Chapter 1

CASH

 

 

I lower the brim of my cowboy hat toward my forehead to shade my eyes from the bright sunlight shining through the clouds and scorching my skin.

Today is as hot as hell, too much to bear even for a guy like me, born and raised under the blistering Texas sun.

I feel the sweat slide down my back and gluing the denim shirt to my skin, my chest heaving in a series of short breaths.

I dab the sides of my face and my stubbled chin with a dark bandana and then I pull the bridles of my mount slightly until the horse slows down and stops on the highest point of the slope, facing the huge white manor.

I smile, looking at my home, feeling the usual sense of pride and belonging swell inside of me.

Every time I mention this place in conversation, people look at me oddly: they think it’s strange I call the main house on a ranch a manor, but that’s how it’s always been called since it was built almost one hundred and eighty years ago.

My ancestors were landed gentry back in the Old World. They were quite rich, but the last heir was a very forward-thinking man. He dreamed of a different kind of life in a different kind of world so he sold his estate and ancestral manor in Sheffield, along with all his holdings and left England at the start of the nineteen century to try his fortune amongst the wilds of America.

In less than ten years he tripled his inheritance, investing in all kinds of lucrative ventures and he managed to build everything that has been passed down onto me, but he was a sentimental kind of guy: even when he became a businessman he still missed being a country gentleman and so he went for the next best thing: he reinvented himself as a cowboy, bought a lot of land and started to build a boundless ranch and this large house and affectionately called it the manor.

He fucking loved this place and so did every other Stone born after him, myself included.

My guardian taught me since I was I child that no matter how successful Stone Conglomerate was, my family was always connected with the land at heart and even if I’m the only one left, it’s still true.

Stone Ranches are the part of my holdings that I care about the most.

We are perfectly self-sufficient here and there’s nothing we don’t rear, farm or dig up from this land that we could not live off entirely if necessary.

Even with just the ranches I would be a very wealthy guy, the rest it’s just icing on the cake —lots of icing on a very big cake, I’ll never be able to eat whole, not even if a hundred thousand people helped. That’s how much money I have.

It’s barely ten a.m. and I’m already bone-tired: I’ve been inspecting the oilfields since well before daybreak and when I finished with that, I went to see how the cattle were doing at the pastures, then I went for a ride through the countryside and down my river because both my horse and I needed to clear our heads a little, so basically I’ve been sitting on my favorite stallion —a four-year-old, white Thoroughbred that I delivered myself— for hours now.

I pat the large neck of my horse and lightly dig the heels of my boots in his sides to get him to start trotting again toward the main stables of the ranches.

“What do you say to a little exercise, Artax? We’ve been in the saddle too long and had too fast a ride to just stop without cooling off a bit.”

My horse neighs and I stroke the side of his muzzle. “Good answer, Cork head. Let’s go play a little.”

I’m exhausted, but I’m not going to tie my horse up without stretching a bit after the race, I don’t want him to risk a cramp, plus he got slightly nervous on the last leg of the ride back because of a fucking snake that came out from nowhere and I want him to calm down and relax a little with a game.

I ride to the enormous central pen, still in perfect view of the house and start to trot Artax at a gentle pace around the white fence, then we focus on some easy jumps, the thuds of the horse’s hooves filling the silence, a golden fog of dust around us.

Artax is getting excited again, I manage to calm him down and ride him to a stop. He neighs, snorting a bit and shaking his long head, making me grin a little.

If it were for him, we’ll never stop playing: he is a very spirited stallion, half a ton of energy and strength that never slows down or complains with my two hundred pounds on his back.

“Alright, just a little more, then,” I say and we jump another obstacle.

“That was a good jump, boy,” I say and pull his bit a little to make him change direction.

We spend the next few minutes jumping some simple combinations and practicing basic dressage exercises and then we’re finally done.

Well, not really, Artax is done for the day: he won’t have to carry my huge, bulky body around anymore and can take the next couples of days off, but me, not so much: when I’m done here at the ranch, I’ve got to get my ass to Austin, there’s a boardroom meeting waiting for me there and God only knows —and Jerry, my personal assistant, with him— how many engagements I have after that.

I wish I could stay here much more frequently, leading a far simpler life, but lately it’s been almost impossible to come more than twice a month. Between following the progress of too many ventures to count, make the board of directors happy and closing several deals at the same time, saying that I am on a really tight schedule right now would be an understatement and do what I’d like to do, instead of what I must, it’s out of the question.

I see Molly, my housekeeper and ex-nanny, bustling out of the house; her white and yellow checkered apron shining in the sun. She is coming toward me at a fast pace, with my cell in hand and a frown on her forehead.

