The whole thing is beyond stupid. For smart men, they sure do easily buy into some bullshit. I’ll never forget standing out in the field confessing my love for Cane. I didn’t care that I was only sixteen at the time. He had just turned eighteen. And I sure as shit didn’t care about no damn curse. All I wanted was him.
I’d gotten into my head about him leaving for the city and forgetting me. I wanted to see if he’d wait for me. All the Justice cousins are honorable. I knew Cane wouldn’t so much as kiss me till I was a legal adult. My jealousy got the best of me, worried about him going off to the city and maybe seeing other girls because clearly he hadn’t been in to any of the girls at school.
But he was always sweet to me. He treated me differently. He pretty much acted like my boyfriend back then. Doing all the things a boyfriend would do but nothing physical. Calling or texting to check on me, even bringing me treats at school knowing I’m a sucker for anything with sugar. Sometimes he’d show up before dawn and sneak into my barn and do some of my chores for me.
How could I not have fallen in love with him? He all but made me do it. I never heard about him with any of the other girls at school, and everyone always said I was his girl. That didn’t help with my obsession with him. The more people said it, the more I believed that he and I were meant to be. I’d been so dumb back then.
That day out in the field when Cane stared me straight in the eyes and told me that the worst thing I could ever do was love him was like a slap in the face. I’d never felt such pure anger in my whole life. I made sure I returned the favor and that he felt it too. My hand stung for two days after that. It was nothing compared to what my heart felt, though. Now here he is saying he loves me all these years later. What the hell is wrong with him?
I pull up outside my house, throwing my truck into park. My childhood house looks more like a shell of a home these days. The paint is peeling off in spots. Two of the steps leading up to the porch are broken. Not that any of it really matters. Dad uses the ramp these days for his wheelchair. When he decides to actually come out of the house.
I grab my bag, slipping from the truck. I hate the dread I always feel walking toward the house. Everything in my life is broken. Once upon a time, I thought maybe I could forgive Cane if he ever pulled his head out of his ass.
That crashed and burned the day of the accident when the horse my father had bought from one of the Justice trainers bucked him off—not only changing my father’s life that day but mine too.
My father loathes the Justice men now. Truthfully, he hates everything these days. Nothing can make him happy no matter how hard I try. The father I once knew is the same as this house. A shell. They are nothing like I remember. I’m starting to feel that way too.
Maybe Cane had been right all along. Loving him was the worst mistake of my life.
CHAPTER 3
CANE
“Maisie, you know this fence wasn’t knocked down on purpose.”
Maisie Russell gives me a withering look from under her hat. “I do know that, but this is the fourth time in a month that bull has gotten into my pasture.”
“Which is why we’re going to build it out with reinforced timber, but with all the supply chain issues, the material won’t be here for another week. Why don’t you show me where the damage is and my boys can fix that while we wait for the new fencing.”
“Your bull is rubbing up against this tree. My granddaddy planted this forty years ago for Mawmaw, and if your bull has anything to say about it, the darned oak isn’t going to see forty-one.”
I bend down to inspect the spot on the trunk where the bark has been rubbed away. The tree doesn’t look good, not because of my bull but because the tree’s got oak wilt. Left unchecked, this could take down all of the oaks, including the ones on the Justice property.
“Maisie, come here and take a gander.” I gesture the woman over. I point to the darkened spot. “You’ve got oak wilt.” I grab a leaf off the ground that is yellowed around the veins, making a fishbone pattern in the center. “There’s veinal necrosis on your leaves too.”
She gasps and covers her mouth. “No,” she declares behind her hand.