Before I can stop him, he's swinging back up onto Tucker. "Time someone reminded Maxwell Whitmore where the property lines are."
"Dad—" I start, but he's already spurring his horse, his temper flying behind him like smoke from a pistol.
Shoot. This is about to get real ugly, real fast.
I vault onto Ace and kick him into a run, trying to catch up with Dad before he does something we'll all regret. But Tucker's younger than Ace and Dad's riding with the kind of purpose that eats up ground.
The only thing to be grateful for right now is that Grandpa isn't here.
We tear into the barnyard, throw our reins to Billy to cool down the horses, and I barely slide into Dad's truck before he sprays gravel. I gotta ride along to make sure he doesn’t get himself shot. He’s got the pedal to the floor and I’m holding onto the O.S. bar like my life depends on it.
In a blink we're tearing up the drive to Gritstone Ranch. Even in all the hurry, I’m blown away by the raw power of this place. Stonegate is a working ranch wealthy, but Gritstone is a whole other animal. Decades of acquiring property and wealth, through oftentimes, unspeakable means, makes them one of the wealthiest and most notorious families in the western states.
The private road alone stretches for nearly two miles through pastures—not a weed in sight, not a fence post out of line. Even the asphalt under our tires is smooth as silk.
Dad drives right up to the front steps like he's delivering a warrant, hops out the truck and stomps up the wooden steps. He pounds on the door with enough force to rattle the windows.
I reach the bottom of the porch when Maxwell Whitmore opens the door, smug satisfaction giving way to surprise and then calculation. He's dressed like he's heading to a board meeting—not a speck of honest dirt anywhere on him.
Dad hurls the crushed survey flags at Maxwell's feet like he's throwing down a gauntlet. "Stay off my land."
Maxwell looks down his nose at the flags. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Oscar.”
"You dirty, trespassing liar." Dad takes a step closer, anger radiating off him like heat from a branding iron. “Next time you're trying not to get caught, you should check for your brand, idiot."
Maxwell steps right up in Dad’s face like he's about to start something he has every intention of finishing. "That's quite an accusation. You sure you're not seeing things? Stress can do that to a man your age."
Family loyalty kicks in and I'm charging up the steps before my brain catches up to my boots. Nobody—and I mean nobody—gets in Dad’s face like that.
"Back off," I snarl.
Maxwell glances at me and something cold flickers behind his eyes. "Well, if it isn't the prodigal son."
I'm three steps away from showing him exactly what I think of his smart mouth when a woman's voice comes from inside the house.
"Maxwell? What on earth?" Eleanor Whitmore appearsin the doorway, calm and collected. "Don't," she says. "They aren’t worth it." She hooks her nephew’s arm, pulling him back into the house with surprising strength for such a small woman. That or Maxwell isn’t as strong as he pretends to be. His eyes are hollow and there are dark circles underneath. His evil plotting must be keeping him up at night.
Dad growls and I put out my arm to keep him from charging into Maxwell like a brahma bull. I haul him off the porch before this thing escalates past the point of no return. He's still vibrating with rage, but he lets me guide him toward the truck.
"This isn't over, Whitmore," Dad yells.
Maxwell straightens his shirt. His hands shake just slightly. "No, Oscar. I don't believe it is." He slams the door shut.
We ride in silence for the first quarter mile, and I can feel the tension building between us like a bull pushing on the gate. I’m so ticked off right now. Of all the stupid, impulsive…
"I wonder where Kit gets her temper from," I snap.
Dad pulls the truck over, then wheels around to face me with fire in his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" If he can’t fight Maxwell, then he’ll fight me. Fine. I’m here and I have something to say.
"It means you drove over there like some teenager who caught some guy kissing his girlfriend." The vein pulses in Dad's temple. "We don’t need an assault charge right now, Dad.”
"What was I supposed to do? Sit back and let them stake out our property like they own it?"
"You were supposed to think!" The words come outharder than I intended, but I can't stop them now. "You see red, and you charge, consequences be hanged. Just like Kit."
He stares me down hard. "Must run in my blood because the apple didn't fall far from the tree,son."
He’s right. I didn’t think, just reacted when I charged Maxwell myself, but that’s not the point. Not right now anyway.