Chapter 2 It's All Downhill

*Skylar*

What do you do when you have no job, no money, and ended a three year relationship with the man you were in love with because he fucked your best friend?

"Come on, baby," I urged.

The ticking sound my Chevy Aveo had been making since I left Helena sounded even worse now, and I was nowhere near civilization. The highway stretched for endless miles, nothing but flat, golden plains and sparse pine trees as far as the eye could see.

I was crazy for doing this. In my defense, I had nothing else to lose at this point. A week ago I'd been officially cut from the team, then caught Carter balls deep in Raney, then found out I'd inherited a freakin' ranch in Montana from some distant aunt, or something, who recently passed away.

Perfect timing, really. Apparently a pretty large sum of money came with the inheritance, but all of that had to be taken care of in a little town called Mason Creek.

I had no idea where that was. I'd never heard of it before. According to Maps on my phone, it was tucked up against the Blackfeet Indian Reservation and the Great Bear Wilderness. The map didn't even register the address of the ranch at all, which was just my luck. The lawyer I'd met with had simply smiled at me, and told me Godspeed.

That had left a sour taste in my mouth, to say the least.

I glanced at my reflection in the rear view mirror. Two full days of driving with a stopover in Helena had done it's worst on my appearance. My wine red hair was piled on top of my head in the messiest of buns, and dark circles lined my blue eyes. Despite it all, my eyes were no longer red and bloodshot from crying, which was a relief.

"Turn left in five-hundred feet," the satnav voice on my phone screamed, startling me.

"Shit," I murmured, squinting into the distance for an exit or something, but I saw nothing but open road. It was almost four o'clock, but this stretch of highway was empty. In LA, I would have been fighting for my life in rush hour traffic during this time.

It was just me out here.

"Turn left–"

"Okay, okay," I said through gritted teeth. A slightly bumpy paved road connected directly onto the highway, totally unmarked. "Where the hell am I?"

"Turn left–"

"I did!" I pressed on the screen, trying to recenter myself, but then a horn blared and I yelped, looking up to find a semi-truck pulling a tractor trailer behind it coming down the road. I moved my car to the side as the truck slowed to halt, and an old man leaned out the window.

"You lost, honey?"

"I'm trying to find Mason Creek? I haven't seen any road signs or exits."

"Keep headin' down this road, it's the only thing back there." He tipped his cowboy at me and rolled up his window. I watched as he drove past, my eyes locked on what looked to be cattle riding in the trailer.

The lawyer I'd spoken to said the town was as small as they come. I had no concept of what he meant, not after growing up in California and touring from big city to big city with the Lakers. Sure, we'd pass little towns here and there, but we'd never stop long enough to even get out and stretch our legs.

I drove for another ten winding miles until I passed the first house, then a few miles later I passed another one. Ranches. Sprawling properties of the deepest golds and greens I'd ever seen, and beyond that?

Mountains rose in the distance in shades of slate gray and emerald green. I gasped, leaning forward with my chest pressed to the steering wheel as I looked up and saw nothing but blue sky, not a skyscraper in sight to block the view.

Ten minutes later I popped out of the sweeping, rolling landscape and smack dab in a tiny little town. I blinked, unsure what to do or where to go. There wasn't even a stoplight.

A single road led through the town, a mix of paved and gravel roads leading off it at odd angles. The buildings on the main–and the only–commercial street were close together and looked like something out of the old western films my dad used to love.

I passed a post office, a small medical clinic, and general store before I saw the bank I'd been told to visit to pick up the keys to what would be my new home.

I pulled my car to the curb, turning off the ignition as I looked around. Men dressed in denim-on-denim walked by, covered in dust. Most of them wore cowboy hats, which were also covered in dust and other grime. A few people glanced at me as I grabbed my purse and got out of the car. Some of their stares lingered a while, drifting over my white tanktop and athletic shorts.

I locked my car and winced as it beeped rapidly, which drew the stares of a group of men getting into a large truck nearby. I tried to smile but failed miserably, instead pretending to look for something in the depths of my purse as I hurried toward the bank.

"It's closed on Mondays," a female voice said nearby, the words laced with both whiskey and honey. I turned toward it and froze.

"Oh," I said quietly. "Shit."

