"I'll be back later." Jake presses a kiss to my temple, his voice carrying the promise like something sacred. "We still have things to discuss."
"I know." I squeeze his hand once before letting go. "I'm not going anywhere."
He nods, something soft moving behind his eyes, then slips past Zachary toward the hallway. Zachary watches him go with an expression I can't quite read—acceptance, maybe, or resignation finally settling into something like peace.
"I'll give you privacy." He sets the phone in my palm, his movements careful. Professional. "Call if you need anything."
Then he's gone too, and I'm alone with Victoria's name glowing on the screen.
I press the phone to my ear. "Victoria."
"Adison, thank God." Her concern spills through immediately, rushing like water through a broken dam. "Violet called me in hysterics. She said you were thrown from a horse. That there was blood. That they rushed you to the hospital in some farmer's truck like something out of a Western nightmare."
The exaggeration pulls a small smile from me despite everything. "It wasn't quite that dramatic."
"Tell me what happened." Victoria's voice carries the particular urgency of a mother who's spent too many years worrying about children who refuse to be managed. "The truth, please. Not whatever sanitized version you're crafting in your head."
"Some bruises." I shift against the pillows, wincing slightly at the protest from my healing body. "A concussion. The doctors kept me overnight for observation, but I'm fine now. Resting at the ranch."
"A concussion isn't nothing." Her tone sharpens with genuine worry. "You could have been killed, Adison. These ranches and their horses—I never should have suggested you go."
"I've ridden that trail dozens of times." The reassurance comes easily because it's true. "Something spooked my mare. It was bad luck, nothing more."
Victoria exhales slowly, and I can picture her in her Manhattan apartment—silk robe, coffee cooling beside her, the city sprawling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. A world away from Texas dust and hospital rooms.
"You're certain you're alright?" She presses. "No lasting damage?"
The pregnancy pulses at the edge of my awareness. The secret I'm still not ready to share, even with someone I trust. Even with someone who'd understand.
"Nothing lasting." The lie slides out smoother than it should. "I'll be fully recovered in a few days."
"Well." Victoria's voice shifts, the immediate crisis apparently handled. "Since I have you on the phone, perhaps you can explain something else that's been confusing me."
"What's that?"
"Violet." The name carries exhaustion and frustration in equal measure. "She floods my messages daily with complaints. The food is terrible. The beds are uncomfortable. The ranch workers are beneath her notice. She wants to know when she can come home, as if I've sent her to prison rather than a vacation."
I close my eyes, remembering Violet's calculating expressions. Her relentless pursuit of Jake. The vulnerability that cracked through when she talked about living in Walter's shadow.
"She's adjusting." I choose my words carefully. "Some people take longer than others."
"But here's what puzzles me." Victoria's confusion bleeds through the connection. "Paige tells me an entirely different story. She says the ranch is wonderful. That she's learning to ride. That the workers are kind and patient with her." A pause. "I can't reconcile these two accounts, Adison. They're describing different planets."
The contrast doesn't surprise me. Paige arrived without expectations or entitlement. She let the ranch meet her where she was instead of demanding it reshape itself around her preferences.
And then there's Tommy.
"Violet sees what she wants to see." I keep my tone neutral despite the amusement bubbling beneath the surface. "Paige has settled in beautifully. She's found something here that speaks to her."
"Something?" Victoria's interest sharpens. "Or someone?"
Smart woman. I'm not about to expose Tommy and Paige's growing connection—that's their story to tell—but I can't help the small smile that curves my lips.
"The fresh air agrees with her." I deflect smoothly. "Give Violet more time. She'll either adapt or she won't, but rushing her home won't solve anything."
Victoria is quiet for a moment, processing. Then her voice firms with decision.
"I have a solution." She announces it the way she announces everything—with the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Walter will come retrieve the girls himself. He can assess the situation firsthand and escort them home safely."
Walter. Victoria's golden child. The responsible one who moved out at twenty and built his own life while Violet drowned in his shadow.
"That seems sensible." I nod even though she can't see me. "Especially since my concussion prevents me from accompanying them anyway."
"Exactly my thinking." Victoria's relief is palpable. "I'll feel better knowing my son is handling things. He's steady, you know. Reliable. Everything Violet refuses to be."
The comparison lands with an edge I suspect Victoria doesn't intend. Or maybe she does. Parents often wound their children without realizing the blade is even in their hands.
"When should I expect him?"
"Tomorrow." Victoria's voice warms. "Take care of yourself, Adison. Rest. Heal. We'll see each other soon."
"Soon." I echo the promise. "Thank you for calling, Victoria."
The line goes dead, and I stare at the ceiling for a long moment. Another variable entering an already complicated equation. Another Snyder to manage.
I call out before I can second-guess myself. "Zachary."
He appears in the doorway within seconds—efficient as always, probably hovering just out of earshot. "Yes?"
"What do you know about Violet's relationship with Walter?" I shift against the pillows, watching his face. "And don't pretend you haven't researched the entire Snyder family. I wouldn't be surprised if you maintain files on everyone."
Something like approval flickers behind his expression. "You know me well."
"Well enough." I gesture for him to continue. "Tell me."
Zachary settles into the chair beside my bed, his posture straightening into briefing mode.
"Violet resents Walter intensely. Their parents constantly weaponize his success against her—his career trajectory, his independence, his ability to meet their expectations." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "Every achievement of his becomes another measurement of her inadequacy."
The pattern crystallizes with painful clarity. No wonder Violet lashes out. No wonder she seeks attention through manipulation and chaos. When your family uses your sibling as a weapon against you, you learn to fight with whatever tools you have.
"And Walter himself?"
"Impenetrable." Zachary shakes his head slowly. "Impossible to read. He presents exactly what he wants the world to see, nothing more. I've never been able to determine what actually drives him."
I absorb this information, filing it away for later use. Walter Snyder is coming to the ranch. Coming to collect his sister. Coming into a situation already tangled with secrets and shifting dynamics.
"Walter's coming here." I say it aloud, testing the weight of it. "Victoria just told me. He'll arrive tomorrow to take the girls home."
Zachary's expression doesn't change, but I catch the subtle tension that enters his shoulders. He understands what I'm not saying.
A new variable. A new complication. A new player on a board already crowded with pieces I can barely track.
Walter Snyder is coming. And I have no idea what that means for any of us.