Unbridled Passion: A Friends to Lovers

Romance (Wild Hearts of Yellowstone

Creek Ranch: A Contemporary Cowboy
Romance Series Book 3) J. P. Comeau
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Unbridled Passion
A Friends to Lovers Romance

J.P. Comeau
Copyright © 2023 by J.P. Comeau
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art designed by J.P. Comeau

 Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
A Special Note from the Author
 Chapter One

The Chill of Dormancy

Clay

awn broke with a grudging light over Yellowstone Creek Ranch, the snow-covered pastures barely glowing under a
D heavy sky. My breath turned to fog in the sharp bite of the Wyoming winter, each puff a lone wolf in the still morning. The
wind was no morning breeze—it was a relentless force, piling snow into drifts that bore down on fences and
outbuildings with the weight of the season.
I made my way to the herd to check on them, each step a crunch of boots sinking into the crusted snow. Amid the routine, a
part of me felt as dormant as the frozen ground underfoot, waiting for a personal spring, as distant as the thaw. The cold wasn't
just a chill—it was a constant, an old adversary that kept company as loyal as any hound. This land was harsh, carved into me
as deep as any brand, its winters a trial by ice that cradled life stubborn enough to endure.
Among the cattle, their breaths hanging like spirits in the frozen air, and the trees armored in ice, a solitude settled in my
chest, deeper than the loneliness that gnawed at its edges. It was a peace that Cody, with all its small-town rhythms, couldn't
touch.
The bunkhouse was a refuge from the cold and the quiet of the big house where my father enjoyed solitude after Mom
passed away years ago. My days moved to the rhythm of the land and its beasts—a life they called simple, but there was
nothing simple about the raw, unyielding beauty and the sheer will to survive out here. This was life pared down to bone and
sinew, laid out as vast and open as the Wyoming plains themselves, and it was mine—all mine, in its solitary, unbridled glory.
Life as a veterinarian, living on the Yellowstone Creek Ranch whose brand was the Circle Y, unfolded with the reliability
of the rising sun. Each day was stitched together with the steady rhythm of chores and the occasional curveball that came with
tending to animals.
At the crack of dawn, the bunkhouse kitchen buzzed with the sounds of daybreak. Maggie, the culinary heart of the ranch,
manned the stove with a deft hand. "Morning, Clay. Got your coffee strong and black, just how you like it," she said without
turning, pushing a steaming mug toward the edge of the counter.
"Thanks, Maggie," I grumbled, the warmth from the mug seeping into my chilled fingers.
The long table creaked under the weight of ranch hands, all shoveling down eggs and bacon with the determination of men
with a full day's work ahead. Carl, the ranch foreman with more lines on his face than the map in my office, tipped his hat up
with a nod as I took a seat. "Zeus is kickin' up a fuss. Might want to check on him first," he said, his voice gravelly with
concern.
I nodded, sipping the coffee that was strong enough to kickstart a dead truck. "Will do. He's been a bit ornery with the cold
snap."
Carl snorted. "Ain't we all?"
The banter was brief, as it always was, but it held the weight of familiarity. With a last gulp of coffee, I grabbed my
medical kit and headed out. The work was never done, and Zeus, the stallion who seemed to carry the spirit of the Wyoming
wilds in his blood, demanded attention. He was more than just a creature to care for; he was a bond to my father and the
unspoken pride of the ranch.
"Morning, Zeus," I greeted the stallion, whose breath fogged the air in snorts of impatience. "Let's see if we can't get you
settled. Looks like I need to call Cole. You have a shoe loose.”
The day marched on, a parade of tasks that ranged from the mundane to the urgent. When the sun was high in the sky, I was
back at the bunkhouse, the smell of Maggie's stew a welcome home.
"You sure you don't miss your house in town?" Maggie asked as she ladled stew into my bowl.
I shook my head, tearing a piece of bread. "What's there to miss? It's better here, with good company and better food.
Besides, I sold it a while back.”
She chuckled, the sound as warm as the stew. "Flattery will get you extra dessert, Clay."
As the men settled into a comfortable silence, I couldn't help but feel that this was where I belonged. Yet, the wind howled
outside, a harbinger of change, and I wondered if comfort was just another word for complacency.
A few weeks had passed since the night of the inauguration, a grand celebration of my brother Mark's ascent to the pinnacle
of Wyoming's political hierarchy. The reception at the Pitchfork Ranch, better known as Wyoming's governor's mansion, had
been a whirlwind of tuxedos and gowns, with laughter and the clinking of glasses filling the air. I had been there, a spectator in
my brother's world, witnessing his moment of triumph.
Lizzie, a figure of quiet grace amidst the revelry, stood beside me in the reception line with her daughter Sophie, hiding
behind her mother's skirt. Lizzie had that look in her eyes, a distant sort of pain that no amount of merriment could mask. When
she reached for another one of those neon Jell-O shots—the ones she claimed were just for fun—it was more about forgetting
than celebrating.
Later, when her hand found mine and her eyes searched my face for someone else, I felt a jolt of something unexpected.
"Robert?" she whispered, her lost love's name a plea. For a heartbeat, I was him. I was the one she was looking for, the one
she wanted.
For that fleeting moment, I wanted to be Robert, if only to be seen by her in the way she saw him. But reality crashed in as
quickly as her focus wavered and her eyes fluttered closed in a deep sleep, the Jell-O shots claiming their final victory.
The memory of that night still lingered like the aftertaste of whiskey, bitter and sweet. I'd seen a side of Lizzie no one else
had, vulnerable and raw. It was a Lizzie who loved deeply and missed her husband with a ferocity that scared her. And me? I'd
been affected more than I cared to admit, touched by her vulnerability, haunted by the desire in her eyes—even if it wasn't
meant for me.
That afternoon added layers to the image I held of Lizzie, each a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the rest. As I sat in my
office inside the bunkhouse, connecting with Cole our farrier, her name was a whisper in my mind, an echo of something that
never was but could have been. Then, the ring of my phone shattered the silence, a sharp trill that seemed too loud in the
