Page 2 of Ruthless Moon

People resume their conversations.

The incident with the rude handsy cowboy is over and I take a seat next to an already squirming Mr. George Darcy, who regrettably looks nothing like the swoon-worthy actor in the most recent Jane Austen movie.

“Mr. Darcy, you know I heard you discussing our deal with someone the other day.” I pause and give him a chance to come clean. A little birdie told me Mr. Darcy was being loud about another offer for his farm in the diner yesterday.

Someone in the row behind us mentions Sally Henry’s pickle recipe. Eyes locked forward, I play the part of someone completely focused.

And silence is usually the best way to make someone uncomfortable. According to many procedural TV shows, guilty people have the worst time with silence. Plus, I’m notactuallya mean person. But if I don’t do this, my dad will make it so much worse for this poor man and his family. So this is me, about to be the baddest bitch in Ash Hollow.

“Miss Gallagher, I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

I sit, twirling the end of my braid. Waiting. Acting like the pickle contest is better entertainment than the romance novels I read on my phone every chance I get. I’d much rather be immersed in heroine Melinda’s journey into Avalon to marry a prince she loves and save the world. That’s certainly not an experience I’ll ever have—marrying someone I love. Someone Fate chose specifically for me.

“Now, your father can’t assume he’s the only one offering deals in this valley. I deserve top dollar for my land.” Darcy’s words pull me out of my daydream and shove me back into the present.

The deal I wrote up for himwastop dollar. The best I could get past my father. His comment tells me my uncle Dave is being very aggressive. But I can still save this deal. I have to. Oliver Gallagher is my father, but if I piss him off by failing him on this deal...heiscruel. Especially if he loses to his brother.

Just wait, Gen. Just sit here and pretend you’re in control and wait.

I watch Mr. Darcy from the corner of my eye. He tugs at his shirt collar, then adjusts his hat. He’s still waiting for me to look at him. But I’m waiting for my opening. The moment when he realizes no one can win against my father.

“Miss Gallagher, you’re just going to have to tell your father—” He pauses, like he’s rethinking his strategy.

There it is. My moment. Bright and shiny like a neon sign.

“Tell my father what, precisely?” I fix my gaze on the rancher’s sweating face and narrow my eyes. “My father, Mr. Darcy, knows everything about you, your wife, your daughter, even about your 112 head of cattle and where you’ve been grazing them.”

It’s a lie.

My father doesn’t actually know anything about Mr. Darcy’s cattle. If he did, Mr. Darcy’s herd would already be dead.

I’m the one who handles the paperwork for Gallagher Industries. Land, businesses, deals. Everything comes across my desk.

But I also happen to know that Mr. Darcy has been cutting fences and grazing his cattle on other people’s land. Gallagher land. And I know that because we have a cabin halfway down the mountain where I hide out most weekends to get away from everything. A herd of cows is pretty hard to miss when they roam through your yard while you’re sitting on the porch reading.

I also know how important it is that we acquire Mr. Darcy’s land, because it has access to more land beside the lake. More money. And that’s what my father is really about—more money and more power.

“The contract I gave you better be signed and on my desk by five pm today, Mr. Darcy.”

The angry rancher doesn’t speak. He just stares. Sweat runs down his forehead. His rounded cheeks are redder than a ripe tomato. His heart is racing and I can hear everythuddingbeat thanks to my werewolf senses. Unfortunately, I can also smell the sour tang of his fear and it makes my insides squirm and my belly roll with nausea.

Mr. Darcy’s land is the key to the next phase of my dad’s expansion plans for the valley. But if my uncle gets the land instead, the resulting pack war will leave a lot of people hurt. Innocent people.

I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

“I could just stay here until your wife comes back from the bathroom. Maybe we should all three talk about what’s going to happen if you don’t sign the contract I gave you. Or we could wait until your daughter comes down off that stage.”

I keep my voice steady and even. I look away from him and back toward the pickle contest. His daughter is the last contestant on the right. The mayor hasn’t tasted her pickles yet. “This is me being nice, Mr. Darcy. This is me being patient and understanding. You won’t get that from the men in my family.”

“Fuck all of you Gallaghers.”

I meet his gaze. He’s a sweaty, scared, angry, seething mess. And a complete idiot to think he has any chance against my father. “I love your daughter’s blue dress, Mr. Darcy, but you cross my father and she’ll be wearing black next. Are we clear?”

A second passes.

Then another.