The construction crew begins dispersing. Brook takes the stop-work order by the very tip of the corner.
The silence between us grows heavy, and I realize that Eleanor Whitmore has just used my complicated familydrama as a weapon against the people I've come to care about.
The construction crew's trucks disappear, leaving Brook and me standing in the skeleton of our dreams. The stop-work order flutters in her hands like a surrender flag, but it's the look in her gray eyes that makes my stomach clench with dread. She’s shocked. Hurt. And probably ticked off with a dose of betrayal thrown in.
"So," she says, her voice carefully controlled in that way that means she's about two seconds from losing it, "I thought I heard you say something about being Ford’s daughter, but that can’t be right because you would have told me. Right?"
I press my fingers to my temple where a headache is starting, wishing this conversation could happen literally anywhere else. It’s not even ten and I’m under a mountain. Happy Monday morning to me.
I meet her gaze. "I should have told you.” And I need to tell Sarah too. “I should have told everyone. Please don’t tell your mom, I will as soon as possible. But Bradley Ford is, unfortunately, my biological father. That’s all he is to me. I’ve never had a relationship with him, and I can count on my fingers the number of times we’ve spoken." I hold up one hand to show four fingers.
Brook's eyebrows shoot toward her hairline, and for a moment she just stares at me. "For real?" she says slowly. She looks to the road where the SUV disappeared and then back to me and blows out a breath. "Well, that explains why he knows so much about you."
"No. It doesn't," I say quickly. "Look, I wasn't trying to keep it from you. Wyatt knows—it's not some bigsecret. It’s just that Ford’s not a part of my life. Never has been."
Brook processes this. "So, the man working for our enemies abandoned you as a kid and now he's getting insider knowledge about our family to use against us?"
"Not from me!" I throw my arms up. "I don’t want to have a thing to do with him and I hate that I keep bumping into him.” I wrap my arms around myself.
I gesture helplessly at the construction site, at the stop-work order in her hands. "What if this is exactly what they wanted? To prove that I'm a weakness you can't afford?" The fear tastes bitter on my tongue. "What if by being here, I've handed them a weapon?"
I touch the turquoise stones at my throat, drawing what comfort I can from Wyatt's promise. "I've spent weeks trying to prove I belong here, that I'm worth the risk you all are taking on me. And my bloodline may be our undoing.”
Brook stares at me for a long moment, and I brace myself for her to tell me that maybe I should consider whether staying is worth the complications I bring.
"Well," Brook says finally, straightening her shoulders, "that just makes beating them even more satisfying."
Her matter-of-fact acceptance catches me off guard. “You’re not mad?”
She shrugs. “Not at you.”
I grin and she grins right back.
“So, what's our next move?" she asks, gesturing toward the construction site with the stop-work order. "Because I'm not letting Eleanor Whitmore win this round."
We’re not down and out—not yet.
"Now we get creative," I say. I rub my palms togetheras I study the feed store. "Tell me something—how much of a hurry are the Whitmores in to get their feed order filled?"
Brook tips her head as she considers my question. "They placed a big order last week. Expecting delivery the day after tomorrow."
“Did they now?” I tap my chin as if I’m thinking really hard about this. “Hmm. I imagine a delay would cause their ranch foreman quite the headache.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. "You know, this stop work order has suddenly taken up a lot of my time. I might be too busy to process their order."
She’s quick and I love her for it. "I mean, if you didn’t have to deal with the stop work order it would have gone through no problem… How long could you reasonably delay it?"
"They probably have enough feed for another week," Brook says thoughtfully. "I could make them sweat for six days without it affecting their livestock."
"Perfect." I can feel my own smile growing. Since Ford is the ranch manager, dwindling feed supplies would land right on his shoulders.
Brook laughs, and there's genuine delight in the sound. "You are tricky and I like it.”
“We have to use what we have to maintain the upper hand with them.” I say. Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize that they can apply to the Brittney situation too. “Are you good here?” I gesture to the job site. “I have a call to make.”
She starts rolling up the blueprints. "For now. I still have a feed store to run so I'll be over there for the rest of the day."
I walk backwards. "Okay, call me if the Whitmores show up again."