stillness of the bunkhouse. “Dr. Brooks," I answered.
"Clay, it's Thompson. I have an issue with the bull. He's down and not looking right," came the voice, tinged with worry,
from the other end.
I was on my feet in an instant, the lingering thoughts of Lizzie replaced by the immediate demand of my profession. The
drive to the Thompsons was short. The engine's hum was a steady backdrop to my racing thoughts, not of Lizzie now but of the
challenge awaiting me.
The Thompsons' bull was a mass of muscle and raw power, a beast that made even the bravest cowhands keep their
distance. As I approached him, his eyes locked onto mine, a challenge issued without words. I saw it then, that familiar
stubborn blaze. He wasn't just an animal in my care; he was a mirror reflecting at me parts of myself I seldom acknowledged.
Working with livestock, you come to understand the language of the unsaid, the communication that happens in the space
between actions. This bull was a force to be reckoned with, unwilling to budge for anyone or anything. I respected that. For the
most part, I'd become just as set in my ways, my life following the grooves of long-established patterns each day like the one
before.
As I examined him, running practiced hands over his hide, feeling the thrum of his life beneath my palms, I couldn't help but
draw parallels. The bull's labored breathing was a telltale sign; his stomach was upset, likely from overfeeding. Like him, I
was wary of change, my heart fenced in by the barbed wire of routine and comfort. The bull snorted, shaking his massive head
as if to dislodge my thoughts along with his discomfort.
I reached for the syringe, measuring out the dose of medication that would ease his pain. "This should settle your stomach,
big guy," I said, the needle sliding into his thick hide. He barely flinched.
Thompson watched over my shoulder, his hat pushed back, revealing the sweat on his brow from worry and wariness.
"Think that'll do it, Clay?"
"Should make him feel a lot better by morning. Cut back his feed a little bit,” I replied, patting the bull's side.
Thompson nodded, his eyes fixed on the massive animal. "You know, Clay, it'll be rodeo season again before you know it.
Zorro here's been our star performer. Folks come from all around to see him. He's a familiar face and a beloved rodeo star...
well, as beloved as bulls can be, you know."
 Together, we closed the gate to the stall, securing the latch. He no sooner had the metal clanged shut than the bull stood, a
testament to his resilience. He bellowed, the sound vibrating through the air, and rammed his head against the gate with a clang
that rang like a bell in the quiet barn.
We both stepped back, a chuckle escaping me. "Guess he's feeling better already," I said, the tension easing from my
shoulders.
Thompson's laughter joined mine, a rough sound that was rare enough to be memorable. "Got more fight than sense, that
one."
I nodded, still grinning as I collected my gear. "I'll see myself out. Call me if anything changes."
"Will do. Thanks, Clay," Thompson said, still eyeing the bull with a mixture of pride and exasperation.
On the drive back to the ranch, the van's radio playing some old country tune faded into the background as my phone pinged
with the arrival of an email. The screen illuminated with Ted Granger's name, the philanthropist I'd briefly met at my brother's
inaugural reception. He had a firm handshake and a gaze that assessed you like a chess player contemplating his next move. The
email confirmed he was still interested in pursuing the deal he’d pitched, but my stomach tightened with a blend of anticipation
and dread.
Granger's offer had the weight of potential behind it, the kind that could alter the course of my life. His vision to expand
veterinary services across Wyoming was ambitious, a chance to step beyond the boundaries of Yellowstone Creek Ranch and
affect change on a broader scale. The idea had a sheen, like a well-polished boot, but I wasn't sure I was ready to walk this
new path.
I gripped the steering wheel, feeling the familiar grooves and nicks beneath my palms. The promise of growth and
expansion was an exciting prospect for any veterinarian looking to make their mark, but the 'any' gave me pause. Was I 'any'
veterinarian, or was I the vet who found solace in the rough fur of cattle and the rugged faces of the ranch hands I worked with
every day?
The road stretched out in front of me, a literal and figurative path split in two directions. One was well-worn, comfortable,
and safe, lined with the mountains and fields I knew like the back of my hand. The other was new, uncharted, promising growth
but at the cost of the comfort of what I learned.
I couldn't shake the image of Granger, his eyes sharp and calculating, offering a future I never envisioned. Could I trade the
open skies and the smell of hay for the confines of an office and the endless meetings? My heart raced with the possibility but
also ached for the simple life I might leave behind.
As the ranch's lights came into view, a beacon in the encroaching dusk, the weight of the offer pressed down on me.
Granger’s plan was a looming crossroads. If I decided to take him up on his offer, my future would be different than the one I
had always imagined.
I shrugged, threw my phone on the seat, and took a deep breath. "You'll figure it out."
The day's labor had left a layer of dust on my skin and clothes, a reflection of the life I'd chosen. Now, sitting in the cab of
my truck, the steering wheel's worn leather was a testament to years of the same.
My mind wandered, unbidden, to the words of Sandy, Lizzie's sister, at the reception, her voice low as she detailed
Robert's story—the Marine who never came home, leaving Lizzie to shoulder the weight of his absence. The knowledge of her
pain forged a new and complex emotion within me, a blend of protectiveness and a raw, unexpected surge of desire.
As the sunset splashed its fiery palette across the sky, I couldn't help but speak the awe it inspired aloud. "Looks like the
whole world's on fire," I whispered, the colors reflecting the turmoil inside me.
My hands tightened on the wheel, the decision coalescing with the falling darkness. "I'm gonna see her again," I declared
into the quiet cab, my voice more a growl of determination than mere words.
As the daylight bled away, I found solace in the emerging stars, each a point of steadiness in a changing world. And there,
in the quiet of my truck, as the world slipped into the embrace of night, I made peace with the unraveling of my old self. The
first star of the evening twinkled as if signaling the birth of my new path.
 Chapter Two

