some of those articles, they said you’re...” I lose my nerve.
“What?” he snaps. “Spit it out, woman. Let me fucking have it.”
Deranged. Disturbed. Crazy.
I can’t force it out because I don’t want to believe it.
He moves a step closer, an image of walking stone.
“You know why I stepped in that night at the Bobcat. I saved you from that ogre-fuck—and I hope it was real. Christ. I’ve seen crazy fans before and media traps, but you’re delusional if you think I’d marry you for a story, a payoff, whatever the fuck you’re after. Delusional!”
“Marry you? You’re the delusional one!” Furious, I push my hair back out of my eyes after it’d fallen in and ask, “Is your ego so huge that you think you’re untouchable, Ridge? Newsflash: you’re not! And you’re a bigger fool if you think I’ve done anything underhanded.”
“Gracie?”
I glance over at Dad standing in the barn door. World’s worst timing.
No, not standing. Holding himself up. Barely.
Oh, no.
“Dad!” I leap over the trailer hitch and run to him.
Ridge reaches him first and catches his other arm just as Dad starts slipping to the ground.
“It’s all right, Nelson,” he says, the fury in his voice gone. “We’ve got you.”
For a second, our eyes lock, and I hate that he can see my naked fear.
“We have to get him in the house,” he tells me, looking over Dad’s bobbing head.
Ugh, he’s right.
I’ll have to hold the urge to sink my teeth into his stupid handsome face and find out if he tastes like a filthy liar.
Ridge does most of the muscle work, carrying Dad more than supporting him into the house, straight to the posh couch in his living room.
“H-hell. I’m sorry,” Dad says, gasping loudly. “I...I was feeling so much better but...”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I say, sitting beside him. “Don’t worry.”
Easier said than done.
Guilt gnaws at my insides in huge, monstrous bites.
I’d pushed him too hard this morning.
This half-baked plan, this reflex, to run away on a whim.
“What were you two yelling about?” Dad asks, leaning his head against the back of the sofa and sucking in air.
“Nothing.” Ridge says it without skipping a beat.
I pat Dad’s knee. “He’s right. We were just trying to get the horses ready.”
“Don’t lie to me, Gracie,” Dad says, his face miserably pale. “I heard you screaming about...about being killed.”
Crud.
Busted.
My concern doesn’t override my anger at Ridge, or my fear for him. If he thinks I faked him out to thieve a story for the press, he’s going to get himself killed.
Clay Grendal and his men are very real. And now I’m sure he’s seen the headlines. He knows where we are and