"Shit," she parroted, her mouth stretching into a cat-like smile as she looked me up and down. "You're not from around here." She crossed her arms over her chest as she continued to inspect me.

She leaned against the bed of her truck, which was full of baskets of produce and flowers like I'd never seen before. Her long black hair was pin straight and thick, falling all the way down her waist.

"You're right," I admitted, shyness taking over as I stared at her. Her skin was a deep bronze, and her eyes were bright and russet in the afterlight sunlight.

She was hands down the most strikingly beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life.

"I'm Danica," she smiled, straight white teeth gleaming.

"Skylar," I replied, smiling back. "Uhm, actually, are you a local?"

"That depends on who you ask," she grinned, shrugging casually. "Why? Are you looking for someone?"

I walked toward her, pulling the piece of paper with the estate information out of my purse. "I'm looking for this property."

She eyed me curiously before taking the paper from my hand and scanning it. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then met mine with a quizzical expression. "The Courtney Ranch?"

"Yeah."

She looked me over with an appraising gaze. "Are you a Courtney?"

"I am, I mean, my mom was, I think. I inherited the place. It was a surprise, honestly. I never knew the woman who lived there."

"Oh, girl," she breathed, handing me back the paper while shaking her head. "Nobody has lived there in over twenty years."

I opened my mouth to say there had to be some mistake, but then shut it, pursing my lips. Twenty years? No one had lived there for twenty years?

I had no idea what the place even looked like, but the letter had the single lifetime in the implosion of life as I knew it, so I hung on.

But twenty years? I felt a little sick to my stomach all of a sudden.

Danica noticed the shift in my expression and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Where'd you come from?"

"California." The word whispered over the slight, warm breeze. "I thought–"

"Oh, fuck me," she hissed, kicking off of her truck and crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive position. I turned my head to follow her gaze and saw a truck parked across the street in front of a stout wooden building with the word BAR painted on a piece of plywood over the porch. A man walked toward us, his smile as bright as the sun as he set his sights on Danica. "Grady James, you better not be coming over here to harrass me–"

"I came over to say hi, Danica. Jesus, I thought we were friends?"

"Suck my dick, Grady," she deadpanned, glancing at me with what I was sure was her signature feline grin.

"Oh, I would if you had one," he rasped. "I'd swing for the other team in a heartbeat–Oh, shit!" He nearly jumped out of his cowboy boots. "Who–"

"This is my new friend Skylar," Danica smiled with a slight wave in my direction. "Skylar Courtney."

Deep green eyes met mine, fanned by golden lashes. Grady was handsome, I'd give him that. Even if he currently looked like a deer in the headlights. Softly curling blonde hair peaked out from beneath his cowboy hat as he looked me up and down. Then he looked back at Danica, tilting his head in confusion. "Courtney? What–"

"Aren't you going to say hi?" she snapped.

"Hi," he practically barked, barely looking at me as he stepped toward Danica. "Does Ben–"

"I was just about to take her up to see her new property," Danica cut in, smirking at Grady.

"You were?" I said, but neither of them were looking at me.

"Danica–"

"We'll come down to the bar later, Grady, okay? You owe me a beer for kicking your ass at pool the other night anyway." She turned to me, tilting her head toward my car. "There's no fucking way you're getting that thing up the road that leads to the ranch. Hop in, I'll give you a ride."

"Danica, wait," Grady ground out, squaring his shoulders.

"Bye, Grady," she grinned, wiggling her fingers at him. He gaped after us as I walked to the passenger side of her truck and hopped in without hesitation. I was truly along for the ride at this point with a total stranger.

Something felt off, though. Unease rippled over my skin as I turned my head to watch Grady fade into the distance as Danica sped off, kicking dust in her wake.

"Why was he so surprised by my last name? And who's Ben–"

"The Courtney's founded this town over a hundred years ago," she said in a low voice over the hum of the music coming from her radio. "You're a celebrity."

For whatever reason, that didn't make me feel the least bit welcome.

"And don't worry about Ben," she whispered, irritation lacing the mystery man's name. I wasn't sure she meant for me to hear it, and when I glanced at her I noticed her eyes had gone a shade darker than they had been before.

"Who is he?"

"If you're a Courtney, then Ben Lawson is your rival. Welcome to Mason Creek, Skylar. It's all downhill from here."