Always Mine (Love in Eden 1)

Eden just made me feel too many things.

I pushed back the massive bout of insecurity that went through me as I considered what my father would think if he knew what I was up to. I was counting on my mother and my assistant, Julian, or Jules as he liked to be called, to keep my father's attention on other things.

Yes, it was pretty sad that a twenty-five-year-old man was afraid of making his daddy mad, but things didn't just change overnight.

Or in twenty-five years, apparently.

I huffed out loud at the thought and shook my head. "Doesn't matter," I said to myself. "I'm fine." I nodded as if that would make it all true. "Fine," I added quietly.

I used the hands-free feature on my phone to talk to the rental agency as I drove the last little bit to the quarter-horse ranch my maternal grandfather had founded but was now being run by my uncle, Curtis Sterling. As I made my way higher into the hills, the heat gave way to cooler air and the brown vegetation and brush turned to lush grass and full trees. When I drove beneath the arch that proclaimed I had just crossed onto Black Hills Ranch land, I felt that same sense of excitement start to build deep inside me as I maneuvered the last few curvy miles that led up to the main house. Along with the excitement came the inevitable sense of betrayal I’d always felt the few times I'd returned to Eden.

I reminded myself I was pushing those particular thoughts aside and instead focused on the outcropping of buildings that came into sight as I neared the ranch. The main house, the bunkhouse for the ranch hands, and all the barns still had that old-feel look to them, but there were plenty of hints of modern-day technology, including things like satellite dishes, generators, and air conditioning units.

As I pulled to a stop in front of the house, many of the men working in the various pens glanced my way but none came over to greet me. It made me wonder if they somehow instinctively knew who I was and they hadn't forgotten that in addition to being Brooks Sterling’s grandson, I was also James Cunningham's son. The latter label was the one that’d always been the heaviest to carry, especially since Grandpa Brooks and my father had never gotten along.

I steeled myself to accept the forthcoming rejection and held myself tall as I got out of the vehicle. I reminded myself that even though I might be a cowardly little shit on the inside, I didn't look anything like that on the outside… at least not anymore. Years at the gym, eating right, and daily runs had worked their magic on my once scrawny body. And living in New York meant I knew how to fight for a cab or work through a crowded subway station to make it onto a jam-packed car for the early morning commute to work. I wasn’t ready to go one on one with a gun-toting mugger in a darkened alley or anything, but I knew how to take care of myself.

Fortunately, I didn't need to worry about the reception from any of the ranch hands because my uncle chose that moment to step out of the house. He squinted at me repeatedly, and then began searching his pockets, presumably for the glasses he’d started wearing the last time I'd seen him.

"Can I help you?" he said as he patted down his body and then let out a little laugh when he seemed to realize where the missing glasses were. The hearty chuckle he let out—the one I'd missed more than I wanted to admit—as he pulled the glasses off the top of his head made my heart twist painfully in my chest. I actually found myself holding my breath as he put the glasses on. Not once had he ever rejected me, but the fear of that very thing ran deep within me.

More deeply than I would ever admit to anyone.

It always had.

Uncle Curtis's eyes went wide when he finally recognized me and then his hand went over his mouth.

"Brooks," he said softly, almost on a whisper. "My boy," he added, his voice growing thick with emotion. Life in Wyoming was supposed to breed any softness out of its men, but it hadn't ever done that for my Uncle Curtis. That hadn't meant that Uncle Curtis was weak, or that he made decisions based solely on emotion, but he still felt and he hadn't ever seemed to be afraid of what people might think of that. It was one of the things I admired most about him and had always wished I could emulate.

I was in his arms before I could even find the words to respond. Of course, I wanted to pretend he'd moved that quickly, but the fact was that I was just as emotional, if not more so, than him. Only with Uncle Curtis could I let those feelings show.