Winds of Change

Lizzie

he day's fatigue melted away like the first delicate snowflakes on a windowpane, giving way to a serene tranquility that
T filled the corners of our Cody home. As dusk pulled its velvety shroud across the sky, I glanced at Sophie, my sweetest
joy, dancing among the shadows cast by the flickering fireplace—her giggles weaving a harmony far warmer than the
coziest blanket.
"Pepperoni or cheese, love?" I called out, the weight of the day’s reality receding with each pirouette she made. The soft
glow of the room, kissed by the setting sun, wrapped us in warmth, making the idea of standing by the stove cooking seem
distant and disconnected from this enchanted moment.
"Pepperoni! Pepperoni!" she sang out, her tiny voice full of conviction, her dance now an ode to her favorite topping. I
couldn't help but smile, her innocence a salve to my frayed nerves. The simplicity of her joy, the clarity of her desires, was a
stark contrast to the tangled thoughts shadowing my mind since the morning's news.
As I reached for the phone to order her choice, her song melded into the hum of the evening, a spontaneous celebration of
childhood's simple pleasures. Each note she crafted in her impromptu melody seemed to twine around the room, filling the
space with a lightness that lifted the corners of my lips and heart alike.
In that moment, there was no room for the complexities of my life—the career uncertainties, the long-held heartaches, the
prospect of new beginnings. There was the purity of my daughter's glee and the impending arrival of a pepperoni pizza that
somehow, like a promise that no matter the winds of change, some joys remained evergreen.
In the cozy cocoon of our living room, the real world seemed distant, a realm far removed from the sanctuary of home
where Sophie's giggles filled the air like sweet music. But then, the abrupt trill of my phone shattered the tranquility.
It was my sister, Sandy, returning my phone call, her name glowing on the screen like a gateway to another world I
hesitated to step into. Drawing in a breath that felt as sharp as a well-honed knife, I answered. Our greetings were a delicate
dance of avoidance, our conversation light as we skirted the deeper realities.
"How's your evening going? What's happening?" Sandy's voice held that unique blend of warmth and weariness known only
to mothers of newborns.
I smiled despite myself, "Quiet, just waiting for pizza with Soph."
There was a beat, a perfect moment where nothing needed to be said, where I could have let the silence stretch and keep
my world intact. But it was a dam ready to burst. "Sandy, I..." My words stumbled, tripping over a truth I wasn't prepared to
face. "I've been laid off. The census at the hospital has been down for several months now."
The silence that followed was a void, heavy and expectant. Then Sandy's voice returned, not just as words but as an
embrace from miles away. "Oh, Liz...I'm sorry. What's your plan?"
I let out a laugh devoid of humor. "Plan? I'm not sure I know how to spell that word right now."
Sandy's voice, often a constant and sure presence, now held a tremble of restraint, her sentences meandering through a maze
of unvoiced thoughts before they reached me. "Mark's world is a whirlwind these days, what with the inauguration and all," she
began, her words painting a picture of their new life. "The meet and greets, the parade of new faces... He knows I'm running on
fumes, especially with little Eli needing extra attention as a preemie."
I wrapped my arms around myself as if Sandy's words could insulate me from the cold truth of my own life. With a breath
that shook on the exhale, I felt the sharpness of reality nipping at my heels.
Her voice broke through my reverie once more, "Liz, the truth is, we're struggling to keep up. Eli, bless him, he's doing
well, but the doctor's appointments are relentless, and I... we could use someone we trust."
The words hung between us, an invitation laced with desperation. "What I'm saying is, would you think about coming to
Cheyenne? To help with the baby, to be with us?" Her inquiry, so full of earnestness, so ripe with the offer of refuge, resonated
deeply. "Mark would welcome you with open arms; needless to say, we'd ensure you're well compensated."
I drew in a deep breath, carrying the weight of both worlds—the one I knew, and the one Sandy was offering. "I'd love to
help out," I began, the words leaving my lips before I could fully grasp the breadth of their meaning. "But, Sandy, what about
Sophie? This would be such a change for her."
The silence that followed seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Sandy to weave an answer into existence. "We’ll figure it
out, Liz," Sandy assured me, her voice steady and sure. "Sophie's resilient, and she'll have her cousin to play with. It could be
good for her, too."
"And housing?" I continued, my practical side now voicing its concerns. "I can't impose on you at the governor's mansion,
as lovely as it is."
Sandy chuckled softly. "You wouldn’t be imposing. But if you’re looking for your own space, I'm sure Mark would agree.
Our beautiful ranch house, the one Mark bought for us... that is before he knew he would become Wyoming's next governor, is
sitting empty."
Her words were comforting, yet I couldn't quell the flicker of doubt about leaving the home that held so many memories, the
only home Sophie had ever known. "And my home here? I can't just abandon it."
The silence stretched between us, filled with unspoken challenges. Sandy’s next words came through, pragmatic yet gentle.
"Liz, for the house, perhaps Clay could lend a hand. He’s acquainted with everyone in Cody and would likely know a reliable
property manager for your place."
I felt a blush creep up my neck, my pulse quickening at the mention of his name. An embarrassing confession was hovering
on the edge of my tongue, a slip of the heart I hadn’t yet acknowledged out loud.
"Sandy, I... the last time I saw Clay was at Mark’s reception, things got a bit... messy. I might have had one too many, and,
well, I called him Robert," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I held my breath, half-expecting judgment, but there
was only a pause, a moment of understanding that only a sister could give.
At the mention of Clay, a wave of embarrassment washed over me, coloring my cheeks with the memory of our last
encounter. My heart quickened, betraying a longing I dared not voice. The thought of involving Clay and possibly seeing him
again stirred a secret desire that I had tried to bury beneath layers of practicality and decorum.