This can only mean two things: my time off is going to be prematurely cut short and my schedule just got even tighter.

I sigh, dismounting Artax.

That’s why I never take my damn cell with me when I’m riding through the ranches.

Molly says it’s a very reckless thing to do, but if I didn’t I’d never have a little time for myself, besides there are always uncountable workers around me so if something did happen they would know.

She reaches me and passes me the phone shaking her head.

“Sweetie, how is it possible that they never let you be? I was just about to put your favorite chocolate chip cookies in the oven.”

I smile at her. “Who do I have to call?” I ask, sliding one finger on the display to bring it to life.

“Mr. McKade. He called almost one hour ago, said he needs to talk to you about some board meeting thingy.”

“Alright, thank you, Molls. I’ll call him in a minute.”

I pull some slices of carrot out of my shirt’s pocket and turn toward Artax again.

“Here you go, Donkey.”

The stallion’s muzzle immediately goes to my hand and wipes the carrots away.

He snorts, stomping a little in place, nuzzles my face and then starts to sniff my chest affectionately, looking for more treats.

Molly laughs. “If he wasn’t such a giant, I’ll swear he is a puppy more than a horse,” she says, patting his neck. “Well, I’ll better go back in. I have to start working on dinner for you and all the workers.”

She takes off her black-rimmed glasses and starts to clean them with a corner of her apron.

“Moll?”

She slides the glasses back on her nose and looks at me through narrowed eyes.

“You won’t be staying for dinner, right, Cash?”

I shake my head. “I’d love to, but you already knew I couldn’t even before. The fact that Carson called, only means I’ll have to probably leave even earlier than I thought. Also, I will probably be in Austin for the next three weeks and—”

“What? Three weeks?! What do I have to do with you? Cash you need to slow down, darling: you work too hard and you’re never home.”

I nod. “I know, but there’s not much I can to about it. There’s just me after all and time is never enough to stay up to speed with everything as it is. To be able to come here, I’ll need to have at least twelve more hours in a day.”

Molly pats my cheek a little too hard. “You don’t need a thirty-six-hour-long day, Cash: you need to find a nice girl and settle down. How many times more will I have to tell you?”

Here we go again. I roll my eyes at her.

“Well, if I could really have my way with this, I’d say not even another time and really, Molls, jokes aside, I don’t know about nice girls ‘cause I’ve yet to meet one, but the ones I do meet only see me for what I own and not for who I am, so there’s no way I’ll marry. As you know my name is no great help when it comes to that sort of thing either. My parents must have been quite the suckers for tragic irony.”

Molly smiles wistfully and sighs. “They both had a great sense of humor, especially your dad and they were both really straightforward people, much like you are. They used to say that whoever was going to meet you would end up thinking of your worth anyway, so they might as well—”

“Cut the story short, I know: you’ve told me many times. Still think they could have called me Fred or Paul or Robert or whatever and spared me the misery.”

She smiles at me, raising on her toes and stretching an arm all the way to reach my cheek.

I take pity on her and bend a little down so she can deliver her pinch. “You big rascal, sometimes I wonder at the person responsible for your manners.”

I laugh. “You do? It happens when you look in the mirror?”

She shakes her head. “I’m proud of you, Cash, and I don’t mean to nag you, truly, but you are too serious and work too hard and you do need someone in your life. I know you think everyone is the same, but you have to take a risk sometimes, darling.”

I relax my shoulders and nod. No way I can get her to see things differently.

“Okay, Molls. I’ll see what I can do, but I really need to call Carson now.”

“Alright then, call that old bear, see what he wants, but don’t take too long, I have breakfast waiting for you, you sneaked out again without eating this morning, you’ll make yourself sick if you keep on skipping meals and living off takeaway, you are getting thin.”

I look down at my big, muscular body and I shake my head, I’m so large my shadow casts a freaking huge shade that can almost obliterate five people if they are close enough and yet she still sees me like a scrawny boy; I guess things like this never change.

I’m not even sure I would wish them to.

Molly and Carson are the only people that remotely resembled parental figures in my life —even though they never saw eye-to-eye and to this day they can never be in the same room without arguing— I would be lost without them.

I let Artax loose in the pen, removing the saddle from his back and then I call my guardian.

His raspy and weathered from too much tobacco voice comes on the line after the first ring.

“McKade,” he barks —that’s how he says hello. He never checks the caller ID, just answers the phone old-school-style.

“Carson, it’s me,” I say, resting my back on the fence.

“Cash, I wasn’t expecting to really hear from you. I was sure that old crone won’t even mention to you that I called.”

I look up to the sky, the sun blinding me. When are these two going to stop playing this stupid game?

“Would you give it a rest and call her with her name: Molly. It’s very easy to say.”

