Chapter 99 A Fresh Wound
Sierra’s fingers trembled as she shifted the Range Rover into reverse, the vehicle’s tires kicking up gravel as she eased out of the Dusty Spoon’s lot. The desert sky stretched endless and unyielding above her, a mirror of her own fractured thoughts. She kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching the diner shrink into the distance, Ryder’s truck a dark shadow against the sun-bleached landscape until it vanished altogether. Her throat felt tight, as if the air itself had turned thick and foreign.
She returned to I-40, thinking of the KFC she’d passed coming into town. For a moment, she considered returning to the airport in Flagstaff and flying back to Manhattan. Her mind replayed the scene with maddening clarity: Sylvia’s laughter, the way her fingers had brushed Ryder’s forearm, the blush that had crept up her neck like a secret shared between them. Sierra had always known Sylvia was beautiful, radiant, even, but in that moment, she’d seemed alive in a way Sierra couldn’t remember herself ever being.
No use being angry, she told herself. No use in storming in like a character from one of the romantic comedies she used to mock. Sylvia had never been coy about her charm, and Sierra had never said a word about Ryder. Not to her. Not to anyone. She’d buried her feelings so deep, even she’d wondered if they were real. But now, looking at Sylvia across Ryder’s knee, she’d felt something break inside her, a grief sharper than the loss of her father, because this wasn’t some distant tragedy. This was a choice. One she’d made, again and again, by staying in Manhattan, by falling into Julian’s world of art galleries and charity dinners, by pretending the desert didn’t call to her bones.
Her thoughts turned to Cody. He’d been her anchor in all this, the one person who’d never asked her to choose between her two lives. He was still working the ranch, still wearing those Tony Lama boots and button-up plaid shirts like they were armor. Maybe she’d find something solid in seeing him, something familiar. Maybe not. But if she couldn’t go into the Dusty Spoon, at least she could get him the next best thing.
The KFC on the interstate was a neon-lit oasis of grease and paper buckets. Sierra ordered extra crispy, and a side of coleslaw because Cody had once sworn it was the only thing that could sop up the heat of his sister’s temper when she was stressed. The cashier, a teenager with a nametag that read “Jesse (Ask Me About My Cat!)”, handed her the receipt with a wary look. “You sure you don’t want any of the sauce?”
Sierra forced a smile. “It’s for my brother. He’s a creature of habit.”
“Ah. Family’s the best,” Jesse said, shrugging.
The best. The words clung to her as she pulled back onto the highway. She thought of Cody, his easy laughter, and his tendency to leave half-finished projects in the barn. She thought of Julian, his money and his patience, the way he’d tried to paint her as some kind of modern-day Penelope, waiting for a hero who’d never come home. She thought of Sylvia, who had never needed to wait at all.
After picking up the chicken, she returned to town and turned off onto the road that led to the ranch.
The ranch came into view just as the sun dipped low, painting the red rocks in hues of amber and rose. She slowed the SUV, taking in the sight of the corrals, the low-slung barns. Cody’s silhouette appeared in the doorway of the main house, his posture relaxed until he spotted the car. Then he straightened, grinning broadly as he strode off of the porch to meet her.
“I didn’t know you were coming home, Si,” he said, pulling her into a loose hug. His shirt smelled like hay and sweat, a grounding contrast to the sterile scent of her London flat.
“I couldn’t stay away forever,” she said, though it sounded like a lie even to her.
He took her luggage and led her inside, leaving the bags at the foot of the stairs and trailing her into the kitchen. It, in typical bachelor style, was littered with half-empty takeout containers and a stack of bills on the counter. “You gonna help me sort through these, or just judge me for my diet?”
“I’m judging the diet,” she said, tossing her purse onto a stool. “But I brought you some more of it.” She produced the KFC bucket and handed it over.
Cody opened it with the reverence of a man opening a holy text. “Didn’t have any at the Dusty Spoon?”
Sierra froze with the coleslaw in her hand. Her brother shot her a look, one brow arched, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh.
“I couldn’t go in,” she said, setting the slaw down harder than intended.
“Couldn’t go in?” Cody repeated. “They start restricting people who don’t fit the dress code?” He was leaning against the counter, a drumstick poised halfway to his mouth. He took a bite, then chewed slowly, as if savoring the anticipation.
She let out a long sigh, her gaze drifting to the window where the last light of day turned the desert into a watercolor of shadows. “I saw Ryder in a booth by the window with Sylvia.”
Cody shrugged. “Oh yeah. That’s been going on since you went back to Manhattan.”
The words hit her like a cattle prod. She turned to face him fully, her pulse roaring in her ears. “Since… when?”
“Couple months?” He waved a hand, as if the timeline were inconsequential. “They’re good for each other. You know how Ryder gets when he’s alone. Sylvia keeps him smiling. Keeps him busy.”
“Are you serious right now?” The heat of her voice startled her. “You’re just… rolling with this?”
Cody set the drumstick down, his expression softening. “Si. I get it. But you left this mess behind. You walked away from the ranch, from Ryder, from Arizona. Sylvia was here. Sylvia isn’t going anywhere else.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words stuck. Because Cody was right, she’d left. Again and again. She’d chosen boardrooms over barns, suits over jeans, a life that felt like a blur of airports and deadlines. And Ryder… Ryder had always been the quiet, steady choice, the one she couldn’t seem to hold onto.
Her voice trembled. “I didn’t think it was real.”
“They’re real,” Cody said gently. “You just weren’t around for it.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the occasional tap of a fly against the window. Sierra stared at the chicken bucket, the grease pooling at the bottom like a tiny, oily puddle of her own regret.
“What am I supposed to do with that, Cody?” she asked.
He reached for her hand, his grip solid. “Not much you can do, Si?”
In that moment, he sounded exactly like her father. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d heard that exact phrase come out of his mouth before.
She looked out the window again, at the ranch stretching into the desert. Somewhere out there, Ryder had been laughing with Sylvia under a sky full of stars, holding her close, kissing her, taking her into his bed. All the while, she had been playing the dangerous game with Julian in London, and coming to the startling realization that Ryder was the only man she truly loved.
Forever had never felt so far away.
“What if it’s too late for a second chance?” she whispered.
Cody reached out to her and squeezed her hand. “Then you’ll figure it out. Just like you always do.”
The desert wind stirred outside, carrying the scent of sage. Sierra let the tears come, unashamed. She had spent so long trying to be the heroine of someone else’s story, the corporate warrior, the grieving daughter, the reluctant lover. But now, standing in the kitchen of a ranch that felt both like home and a stranger, she realized she’d never written her own.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time to start.