“I think you’re worrying for nothing, Liz. Clay hasn’t been a little angel, you know. Anyway, when's your last day?" Sandy's
voice pulled me back from the brink of my daydreams.
I swallowed, feeling the dichotomy of my emotions. "It was today," I confessed, a hint of melancholy lacing my words. "But
they're giving me a severance—two more weeks of pay, plus all my unused vacation and sick time. It'll tide me over for a bit."
Sandy’s sigh of relief breezed through the phone. "Good, that's good. You've got a moment to breathe and decide. No need
to rush."
Her words, meant to reassure me, only made my heart race faster with the prospect of what lay ahead. I was at the edge of a
precipice, the future an open sky, and Clay—a desire hidden in its clouds.
"I'll think it over," I murmured, my thoughts a tangle of possibility and fear, of endings and beginnings, and the undeniable
pull of unanswered questions. "We'll see," I added, the image of Clay lingering in my mind like the afterglow of a setting sun.
The conversation ended with promises to talk again soon, and as I set the phone down, a mix of anticipation and anxiety
danced in my chest. Could this be the fresh start Soph and I needed, or was I trading one set of complications for another? The
questions spun in my mind, but beneath them, all was a glimmer of something new—a possibility of hope, of family, and of a
future that wasn't shackled to the past here in Cody, wondering if one day Robert would walk through the door.
The conversation with Sandy was beginning to settle in my heart when the sudden ring of the doorbell shattered the
evening's calm. I heard the patter of small feet before I could even set my phone down, and Sophie's voice bubbled with
excitement as she dashed to the door. "Pizza's here, Mommy! I'll get it!"
With a giggle and boundless energy, she flung the door open, her welcome to the delivery person as grand as if greeting a
long-lost friend. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the warmth filling our home.
We settled at the kitchen table, the scent of pepperoni filling the air, comforting in its familiarity. With her slice in hand,
Sophie looked up at me, her brows knitting together in a child's curious frown. "Mommy, what were you and Aunt Sandy
talking about? Aren't you going to be a nurse anymore?"
I paused, a slice of pizza halfway to my mouth. The weight of the question caused my breath to hitch, but I attempted to
weave words that would make sense to her young mind. "Well, love, sometimes we get to try new adventures. I might not be a
nurse for a little while, but..."
As I spoke, I noticed a gradual change in Sophie's mood. Her brows furrowed in confusion at first, but then her eyes welled
up with tears, and her small hands covered her face as she fled to her room. My heart twisted; this was a conversation I hadn't
been ready for, one I hadn't known how to have.
I followed her, finding her curled up on her bed. "Sophie, honey," I whispered, sitting beside her. "It's going to be okay, I
promise. We're just going to have a little change, that's all."
Sophie peeked through her fingers, her voice small but surprisingly steady. "Maybe it'll be fun to move to Cheyenne... We
could see Aunt Sandy and baby Eli, and I could play with my little cousin."
Full of innocence and hope, her words were heartening. She looked at me, a flicker of excitement now in her eyes. "But we
have to come back for summer soccer, right, Mommy?"
I pulled her into my arms, her resilience lifting the weight from my shoulders. "Yes, my brave girl, we'll be back for
summer soccer. We'll make sure of it."
In her embrace, I found comfort and a wellspring of courage. If Sophie could find the silver lining in our storm cloud, then
perhaps I could, too.
We finished our pizza in a patchwork of conversation and laughter, a tableau of mother and daughter weaving threads of
normalcy from the fabric of our upturned world. Sophie, her energy waning from the day's emotions, rubbed her eyes with the
backs of her hands, signaling the end of our dinner and the beginning of nighttime rituals.
As I ushered her into her pajamas, her small hands clumsily buttoning up her top, I couldn't help but marvel at her
adaptability, her strength that seemed to stretch far beyond her six years. With her teeth brushed and hair combed, she clutched
her favorite stuffed bear and trotted off to bed, her steps echoing a cadence of childish certainty.
I tucked the sheets around her as her eyes fluttered close, they snapped open again, fixing on the picture of her father
hanging on the wall. "Mommy, will Daddy's picture come with us to Cheyenne?" she asked, her voice tinged with a worry so
mature it seemed out of place on her young face.
The question anchored me to the spot, a stark reminder of what we were leaving behind. "Of course," I managed, my voice
a whisper. "He's always with us, no matter where we go."
Reassured, Sophie nestled into her pillows, her breaths soon deep and even. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, the simplicity
of her trust grounding me. Quietly, I stepped out, leaving her door ajar, a sliver of light from the hallway to ward off the
shadows.
In the silence of the living room, I picked up the framed photographs: our wedding day, brimming with joy; our honeymoon,
awash with new love; and the day Robert left for Afghanistan, our smiles not quite reaching our eyes. My fingertips traced the
glass, and a single tear escaped, a silent testament to the heartache of holding on.
I found a box, not too large, and gently placed the frames inside. Was this what moving on looked like? Was fate nudging
me towards a new beginning? The thought was both liberating and suffocating.
As if on cue, the phone rang again, and Sandy's voice bubbled through the line, inviting Sophie and me to Cheyenne for a
girls' weekend. Mark would be away, and the prospect of sisterly comfort was a balm I hadn't realized I needed. "We'd love
to," I answered, a smile finally touching my lips.
After we said our goodnights, the house enveloped me in a blanket of solitude. I made my way to bed, the rooms
whispering echoes of the past, and as I drifted towards sleep, my mind wandered, unbidden, to Clay. Those blue eyes and the
ocean's depth in a glance stirred something within me—a yearning I thought I'd buried deep.
And there, on the edge of dreams, I allowed myself to wonder about the possibility of Cheyenne, of new starts, full of hope.
Perhaps, in the heart of Wyoming, I could find a place where the past and the future melded into something beautiful.
 Chapter Three

