Page 56 of Ransom
Rafe didn't react. He just stared right back. It was like they were having a silent conversation, Rafe and Ransom, and the rest of us weren't invited.
"Boys," Rafe said without raising his voice. "Eat. There's a lot of work to do today. Horses won't manage themselves."
They sorted themselves out in about four seconds, grabbing plates, coffee, and then chairs around the table. The volume dropped to a level Sierra could live with, and not a hair below.
I'd been in this house for two days. The boys had been in it for years. They moved around Sierra and Rafe and Ransom like they'd been built into the architecture, and the architecture was old. Whatever this was, kitchen and ranch and operation and family all at once, it had been here a long time before me, and it wasn't going anywhere when I left.
If I left.
The bowl of phones rattled again on the sideboard. Sierra didn't turn around.
"They can wait, boys."
Rafe stood up and tucked his newspaper under one arm. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me," he said, staring straight at us. He kissed Sierra on the cheek on his way to the back of the house.
"I do believe we were just told to report to his office after breakfast," I said to Ransom.
Ransom grunted in response.
I drained my coffee and stood. "Thank you for breakfast and coffee," I said to Sierra.
He dismissed me with a wave of his spoon. "Don't thank me for doing my job. Go on now. Get."
Ransom was already up, heading for the door. He stopped at the sideboard, fished his phone out from the bottom of the bowl without looking at the screen, and slid it into his back pocket. Behind him, Cruz watched the move with the open, longing face of a kid watching another kid get to leave class early. Sierra cleared his throat once from the stove, and Cruz looked back down at his eggs.
I followed Ransom through the house. The hallway walls were lined with photos in mismatched frames. Boys on horseback, boys at graduation, boys standing in front of the main house with their arms around each other. A hand-painted sign above the bathroom door said "Wash Your Damn Hands" in Sierra's careful script. Somewhere deeper in the house, a radio played low, Spanish-language news.
By the time he reached Rafe's door, Ransom was the man who'd led me into the desert again. The version that'd held me through the night and fucked me in the shower had drained out of him in twelve steps, and I'd watched it happen. Three Ransoms in two days. I was starting to wonder how many of him there were total, and which one I'd be spending today with.
Rafe's office was at the back, the door wide open, but he didn't have a traditional desk. Instead, there was this giant table made of turquoise and petrified wood. It was like something out of a damn fairytale. Rafe stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the paddocks where the horses moved in the early light.
We came in, and Ransom closed the door behind us.
Rafe turned around. He looked at both of us for a long moment, then gestured to the table. "Sit."
We sat.
I waited for someone to say something, but neither of them spoke. I was about to break the silence myself when Ransom finally said, "They keyed the truck, Rafe. They keyed it and threatened to burn the ranch to the ground."
Rafe folded his hands on the table. "And you thought punching Otis in the face would keep that from happening."
"What was I supposed to do? You made it clear that my job is to protect this place, so that's what I did."
Rafe looked at me like it was somehow my fault Ransom had punched Otis in his face.
"Rex's boys had the truck surrounded when we came out," I said. "They weren't letting us off the property without a fight."
Rafe's attention slid back to Ransom. "It isn't the fight that has me so worried, mijo."
Ransom was silent, but his throat worked like he had to swallow whatever he was about to say.
Rafe sighed and put his palms flat on the table. "What's done is done. Now, at least we know where things stand."
"What's his beef with Pae Saco, anyway?" I asked. "There's clearly some bad blood here I'm not privy to."
"It ain't blood," said Rafe, shaking his head. "Blood would be simpler. It's the water that's the problem."
My eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"