“Never, son. Anyway, I called for two things. First of all, the Board meeting has been moved up an hour, so I need you to get your ass in town earlier. We must discuss strategy.”

I sigh. Can’t really say I’m surprised. “And the second thing?”

“Well, I’m looking at the society page of some gossip rag right now, son. Well done.”

I can feel my eyebrows shoot up on their own accord.

“Whoa, wait. Since when do you read gossip rags, and well done for what?”

Carson snorts. “I told you I was looking at them, not reading them. I don’t read this crap.”

He sounds mildly offended.

I laugh. I really don’t know where he is going with this. “Alright… alright. You don’t read them, so what—?”

He interrupts. “Damn straight, I don’t, but Melinda loves them and she brought a certain article to my attention.”

“Miranda,” I correct.

Here we go again: if he is starting to confuse names, it means she is almost old news already.

“What?”

“That’s the name of your girlfriend. Miranda, not Melinda, Carson.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And what does this article have to do with me?” I ask and shake my head, pointless to argue about this any further.

It’s not like she is going to stick around anyway. They never do. Carson doesn’t care about his women, he never did. I’ve told him how I feel about this many times so I’m not going to get into this again right now. Besides, this particular bed-warmer I really can’t stand. She is a plastic bimbo, dumb as a box of bricks and so young she could almost be my daughter, let alone his.

She even put the moves on me right after we met. I despise her.

“Well, it’s more the picture on it I’m talking about. It’s from the charity fundraiser you went last night. Nice shot of you and that, heiress, the lovely daughter of Brent Rowells. I approve and so will the Board.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. What is this, a conspiracy? It’s absurd.

“I’m aware of the fact that I was your ward from baby to eighteen-year-old boy, Carson, but I did not know your approval on women was something I needed.”

“Well, you have it all the same,” he says gruffly.

I chuckle. “Save it. I don’t even know the name of that girl, she was simply standing close to me at the bar, the place was really crowded.”

I hear my old friend sigh. “Cash, you need to understand you can’t go on like this.”

I take off my Stetson and hang it on a fence’s post, brushing my sweaty hair away from my face. “Don’t tell me you want to give me sentimental advice, Carson.”

“I’m not talking about being sentimental here, Cash. Listen to me. Our position in life is not the same. I’m a wealthy businessman who happens to own some shares of a huge multinational. Lots of responsibilities on my shoulders, for sure, but nothing like yours. You, son, are the CEO of Stone Conglomerate International. First of all, you have to look the part if you don’t want troubles with the Board and even more importantly, you are thirty-two and very much aware, unfortunately, that life can take a turn for the worse in every moment. You need to find a wife and start thinking about having children, unless you want to leave your family’s legacy to the sharks after nearly two centuries of hard work and abnegation. The Stones must prevail. You need an heir for your heritage, someone who can step in after you’re gone.”

I huff. “For God’s sake, Carson. This is not the Nineteenth century.”

“It might very well be, when you have as much to pass on and as much to lose as you do. You really need to start to look around, son, and lose that menacing glare of yours: you’ll scare all the good girls off if you insist on looking so glum and serious all the time.”

“I don’t look glum and serious I am glum and serious,” I grumble to myself.

Great: more responsibilities and worries for me, like I don’t have enough of those.

“That is beside the point, Cash. You haven’t had a girlfriend since college for Pete’s sake!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t want to go there. I don’t need to worry about a girlfriend let alone a wife right now. I can’t have one.

How do I know?

I have tried that already. It didn’t work out too well.

Even if my life was the way it was I tried, that’s how I learned the hard way that people just see money when they look at me.

The girlfriends were the worst.

They would ask for stuff while we were in bed, their fingers playing with the hair on my chest as they mentioned this nice designer bag they’d seen, how much they’d like to fly with my private jet to Vegas for a night, or how they would like to be seen hanging from my arm on the red carpet of a big soiree.

I caught up with their games pretty quickly and ended that shit.

I don’t like to be played and I don’t like to play, so no more dating for me.

There have been no more women in my life in the last couple of years; the companionship I could get from a girlfriend, it’s simply not worth the trouble and heartache I’ll get from being treated like a fucking ATM all the time.

Some of the men I know from the business circuit, Carson included, just pretend they’re stupid and that they don’t notice it so they can get some pussy. They let those gold-diggers live off of them and then toss them on their ass when they get tired of them only to start looking for the next floozy to fuck, or they just pay for some action when they feel like they have gone too long without.

Me, I’m not wired that way. I won’t bother: it’s not my style.

When I have an itch, I just scratch it myself, but honestly it doesn’t happen that often: between the ranches and the companies, I just pass out in bed every night so I don’t have much energy for that kind of shit.