Putting on Airs

Clay

he helicopter's blades churned the air with a rhythm mirroring the quickened beat of my heart. We were about to embark
T on a heli-skiing journey, setting our sights on the Teton Mountains' wild embrace. There, where the peaks loomed like
silent guardians, the air bit through my jacket with the keenness of a sharpened blade, invigorating and raw.
Below, the winter lodge thrummed with vibrant energy, its halls filled with the influential and the earnest, all gathered
under the high wooden beams for a singular cause. This weekend, the Shoshone Tribe was the proud sponsor of Mark's Land
Preservation Initiative, their partnership a bridge between tradition and conservation.
Among them, my brother navigated the crowd, his every handshake and smile as fluid as the mountain streams, his charm
resonating through the room. The spirit of the event was a harmonious blend of the Shoshone's enduring legacy and our shared
commitment to protect the wilderness we all revered.
In contrast, I stood apart, a lone figure more at ease in the silent expanse of the open range than in this throng of affluence.
My skis, soon to be secured to my boots, were an unfamiliar burden next to the trusted feel of saddle leather. The mountains
beckoned, their untouched snowfields promising the thrill of solitude far from groomed trails. Heli-skiing was about chasing
the raw purity of nature, a chase that began with the ascent by helicopter to where the snow lay undisturbed by any track.
I settled the helmet onto my head, exchanging the shadow of my Stetson for the freedom promised by the alpine expanse. As
the helicopter awaited, a metallic steed poised for flight, I steeled myself to leave the earth behind, if only for the duration of a
descent.
Mark's hand landed on my shoulder, bringing me back to the moment. "You ready for this, Clay?" His lighthearted yet
barely audible voice over the whir of machinery and subdued chatter pulled a nod from me. "As ready as I'll ever be," I said,
my tone betraying a hint of hesitation. "It's akin to riding a bronco, isn't it?"
His laughter cut through my doubts. "More like riding a storm, brother. But it's all about staying balanced."
I peered at the machine before us. "And if I'm thrown?" I asked, half-joking.
"You get back up," he replied. The familiar touch on my back grounded me. "That's what cowboys do."
A chuckle escaped me, feeling somewhat out of place in the grandeur of our setting. "Well, I sure hope this cowboy can
manage not to get buried under the white."
We approached the waiting chopper as Mark's laughter mingled with mine, the pilot signaling readiness. "That's the spirit,"
Mark encouraged. "We'll take these mountains one run at a time."
Casting a last look at the lodge aglow with the morning sun, I stepped into the helicopter. It was time to chase the rush that
awaited on the pristine mountain slopes.
Gliding down the mountain, I felt a freedom I hadn't known was missing. Each turn in the powder was a wordless shout into
the void, the mountain and I speaking a language all our own. Making it back to the lodge with nothing more than a few
snowflakes hitching a ride on my shoulders was a quiet victory, the kind that doesn't need an audience to resonate deep in the
bones.
 As evening draped its velvet over the Teton Mountains, the lodge transformed. The fire crackled a hearty welcome, and the
laughter seemed warmer, the smiles wider. Mark leaned in, his conspiratorial tone laced with joy. "Clay, you're looking too
serious. Come on, there're plenty of gals here who'd love to meet the man who conquered the slopes today," he goaded with a
playful nudge.
I felt the edges of my mouth twitch, not quite making it to a smile. "I didn't conquer anything, Mark. I just didn't let the
mountain conquer me," I corrected him, my eyes scanning the gathering.
With their practiced graces and fake laughter, the women here seemed part of another play where I didn't know my lines.
Through the glances they cast my way, I saw the sidelong looks filled with a curiosity that had more to do with my last name
and less with the man wearing it.
"I don't know, Mark," I murmured, taking a sip of the whiskey that suddenly tasted too smooth. "Seems like a room full of
agendas hidden behind pretty faces."
Mark's laughter was a baritone rumble, genuine and easy. "Maybe so, but it can't hurt to get to know them. Who knows, you
might find someone who looks at you and sees just Clay, not the governor's brother or Dr. Brooks."
I eyed him skeptically, the cynicism a familiar coat that I wore too well. "And what are the odds of that?"
"Better than your odds of staying upright on those slopes, and yet you managed that pretty well," he quipped, clinking his
glass against mine.
The warmth of the fire did little to ease the chill that skepticism had settled in my gut. Yet, as the night wore on, the
flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, I wondered if there was a chance Mark was right.
Breaking away from my brother's social whirlwind, I found solace at the bar, a drink in hand, surrounded by local women
—regulars, no doubt. A few of us shared tales of the mountain's allure, the rugged charm of Wyoming's vastness that stretched
out like the promise of tomorrow.
As the conversation ebbed and flowed around the room's warm glow, I felt the touch of a hand on my arm, light but
intentional. "You know, if the night finds you lonely, I wouldn't mind sharing some company," one of the women offered, her
voice a soft drawl that might have been inviting under different stars.
Her words hung in the air, a proposal veiled in the pretense of kindness, yet the underlying intention was as clear as the
Wyoming sky on a cloudless night. I caught the glint of something in her eye, a flicker of opportunity, maybe even hope.
I smiled an insincere gesture. "Appreciate the offer, ma'am, but the night's only company I'm looking for is the quiet of the
open sky," I replied, tipping my hat in a polite decline.
Her hand retreated, and she melded back into the laughter and the clinking of glasses, leaving me to my thoughts. It was a
subtle dance I'd grown to recognize—one I wasn't keen to join. I was looking for sincere company, something that the glittering
eyes around me couldn't offer.
The band fired up, the fiddles and steel guitars cutting through the crowd's murmur, and I took it as my cue. I set my glass
down, the whiskey leaving a slow burn in my throat, and headed for the dance floor. The calls of the barflies faded behind me,
replaced by the rhythm of boots on wood.
The dance was a line dance, a communal celebration of the here and now. I found myself smiling genuinely for the first time
that evening, caught up in the steps, the music, and the collective spirit of joy. I even let myself enjoy a few more drinks, the
alcohol warming me from the inside out.
As I spun and stomped, a woman caught my eye. She wore a cowboy hat that was clearly borrowed from a larger head, and
her smile was like the break of dawn over the Tetons—bright and full of promise. But as the room began to sway with each
turn, I felt the sharp edge of reality nip at me. She looked good, damn good, especially through the whiskey-tinted glasses I was
suddenly wearing.
Yet, I knew this dance too well—the way it ended with whispered promises in the dark and the morning's light revealing
the stark truth of a stranger's silhouette on the pillow beside me.
I tipped my hat to her, my decision settling in like the final chord of a ballad. "Ma'am," I said, my voice steady despite the
room's gentle spinning. "You light up this dance floor something fierce, but this cowboy's riding solo tonight."
She gave a playful pout, but I could tell she'd heard lines like mine before. With a final tip of my hat, I retreated from the
dance floor and the temptation it held.
In the cool, quiet hallway, the sounds of the party muffled by distance and closed doors, I felt the pull of my bed like the
call of a siren. I didn't need the warmth of a stranger to chase away the chill of the night; I needed the clarity that would come
with the dawn.
Before I could escape to the sanctuary of my room, a familiar voice cut through the hum of festivities. "Clay, over here!"
Chief Tendoy was beckoning me from a table laden with what looked like every finger food known to man.
Approaching the table, I took in the sight of the modern-day Shoshone chief. This man carried his heritage like a badge of
honor, his attire a blend of traditional and contemporary that commanded more respect than the finest suit. The lodge we stood
in was his, a testament to the legacy of the Shoshone people.
"Sit, sit," Chief Tendoy insisted, a broad smile on his face. "You look like you could use some company that doesn't want
something from you."
Grateful for the reprieve, I took the offered seat. The chief introduced me to the gathered folks, a mix of tribal elders and
young activists, each nodding with respect that had nothing to do with my last name or bank account.
As we talked, Chief Tendoy shared stories of our family histories, how my great-great-grandfather and the original Chief
Tendoy had stood shoulder to shoulder to secure the borders of what was now the Shoshone National Forest. Their efforts,
steeped in mutual respect and a shared vision for the future, had laid the groundwork for generations of co-stewardship.
"And when Yellowstone was in the planning phase," Tendoy continued, "your family stood with us, ensuring that the
Shoshone had a presence within the park's concessions."
The pride in his voice was mirrored in the nods of those around us. These stories were the fabric of our shared history, a
narrative far richer than the shallow exchanges I'd left behind on the dance floor.
"Your family's always been true to their word," Tendoy said, meeting my eyes. "It's why we're proud to have the Brooks
name linked with ours."
For a moment, the weight of my ancestors' legacy rested on my shoulders, grounding me. It reminded me of who I was and
where I came from—a lineage etched not in the pages of financial ledgers but on the land we now stood upon and that of my
family's Yellowstone Creek Ranch.
"Thank you, Chief," I said sincerely, feeling a connection to these people and this place that ran deeper than the roots of the
ancient pines outside. "I'm honored to continue that legacy."
With that, I excused myself, my spirit heartened by the genuine respect and camaraderie I'd found at Chief Tendoy's table.
The buoyancy of the night's camaraderie faded as I closed the door to my room. The silence was almost oppressive, a stark
contrast to the laughter and music that bled through the walls just down the hall. I flicked on the TV for nothing more than
background noise, a poor stand-in for company.
As the screen came to life, casting flickering shadows across the room, my mind couldn't help but stray to Lizzie. It had
been too long since the inauguration, since the unexpected warmth of her lips against mine. I found myself reaching for my
phone, thumb hovering over her contact, a message forming in my head. I wondered how she was faring—whether she, too,
was lying somewhere thinking of that kiss, contemplating the tangled paths of what could be.
I glanced at the clock, and the lateness of the hour stayed my hand. It was too late for old flames and unfulfilled dreams.
With a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of my entire estate, I set the phone back down, letting it slide from my fingers like
the sand through an hourglass.
The room felt emptier somehow, the glow from the TV painting everything in shades of blue and grey. There I was, Dr.
Clayton Brooks, a man whose name meant wealth and whose wealth meant nothing at moments like these. The irony wasn't lost
on me; all the money in the world couldn't buy the authentic connection I craved.
I let my eyes linger on the screen, the actors playing out their scripted lives with a passion I envied. My thoughts were
clouded with images of Lizzie—her smile, resilience, and genuine laughter that had nothing to do with my bank account.
As sleep finally began to claim me, my last conscious thought was a whisper of her name, a silent wish sent out into the
universe. What if life was simpler? What if wealth didn't tip the scales of human affection? Maybe in another life, Lizzie and
I...
But that was a story for another time. For now, I drifted off to the sound of a world that was too loud yet not loud enough,
the screen's glow a cold companion in the vast loneliness of the night.
 Chapter Four

