No freakin’ way.
Callie blinked. Once. Twice. But he didn’t disappear.
He simply stood there in the bright light of day, sunshine spilling down around him, making him seem that much darker and more dangerous.
She licked her suddenly dry lips.
Brett had been gone for the past ten years, having only recently returned to Rebel a few weeks ago when his own grandfather had taken a turn for the worse thanks to a bad case of Alzheimer’s. With his father deceased, his mother remarried and living far, far away, and his only sibling—a younger sister named Karen—away at college, there’d been no one to look after Archibald “Pappy” Sawyer once he’d become a danger to himself, and so Brett had come home to take care of his pappy and the fifty-thousand-acre spread that stretched clear across two county lines.
Too little, too late, or so everyone said.
The disease had taken its toll quickly and Pappy could barely remember his name most days, much less his only grandson. A shame since the man had doted on Brett once upon a time. He’d been at every rodeo his grandson had competed in back in high school and he’d sat front row at graduation. He’d even thrown Brett a huge going-away party when his grandson had announced to everyone that he was leaving for the PBR circuit and a career in pro–bull riding.
Brett had certainly done the man proud. He’d made a name for himself over the past decade, and even won a few championships.
Callie could still remember Pappy’s face on the front page of the Rebel Yell beneath an announcement that his pride and joy had snagged himself a buckle.
Her gaze went to the not-so-shiny metal plate at Brett’s trim waist. Far from the coveted PBR trophy, but then he’d never been the type to waltz around and brag. He’d always been too busy working his ass off to pay much attention to the fact that he stood to inherit the largest cattle spread in the state of Texas. Too focused.
Unlike the Tuckers, the Sawyers had given up the moonshine business when Prohibition ended and demand for the product had taken a nosedive. They’d taken all that money they’d stashed during the prosperous years and put it into something much more legitimate—cattle.
They’d hit pay dirt.
They now owned practically the entire county, and quite a bit of the adjoining ones, and controlled nearly all of the prime beef industry in Central Texas.
All the more reason Brett Sawyer shouldn’t be here right now. He was a busy man.
Even more, he was a Sawyer. The Sawyer.
A direct descendant of Elijah Sawyer, Callie’s own great-great-grandfather’s most hated enemy.
No, he definitely shouldn’t be here.
She watched as he leaned in and pulled a lush, overflowing plant from the passenger seat of his pickup. Closing the door with his hip, he strode toward the sanctuary even though the entire crowd had already shifted into the recreation hall. He’d missed the main event, but that truth didn’t seem to slow him down.
Her gaze went to the push/pull of denim across his backside as he crossed the gravel parking lot and stepped onto the walkway.
He’d always had a great butt. And great abs. And ripped arms. And a perfect face.
He’d been the total package back in high school. Handsome. Rich. As wild as the summer was hot. He’d charmed more than one girl down to her skivvies out at Rebel Creek, that was for sure.
Not Callie, of course.
Contrary to popular belief, she hadn’t gone skinny-dipping with Brett Sawyer and given up the goodies that fateful night after their senior prom.
He hadn’t taken her virginity.
No, he’d taken something much more precious from her.
She drew a deep breath, trying to ease the tightening in her chest and watched as he reached the door. He paused. Turned. His gaze collided with hers. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes, as if he’d seen her and read the direction of her thoughts.
But just as quickly, it was gone. He hauled open the white metal door and disappeared inside, leaving her to wonder if she’d just imagined the momentary connection.
Brett.
Here.
Now.
Crazy.
A wave of anxiety went through her and her hands trembled while Hank sang about lying eyes and cheating hearts. Her own heart stuttered and she killed the music. She should march inside and throw Mr. PBR out on his cocky ass. He had nerve showing his face on a day like this. It was one thing for the distant Sawyer relatives to crawl out of the woodwork to nose around, but this was different. This was ground zero when it came to the big explosion.
Brett had no business here.
At the same time, he was the last person she wanted to see up close and personal. Him, and every other funeral attendee who’d come out to get an earful of juicy gossip.
She eyed her reflection in the rearview mirror and noted the smudges beneath her green eyes. Her colorless cheeks. Her pale lips. She looked like hell and, even more, she felt like it. She was through making small talk and keeping up appearances.
She was tired.
Anxious.
Sad.
The last thought struck and she stiffened. Sure, she was sad. Sad she was stuck in such a shitty situation with zero money in the bank and the bills piling up. Sad that she had to worry about keeping a roof over everyone’s head.
She certainly wasn’t getting all misty over the old man’s death. She’d seen it coming what with the way he drank and caroused and carried on as if he had nine lives.
Ernestine was right. No one could flip off the big guy upstairs that often and not pay the price eventually. James had simply gotten his due and, like always, it was her job to clean up his mess.
One last time.
Her throat closed around a sudden lump and she gunned the engine. Shoving the truck into reverse, she crunched gravel and pulled out of the parking lot.
And then she went in search of the biggest box of cupcakes she could find.