Destined (The Rangers of Ridge County #1)

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

MILLIE

O f all the harebrained ideas I’ve had over the past few months, this one might just take the cake.

Well, besides renting this house that is. Though, in my defense, the photos on the listing depicted something much more inviting. But I was determined not to spend a second night in this miserable place.

It was drafty, the hot water was temperamental, and I was certain I was going to fall through one of the steps each time I climbed the stairs.

So when sleep evaded me again, I spent the early morning hours hatching my plan of escape. Instead of tossing and turning on my makeshift pallet of throw pillows, I found solace in strategizing.

Hours later, I traipsed across the meadow separating my rental and Frank Bennett’s with a paper plate of individually wrapped snack cakes in hand.

Without my car, this was the best thing I could come up with given the circumstances, but it was the thought that counted. Right?

I’d pulled a pink floral sundress and sandals from my suitcase and combed my hair back into a sleek ponytail—hoping my charm and sugary bribe would persuade him to dissolve our contract.

Frank definitely did not deserve the effort, nor the half-melted desserts. Yet, I was prepared to be utterly shameless in my attempt to nullify this agreement .

My nerves had me drenched in sweat by the time I reached the property line. Stopping to catch my breath, I surveyed the area around me and attempted to push down the rising panic.

This house was not in much better shape than the one I rented, which did not give me high hopes for our conversation. Rusting farm equipment littered the overgrown lawn, likely due to the fact that the barn behind the house looked more like a large pile of aged wood than a building.

It was evident that—in my haste to relocate—I threw years of training out the window by tethering myself to something rotten disguised with a shiny bow. For the love of Little Debbie, I was a competent marketing specialist who had gotten duped by a scam.

After wiping my brow with the back of my hand, I continued my trek and carried on chiding myself for falling victim to this. Climbing the front porch steps, I silenced what was left of my tattered pride. My anxiety peaked at the sound my knuckles created as they connected with the front door. I heard the knock echo through the house and resisted the urge to bolt. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other then back again.

My hands grew slick, causing the paper plate to dampen in my grip. It felt flimsy enough I feared it was going to buckle.

The door swung open at the same time the plate crumpled, much like my spirit.

I grinned at the man glaring at me from the open doorway, but before I could introduce myself he barked, “What do you want?”

The overpowering scent of alcohol hit me as hard as his words.

The corners of my mouth drooped, but I held fast to my bubbly facade. Frank might have the personality of a Brillo Pad, but I refused to let that deter me.

When I spoke with him on the phone yesterday, I had my suspicions. He was every bit what I expected—a graying, gruff man with angry eyes and a sharp tongue.

What I did not expect was this level of hostility before broaching the topic of our contract.

I typically avoided confrontation at all costs, but determination set in as I dug my heels into killing the man with kindness. I dropped down to gather the small treats scattered around our feet then stood and extended them toward him .

“Hi, Mr. Bennett, my name is Millie Rushing.” I grinned. “We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

He narrowed his eyes at me but didn't speak, neglecting my outstretched hands.

“I was hoping to discuss our rental agreement,” I squeaked as I lifted the treats higher, hoping to catch his attention.

He raised a bushy eyebrow but remained still and silent.

This man knew the score because he was playing the game and winning.

“We both know that house was not the one photographed for the listing,” I finally sighed.

His frown morphed into a sneer as he spat, “Even if you had proof, it wouldn’t matter. You signed a binding contract, girl.”

“You are welcome to keep my security deposit and the first month’s rent I’ve already paid, but I want out,” I offered, switching tactics even though I could really use the money. But I’d take the loss if it meant I wasn’t stuck here.

Earlier, I researched local storage facilities with monthly rental plans. If he agreed, I still had enough time to divert the moving company hauling the bulk of my belongings.

Nothing about this was ideal, but I could pivot.

“Please, sir. I cannot stay in that house,” I continued, hoping to garner his favor.

His lip curled up at the same time he shrugged his shoulders.

“Sounds like your problem. Not mine,” he sneered, moving to close the door.

I inhaled a deep breath ready to beg, but before I could get a word out, he snatched the snacks and slammed the door.

“Rent’s due on the first of the month!” he shouted through the door as he flipped the lock—a resounding fuck you .

I retraced my path back across the meadow. Keeping my pace slow, I reached into the pocket of my sundress for my phone. Pulling it out, the screen illuminated to show a missed call from Mom .

I sighed as I deleted the notification then locked the screen before tucking it away. I would call her back, but I needed to collect myself first. My parents had been on the receiving end of too many emotional phone calls this year, and now I was too far away for them to ride in to the rescue. They deserved to enjoy their retirement without having to constantly worry about me.

I had assured them repeatedly about this move. They were skeptical, but I was certain. This was something I not only wanted but needed to do.

A few months ago, the son of a former client purchased an out of state property. Wells Harrington and I formed somewhat of a friendship after months of working together to market his father’s assets in Tennessee. So when he reached out and asked for my opinion on the resort here in Montana, I’d researched the area at length.

The more digging I did, the more I considered what life might look like somewhere other than Tennessee.

Unfortunately, much the same it would seem. Why I thought my luck would be any different here was beyond me.

I just wanted to belong. To find community and camaraderie. Because I had never quite fit.

Not in relationships.

Not in Tennessee.

And evidently, not in Ranger Ridge, Montana.