Nesting in Cheyenne

Lizzie

s I guided my trusty old Subaru through the serene snowfall, the sprawling governor's mansion, known as Pitchfork
A Ranch, slowly appeared. Compared to Cheyenne's rigid urban structures, it stretched across the landscape, a testament to
Western grandeur. Snowflakes danced in the air, blanketing the world in a serene white, lending the ranch an
otherworldly charm.
Sophie, shivering in her seat, peered out at the snowy expanse. "Mom, when can we get a new car?" she asked, a practical
tone to her innocent query. "It's always freezing in here."
I glanced at the dashboard, the heater struggling against the cold. "Soon, sweetie," I assured her, my mind wandering. Our
Subaru, with its weathered seats and persistent hum, was more than just transport; it was a repository of memories from the
early days with Robert, a time of love and simple dreams.
With its rustic elegance and sprawling grounds now draped in snow and icicles, the mansion stood as a silent guardian
against the subdued Cheyenne skyline behind it. Its presence was a comforting reminder of the robust, welcoming spirit of the
West.
Sophie's voice, filled with awe at the sight of the ranch, brought me back to the present. I squeezed her hand reassuringly.
"Let's go see Aunt Sandy and Eli," I said with a smile, stepping out into the snow. The crunch of my boots against the crisp
ground resonated in the silent morning, signaling the start of a new adventure.
The moment the massive oak door creaked open, I was greeted by a rush of warm air and the bright, familiar face of my
sister. "Lizzie!" she beamed, pulling me into a hug that seemed to chase away any remaining cold from my bones. "You're here,
finally!"
I laughed, the sound mingling with the crackling symphony from the fireplace. "It's like walking into a hug, this place," I
said, shedding my coat and looking around, the warmth seeping deep into my skin.
Sandy's eyes sparkled with delight. "I've been simmering a stew since morning just for you." She ushered me further into
the kitchen, where the scent of herbs, slow-cooked meat, and vegetables filled the air.
Sophie, her energy uncontainable, bounced on her toes. "Aunt Sandy, can I go see my room? Is it the same as when I stayed
here for Uncle Mark's big party?" she asked, barely containing her excitement.
"Of course, little bug! Go on," Sandy encouraged with a wave of her hand, her laughter following Sophie's retreating figure
and bouncing curls.
Then Sandy turned back to me, a softness in her eyes as she presented Eli. "And look who's been asking about his favorite
aunt," she teased as I reached out to take the little bundle from her.
As I held Eli, breathing in his sweet baby scent, Sandy rested a hand on my arm. "How are you holding up, Lizzie?
Really?" The concern in her voice was as clear and present as the flames flickering in the hearth.
I met her gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Today, I'm just perfect." I kissed Eli's forehead, relishing the
peace radiating from his tiny being.
 Sandy nodded, her eyes reflecting the fire's glow. "Good," she said, "because this weekend is about relaxation, family,
and..." She paused, glancing toward the kitchen, "...and definitely about my homemade apple pie...even if I did burn the crust a
bit."
I giggled, looking down at Eli, who yawned blissfully unaware. "Well, what would your baking be without a little
blooper."
Sandy laughed. "Some things never change. I don't think Mark has caught on to our little secret yet."
"We're going to love this weekend, aren't we, little man," I whispered, kissing the top of Eli's head as Sandy squeezed my
shoulder in silent agreement.
As Sophie's laughter echoed down the hall, her footsteps a soft patter against the grand staircase, Sandy leaned in close, a
conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "While she's off gallivanting, I've got to ask something. I've cooked up a surprise for Sophie,
but I want to make sure it's okay with you first," she said in a hushed tone as if the very walls had ears.
I sipped my coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me, and raised my eyebrows in a silent invitation for her to continue.
"I have a friend from the gym, Laura.” Sandy began, her voice low. "Her daughter, Bella, is about Sophie's age, and they're
going ice skating this afternoon. They'd love for Sophie to join them. But I wanted to check with you before mentioning it to
her."
A smile spread across my face, quick and bright. The thought of Sophie twirling on the ice with a new friend warmed me
even more than the coffee in my hands. "I think that's a wonderful idea," I said, imagining the joy that would light up Sophie's
face.
"Great! I'll call Laura after lunch, then," Sandy replied, her voice lifting with relief.
Sophie bounced into the room, a cascade of energy and flushed cheeks. Sandy and I exchanged a knowing look before I
turned to Sophie with a smile.
"Soph, guess what? Aunt Sandy's friend has a daughter about your age," I began, the suspense hanging in the air.
She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her features. "Who is she?"
"Her name is Bella, and she and her mom are going ice skating this afternoon. And they've invited you to join them," Sandy
chimed in, her eyes soft and caring.
Sophie reacted instantly—her face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. "Ice skating?" she gasped, her voice a crescendo
of delight. "With a new friend? Can I go, Mom? Please?"
Her eagerness was infectious, and I couldn't help but laugh, nodding. "Yes, you can go. I think you'll have a wonderful
time," I assured her, and her joy bubbled over.
"Yes!" She punched the air with a small fist, a giggle escaping her lips. "Thank you, Aunt Sandy! I can't wait to meet Bella
and tell her about Cody!"
Sandy and I watched her dance around the room, her happiness as bright and warm as the fire in the hearth. "You're going to
have so much fun," I said, my heart swelling at the sight of her so carefree and thrilled. "Just remember to be careful on the ice
and mind your manners!"
"I will, Mom! I promise I will!" Sophie declared, already lost in dreams of gliding across the ice.
Sandy and I retreated into the house, the quiet settling around us like a soft blanket as we put baby Eli down for his nap.
The silence of the mansion seemed to hold its breath, and I took a moment to stand by the window, watching the snow gently
fall, feeling a deep sense of peace settle within me.
With Sophie off skating, the mansion was serene, the only sound was the occasional pop from the fireplace. My sister and I
settled into the deep couches of the living room, the air between us filled with the unspoken words of the proposal that had