I gesture for a passing stablehand to come closer.

“Hang on, Carson.”

I lower my cell. “James, please bathe Artax and take him back to his stall.”

“Yes, Mr. Stone.”

I get a nod from him and I go back to my call.

“Alright, let’s cut the pep talk short, Carson. I need to get going if I want to be at the bank in time.”

He sighs. “I’ll see you later then,” he blurts out and hangs up, without saying hello.

But he is not pissed at me, that is just how he ends his phone calls no matter what.

I jog to the house and pass by the kitchen.

I’m really sorry to be missing not just dinner, but breakfast and lunch, not only because I know everything will be fucking delicious and probably consisting entirely of my favorite dishes, but because I totally feel like a bastard knowing Molly has probably been up pretty much since I left this morning cooking for me.

Well, at least it won’t go to waste: there are twenty-five hands working on the main ranch.

“Hey Molls,” I smile at her guiltily and the mouth-watering combination of smells of waffles, bacon, chocolate and whatever else she managed to put together, hits me, making my stomach growl.

She puts another batch of cookies in the oven, shaking her head and sighs, drying her hands on her apron.

“You have to go already?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

She gives me a little smile. “It’s okay, dear. I’ll pack something you can have on the go.”

“Thanks, Molly.”

“Don’t even say it and tell that old party pooper that I need to have a talk with him. A stern one.”

She looks really put out, but something in her expression makes me chuckle.

“Alright, I will. See you in a bit, I’m going to wash-up.”

“Go ahead, but Cash?”

I’m already at the door and I turn around. “What?”

“You really need to slow down, okay? I’m proud of you, so is that bothersome bear and it would be the same with your parents if they had lived to see the man you are, but they will also be as worried as I am, you really need to cut yourself some slack.”

I swallow, looking away.

As usual whenever she talks about the parents I never knew, I feel this sad feeling enveloping me. It’s not pain, really, it’s more like melancholy, regret for what was never mine, for what I could have had, for what I missed.

Most of the time, I can live with it. Life happens, everyone knows that, but some days I feel like I’m not sure I can. Today is one of those days.

I shake my head. “I wish I could, believe me,” I say and walk out.

I drag myself up the stairs and my eyes catch sight as they always seem to do of the family’s portraits spread all over the wall along it, I turn my head down, a million of thoughts running through my brain.

I don’t know why I keep them hanging there, these people are strangers for me after all, but I feel a connection —even if it’s dim at best.

I look at myself in those photos, just a baby, I look at my smiling parents and my three-year-old, big brother and it feels like I’m looking at the pictures of a storybook. One that everybody has read me over and over again, trying to convince me I was in that story as well even if only for a little, but I can’t seem to bring myself to believe it was real, even if I know it truly happened.

I had young parents who loved me and an older brother who was supposed to share this burden with me, someone who was going to actually be in my shoes, after all he was the heir, not I.

I enter my en-suite bathroom and switch the light on, then I undress and get in the huge shower stall, closing my eyes under the scalding hot sprays of the water jets hitting my body.

I never had a family after those first two months I can’t remember. I only had money, responsibilities and obligations, and a whole lot of strangers always around me.

The press had loved every second of it and kept barfing it up over and over again while I was growing up, just to fuck my life up even more.

I was, after all, the only survivor of the Stone dynasty, heir to a fortune worth billions, looked after only by my family’s staff, under the tutelage of an entire board of guardians, with my father’s closest friend, Carson McKade, at the helm.

Absolutely delicious fodder for gossipmongers.

But no one really looked too closely at what kind of existence I lead as a child.

They made my life sound like a gilded cinematic tragedy.

It was never directly said, but always implied that mine was a fortune that had been largely destined to my brother, left to me because of a twist of faith and considering how wealthy I had become, the insinuation that I should count myself lucky was always there.

Molly always says they only mean lucky to survive, but I know better: Carson maybe wasn’t an affectionate father figure in my life, but he made damn well sure I knew vultures when they flew around me.

He did what he could, I don’t blame him for how alone I was as a child —except for Molly of course —, it simply wasn’t in his nature to be a real parent, plus he was too fucking busy protecting my wealth and my company for me when I was still too little to even sit up properly and he did more than that: he kept it growing until I could get control of the money at eighteen and of the entire corporation at twenty-one.

He taught me all that I know and shared everything he could remember about my family with me and for that I’ll always be grateful.

Still, sometimes I really do feel like I missed out on everything good out there.

I don’t have much if you keep the fortune out of the equation and at thirty-two years, loneliness is the constant companion of my professional success.

I really wish there was a way for me to change things, get a slice of happiness, but my name could not be more apt: for every one I meet, cash is all I am and all I have to offer.