Page 103 of Branded

“Whether she means to or not, yes.”

Warren is quiet for a long moment, looking out over his ranch. The land he’s built, the legacy he’s created.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he finally says. “And you’re going to listen. My ex-wife, Lennox’s mother, was mean, and I took the blame. I let the kids believe that she left because of me, because I’m a bastard. And don’t get me wrong, I am, but I don’t want the kids hating her. It’s one thing to hate your father; it’s a completely different beast to hate your mother. When she left, it broke something in all of us.”

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“Let me finish.” Warren’s voice is rough. “After she left, I made mistakes. Tried to control my kids’ lives because I couldn’t control losing her. Pushed Lennox into expectations she didn’t choose. Made plans for her future without asking what she wanted. And she ran. All the way to California to escape me.”

“She didn’t run from you.”

“Yes, she did. And I don’t blame her. I was treating her like my property, like something I owned instead of someone I loved.” He looks at me. “Sound familiar?”

The parallel is obvious. Impossible to miss.

“Yes, sir.”

“So here’s what I’m telling you. You’ve got a choice, Sebastian. You can be the man who owns her, who controls her, who treats her like property for two years until she’s free. Or you can be the man who loves her, who respects her, who builds something real with her that will last beyond the dates on that contract.” Warren stands. “But you can’t be both. Eventually, you’re going to have to choose. And whatever you choose, that’s who you’ll be for the rest of your life.”

“I’m choosing love.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I don’t know if I know how. But I’m choosing to try.”

“Good.” Warren extends his hand. “Then you’ve earned my respect. And my permission to take my daughter back to Texas. But if you hurt her, if you break her, if you make me regret this decision, there’s nowhere far enough for you to run. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.” I shake his hand, feeling the weight of the promise. “I won’t hurt her. Not intentionally. Not any more.”

“See that you don’t.” He gestures toward the house. “Go clean up. Dinner’s at six. And tomorrow morning, you take Lennox home. But you remember what I said. You’ve got a choice to make. Make the right one.”

I walk back to the house in the fading afternoon light, my body screaming from nine hours of hard labor, my mind racing with Warren’s words.

You can’t be both. Eventually, you’re going to have to choose.

Owner or husband. Property or partner. Control or love.

The choice should be easy. But nothing about this situation is easy.

Inside, I head upstairs to shower off the day’s work. The hot water feels like heaven on abused muscles, and I stand under it until my skin is red and wrinkled.

When I emerge, I find Lennox waiting in the hallway outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey.”

“My brothers said you kept up today.”

“Your father’s testing was pretty thorough.”

“And?”

“And I think I passed. He’s letting me take you back to Texas tomorrow.” I move closer. “The question is, do you want to go?”

She looks at me for a long moment, and I see the war playing out in her eyes. Safety versus unknown. Family versus husband. Montana versus Texas.

“Yes,” she finally says. “I want to go back. I want to make this work.”

Relief floods through me. “Okay. Then we’ll leave tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Sebastian?” She catches my hand. “Last night.”