been lingering since before I arrived.
"So," Sandy began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "have you given any thought to Mark's idea? About the family
home?"
I drew in a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. "It's incredibly generous," I started, "to think of
having a place for Sophie and me and to be here to help you with the baby and anything else you two need."
Sandy nodded, her eyes searching mine. "We would love to have you close, Lizzie. You know that."
I smiled at her, appreciating the warmth of her words. "I know. And it's tempting, Sandy. A stable home, a purpose... But," I
hesitated, the 'but' hanging heavily in the room.
"But?" she prompted gently.
"But uprooting Sophie and I from our life in Cody is no small thing.” My voice was soft, tinged with the apprehension of a
mother facing the unknown. “Yet, I know I have to make a decision. So, I’ve been thinking. Maybe renting out my house would
be best for now. We need the income, and..." I trailed off, the reality of our situation settling over me like a blanket.
"And?" Sandy moved her hand, finding mine, a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty.
"And I'll need to find a real job, eventually," I admitted, the words tasting like a new beginning, exciting and daunting all at
once.
“It’s sounding like you think this layoff is permanent?”
 “Yes, that’s what my friends at the hospital are thinking.”
Sandy's hand was warm in mine, her unwavering support a comfort. “Well, just remember, we're here for you, no matter
what you decide. It's all about what's best for you and Sophie," she reassured me gently.
As the afternoon light softened, Eli's cries gently announced the end of his nap. Sandy, ever the nurturing mother, picked him
up with practiced ease, and together, we wrapped ourselves in warm layers to brave the chill outside. The car ride to the
family home was filled with Sandy's enthusiastic descriptions of the place.
"You'll see, Lizzie," she said, her voice bright with anticipation. "The house has its own quaint charm. It's as if it's been
waiting just for you."
Arriving at the rambling home, nestled peacefully within the property, I was struck by its tranquil charm. But my mind
drifted to Sophie and how she would adapt to this change. Sandy, perceptive as ever, offered reassurance. "Don't worry, sis.
Sophie is adaptable and already making new friends."
Her words eased my concerns, and I nodded, feeling a blend of reassurance and contemplation. On the drive back, our
conversation turned reflective until we noticed Mark's truck in the garage, signaling a return to the bustling family atmosphere.
"Oh, looks like the boys are back," Sandy said with a light chuckle as we got out of the car.
"The boys?" I inquired, a little puzzled.
Sandy's smile widened. "Mark and Clay. They went to Chief Tendoy's lodge near Jackson Hole for some heli-skiing and
brotherly fun.” Her words painted a picture of their adventurous day, bringing a sense of normalcy and warmth back to the end
of ours.
Feeling my cheeks warm at the mention of Clay, I caught Sandy's teasing nudge. "Maybe it's time to see what happens? You
two aren't strangers," she whispered with a wink.
Shortly afterward, sensing the tension, Mark uncorked a bottle of wine, and Clay, subtly acknowledging our unspoken
connection, reached for the glasses. I accepted one, its ruby contents contrasting with my inner turmoil. "Thank you," I said
quietly.
Clay and I shared a meaningful look before I spoke up. "Clay, I need to apologize. At the inauguration, I mistakenly called
you by the wrong name. I'm really sorry."
He chuckled softly, a sound of understanding, not mockery. "It's okay, Lizzie. We were both caught off guard.”
I smiled, his forgiveness lifting my spirits. Our wine glasses in hand, the room's tension eased, replaced by a relaxed
atmosphere as Mark and Sandy's laughter ebbed and flowed, a reminder of life's lighter moments.
Sophie returned from her afternoon on the ice with a tired but contented glow. Her cheeks were still rosy from the cold as
she gobbled down a bowl of stew, her energy finally waning as the day's adventures caught up with her. Before long, she could
hardly hold open her eyes, so I helped her into bed. Eli, too, was tucked away in his crib, falling asleep as soon as Mark laid
him down.
The mansion felt alive with a different kind of energy as Mark and Sandy bustled around the kitchen, their laughter and
chatter filling the space with warmth. Wine glasses clinked, and the rich aroma of grilled steaks began to waft through the air,
transforming the kitchen into a hub of activity.
Amid the jovial chaos, Clay and I slipped away and sat by the fire. The room seemed to close around us, the crackle of the
flames punctuating the silence that fell.
I glanced at Clay, the firelight playing across his handsome features, casting them in a dance of shadow and light. There
was a moment, heavy and charged, where words seemed to fail us both.
As Clay and I stumbled and mumbled, struggling to form a coherent sentence, a shared chuckle broke the initial
awkwardness.
"Sorry, you go first," I said, a nervous giggle escaping me.
"No, it's fine, you first," Clay insisted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
I hesitated for a moment before diving in. "Well, I was just thinking about dancing... I've been secretly brushing up on my
two-step."
Clay's laughter was rich and deep. "That's interesting, considering we already danced at the inauguration. Though, you don't
seem to remember it."
I blinked in surprise, a flush creeping up my cheeks. "We did? I... well, that's embarrassing."
Clay leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "Then it's a date. We'll go dancing, and this time, I'll make sure you remember."
I laughed, feeling a flutter of excitement. "Is that a challenge?”
He raised his eyebrows, the playful spark in his eyes turning into a smolder. "I'm always up for a challenge, especially if
it's with you. Slow, fast – you name it, I can dance it."
Our eyes locked, and there was a moment, charged and electric, where the room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of a dance
yet to happen.
"Then I guess I'll have to take you up on that," I said, my voice a mix of daring and anticipation. "But be warned, I expect
my dance partner to keep up."
 Clay's smile was confident, almost a dare in itself. "Oh, I'll keep up. Just wait and see."
The fire crackled beside us, a silent witness to the playful promise of dances to come as the night wrapped around us in a
warm embrace of possibilities. Just then, Sandy's voice, clear and cheerful, called out from the kitchen.
"Dinner's ready, you two! Don't let it get cold!"
 Chapter Five

