Chapter 61 Jetting to Arizona
The jet’s cabin was a temple of leather and polished mahogany, yet Sierra felt trapped in its gilded embrace. She adjusted the silk wrap around her shoulders; the fabric suddenly felt constricting, foreign. Carefree had been the keyword on her flight to Milan almost two months ago. Now, the word had a bitter aftertaste.
Julian sat across from her, relaxed with a tablet on his knees. He’d tried to engage her in conversation, asking about the ranch, the layout of the property, the stables, the horses, but his words had dissolved into the background noise of her spiraling mind. She hadn’t answered a single question. Instead, she’d stared at her reflection in the darkened window, her bob of sandy blonde hair too meticulously styled for the mess of emotions threatening to spill over.
Her father’s face haunted her. She could still picture the last time she’d seen him, his hands gripping the porch railing as if it were a lifeline, his once-commanding voice frayed by the tremor in his fingers. “You did good, Si,” he’d said, nodding at the financial report she’d brought him, the one that secured the ranch’s future. The doctors said he was in remission, but his eyes had betrayed him, darting, unfocused, as if searching for something just out of reach. Parkinson’s had turned his strength into a relic, and she’d left him to it.
How many months had it been?
You should’ve stayed.
The thought struck again, sharp as a whip.
As the plane sliced through the clouds, she scrolled through her phone on autopilot, rereading old messages Cody had sent her. His concern for their father had been building in each message, but she’d ignored them. She’d told herself there was still plenty of time before things got really bad.
Time had run out.
Julian shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking to her clenched hands. “Sierra?” His voice was low, measured, but it cut through her fog. “Talk to me.”
She didn’t look at him. “What if it’s too late?” The words escaped before she could stop them, raw and aching.
He set the tablet aside and focused all of his attention on her. “Too late for what?”
“To… fix things,” she whispered. “To be there. He’s never let me see him weak. What if I can’t bear it? What if he…?”
She couldn’t say the word. The finality of it seemed too impossible to consider.
Julian reached for her, his fingers brushing hers. She flinched but didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, grounding, but it also felt like a betrayal. This life, this relationship, if it could be called one, was built on jetting around the world, sailing on luxury yachts, visiting exotic places, enjoying the finest hotel suites, gourmet foods, and champagne flutes. It had no place in the cracked earth of Arizona, in the dust of the ranch.
Julian was a man who thrived on control, on elegant solutions. Her father’s world was dust, sage, stubbornness, and quiet endurance.
“You won’t have to fix anything,” Julian said, his thumb tracing the knuckles of her hand. “Just be there. That’s all he needs.”
The lie in that statement was suffocating. Her father didn’t need her presence; he deserved her presence. She’d spent years convincing herself that she would never go back: she’d chosen Manhattan because it was easier than facing the ghosts of her past. She’d dealt with them and then walked away again.
Her mind spiraled through the hours of the flight, each minute stretching into an eternity. She thought of Ryder. How he had helped her recognize that her two worlds, Manhattan and Sage Ranch, didn’t fit together. It had been such a clear message, and she’d made her choice, choosing the wide open Arizona sky, the red dirt and the scent of sage after it rained over the concrete canyons. She’d chosen the scent of leather and sage that clung to Ryder and his calloused hands, the way they had once cradled her face as he told her she belonged in Arizona.
When, how did she forget that?
Julian’s voice pulled her back. “Sierra, look at me.”
She did, finally. His eyes were unreadable, but his jaw was tight—an anchor against her storm. “You’re not alone in this,” he said. “Whatever happens, I’m here.”
The sincerity in his voice should have brought her comfort. Instead, it deepened the chasm in her chest. What did he know of the Sage Ranch, the Quinn legacy? Of the weight of a name that carried more ghosts than memories? Of the fact that the memory of her mother still clung to every creak in the floorboards and the stairs, every gust of wind, every silent moment with her father?
Julian was a man who could buy his way into any room, any heart. But you couldn’t buy a Quinn.
The plane began its descent, the engines shifting into a lower, grumblier hum. Sierra’s stomach twisted. The landing strip in Kingman had been built in a cow pasture in the 1920s, dedicated by Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart in 1929 as Arizona’s first airport. A century before, it had been at the cutting edge of the aviation world. It had been an important place during World War Two, but it was nothing like the places Julian Rossi was used to flying into. To Julian Rossi and his kind, Kingman was a backward destination with backward people. One of them was Ryder.
God, Ryder… and Julian.
The prospect of introducing the billionaire to the rugged man who’d captured her heart and let her go, refusing to beg her to stay, felt like some kind of cruel cosmic joke. Ryder would see Julian and think that she’d chosen a life and lifestyle he could never offer her.
The thought was a knife to her ribs. Had she chosen Julian? What had she chosen?
“Sierra?” Julian’s voice was closer now, his hand tightening around hers. She realized tears had spilled down her cheeks. “What is it?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the darkening Arizona horizon. “I brought you to my father’s world,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t bring you to Ryder’s.”
Julian’s expression shifted, the puzzle pieces clicking into place. “Ah,” he said softly. “So there’s a storm ahead.”
The plane touched down, and the cabin lights flicked on as the engines slowed. The ranch was only a half hour away, yet Sierra felt further away from clarity than ever.