chapter five

                                    

                                          




THE GRAVEL road leading to the Dutton ranch seemed longer than Reagan remembered. She tightened her grip on the wheel, her knuckles white against the polished leather. Beside her, Billy Payne sat with his hat tipped low over his eyes, his silence as heavy as the debt hanging over their heads. The black Jeep Wrangler rolled smoothly over the uneven ground, the rhythmic crunch of dirt and stone beneath the tires the only sound breaking the tension inside the vehicle.
"How you feelin' about this?" Billy asked without moving.
Reagan's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not feelin' much of anything, to be honest." She glanced sideways at her father. "We need their help. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
Billy lifted his head slightly, his weathered face unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. "Well, here's hopin' you're as good with words as you are at runnin' this ranch. Duttons ain't the kind to hand out charity."
Reagan's jaw tightened, her thoughts already racing ahead to the conversation she knew was coming. The Duttons were a proud family, much like the Paynes, but the differences between them were as clear as night and day. While the Paynes had held onto their ranch by the skin of their teeth, the Duttons thrived, their land spreading across Montana like a fortress. And now, with their own ranch teetering on the edge of ruin, Reagan knew she'd have to dig deep into her pride to ask for help.
As they neared the entrance to the Dutton estate, the gates loomed ahead, tall and iron-wrought, a symbol of power. Reagan exhaled slowly, pressing down on the brake. The gates groaned open as they approached, and she guided the Jeep through, the wheels crunching over the dirt driveway that stretched toward the sprawling ranch house.
"They're gonna know we're in trouble the moment they see us," Billy muttered.
Reagan cut him a sharp look. "Let me handle it."
They hadn't planned to give away too much, not right away. Reagan knew that showing vulnerability in front of people like the Duttons was a mistake. But the truth was, they had little left to lose.
Ahead, two figures stood by the main house, their argument fading as they turned to watch the Jeep approach. Even from a distance, Reagan recognized them—Beth Dutton, sharp as ever, with her brother Jaime trailing behind her like a shadow. As she brought the car to a stop, Reagan steeled herself.
The moment her boots hit the ground, Beth was already moving toward her, that knowing smirk on her face. Jaime followed closely, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Who's that?" Beth called back, though Reagan could tell she already knew the answer.
"No idea," Jaime muttered, still watching Reagan intently.
Reagan squared her shoulders and met Beth halfway, feeling the weight of every step. "Beth," she acknowledged with a curt nod. She could feel Jaime's eyes on her, trying to place her.
"You're Reagan Payne?" Jaime said, finally recognizing her. His disbelief was clear. "Haven't seen you in... years."
"Seems like a lifetime ago," Reagan replied, keeping her tone even. "But here we are."
Beth smirked, her eyes glittering with amusement. "I thought I knew you better, Payne."
"Unlike you," Reagan shot back smoothly, "I wanted to forget the burden of my last name that night."
Beth's laughter was sharp, cutting through the tension. "Touché," she said, clearly entertained. "But now, you're here, and something tells me it's not just for a social call."
Reagan paused, weighing her next words carefully. "We need to talk," she said finally, glancing at Jaime as well. 
"I want to speak with your father."