Crossroads and Quiet Intimacies

Clay

he soft hum of conversation intertwined with the clatter of silverware, created a harmonious backdrop as we convened
T around the governor's grand dining table. Bathed in the warm, inviting glow cast by the chandelier overhead, we were
allured by the tantalizing scents emanating from the dishes that Sandy had prepared with great care.
Mark, ever the gracious host, raised his glass. "To good company and good food," he toasted, his eyes glinting with the kind
of spark that could ignite a crowd.
Sandy, with a chuckle, added, "And to slightly overdone apple pie, courtesy of yours truly."
Mark's voice cut through the laughter, as smooth and assured as the wine he poured. "Sandy, darling, why is it that every
time you bake a pie, we end up with this charmingly blackened crust?" His eyes twinkled with a mischief that said he was
treading a familiar path.
Sandy rolled her eyes, the kind of gesture that came from years of shared jokes. "I was beginning to think you never
noticed," she shot back, her voice rich with feigned indignation.
"Oh, I notice everything about you," Mark replied, his tone dipping to a register that suggested layers of meaning, his gaze
on Sandy softening the edges of his jest.
I couldn't help but glance at Lizzie, her lips parting in what might've been shock or maybe just the start of a smile. I threw
her a sideways grin, the kind that acknowledged the innuendo without having to spell it out.
Lizzie's response was to lick her lips, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a clear message back across the table. The air
seemed to thicken with something unspoken, a tension sweet as the pie and twice as dangerous.
But the moment shifted as Mark turned towards me, his expression growing serious. "Clay, tell us about your meeting with
Ted Granger at the reception. I heard there might be some interesting developments?"
I took a breath, buying a moment to gather my thoughts. The meeting with Granger had been unexpected, his proposal
ambitious. "Well, Mark," I began, my voice steady despite the churn of apprehension. "Ted's got this idea to establish a chain of
veterinary clinics across the state. He sees it as a way to bring services to underserved areas."
Mark leaned in, his interest piqued. "That could mean a lot for the rural communities here. It's a good play, Clay."
I nodded, though the weight of the decision lay heavy on my mind. "It's a big step. There's potential, sure, but it's not
without its risks."
Lizzie's gaze hadn't wavered, her eyes now narrowed in thought. "Sounds like a big commitment," she observed, her voice
carrying a note of concern.
"It is," I conceded. "And it's not just about the clinics. It's about ensuring they're sustainable, that they can serve the
communities effectively without becoming just another forgotten promise."
Mark was already a step ahead, his political mind ticking over the possibilities. "Let me draft an email to Granger now," he
said, already pulling out his phone. "We can let him know you're interested and keep the conversation moving.”
I watched, a mix of admiration and anxiety, as Mark's thumbs flew over the screen, his digital missive taking shape. The
man was a force, his ability to see the chessboard of state politics and make his moves with confidence.
Sandy refilled our glasses, her presence kind and reassuring. "You'll make the right choice, Clay. I have confidence in you.”
Her faith was a balm, and I found myself wishing I could see the path as clearly as she seemed to.
Mark finished his email with a flourish, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. "There," he said, "the ball's in
your court now, Ted."
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of conversation and contemplation. I was part of it, yet apart, my mind wrestling
with the future and all it might hold. The risks, the rewards, and the responsibilities of shaping a part of Wyoming's future—it
was a crossroads, alright, and I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all resting on my shoulders.
As the laughter from dinner began to quiet and the night stretched on, a look out the window confirmed what we all felt in
our bones—the night had turned as treacherous as a cornered rattler. The snow, once a gentle dance, now whipped against the
glass, the roads a glossy sheen of ice.
I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping softly against the wood floor. "I'm thinking I oughta bunk here for the night
if that's alright with you two," I said, the words hanging between the fading warmth of the dining room and the cold reality
outside.
Mark nodded, his face all hospitality. "Of course, Clay. Wouldn't have it any other way with this weather."
Sandy's agreement was a warm smile, as inviting as the hearth. "We're always happy to have you, Clay. The guest room you
used after the reception is all yours."
"If I can find it in this place!"
We all laughed. There was comfort in their words, a feeling of belonging that went deeper than the walls of this grand
house. It was the same kinship that came from knowing you were more than a guest; you were family, if not by blood, then by
bond.
After Lizzie and I helped clear the table, Mark and Sandy excused themselves, retreating to their private suite, and a sense
of calm descended over the mansion. It was the kind of peace that came when the children were nestled in bed, and the world
outside was hushed by a blanket of snow.
We moved to the den, the room a sanctuary scented with the rich, earthy notes of leather and aged wood. I flicked on the
stereo, the soft music seeping into the corners of the room, setting a tone that felt right for the night.
Lizzie excused herself to check on Sophie, leaving me a moment to absorb the silence. Staring into the low burn of the gas
logs, I felt the lonesome cowboy in me ease up a bit, comforted by the warmth of the hearth and the company beyond the walls.
She returned, her steps soft against the hardwood. "Sophie's out like a light," Lizzie said, a whisper of relief in her voice,
as she settled back into the cushion at the far end of the couch.
I nodded, my gaze fixed on the dance of the flames. "Good, she needs the rest," I replied before steering our talk to safer yet
intimate territories. "You know, my love for animals started when I was no bigger than Sophie. That’s what led me down the
path of veterinary medicine."
Lizzie smiled, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "I always found comfort in caring for the wounded strays that found their
way to our porch. Guess that’s what nudged me toward nursing," she mused, her voice carrying the soft cadence of shared
confessions.
In the den, with each story shared, the space between Lizzie and me shrank, the music wrapping around us like a warm
blanket. I recounted days on the ranch, the scent of hay, and the sound of cattle. “Every critter I tended to, big or small, it was
clear to me—that’s where I belonged.”
Lizzie’s laughter was a melody itself. “I remember my first rescue, a sparrow with a crooked wing. Nursed it back to health
with a shoebox and sheer will. Guess that’s when nursing chose me, not the other way around.”
Our tales wove a tapestry of past and passion, a dance of memories in the dimly lit room. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I mused.
“How life carves out a path for us, sometimes where we least expect it.”
Lizzie nodded, her eyes holding mine. “The heart knows its way, even when we don't,” she said softly.
The conversation drifted to dreams deferred, to the shadows wealth casts on genuine connections. “Money, it can be a cold
bedfellow,” I admitted. “Makes you wonder if someone’s after the man or after what the man’s got.”
She reached out, her hand brushing mine. “Honest connections don’t ask about your bank balance, do they?” Her voice was
a whisper of understanding.
Lizzie then unwrapped her own story, a tale of love lost to time’s cruel march. “Robert was my compass,” she confessed.
“Since he’s been gone, I’ve been adrift in more ways than one.”
I felt her words like a chill, and my arm crept behind her, a silent offer of warmth in the growing coolness of the night.
“Our scars, they’re like badges, aren’t they?” I said, my gaze locked on hers. “Proof we’ve lived and loved.”
She leaned in slightly, her breath a sigh. “And sometimes, they’re a map, showing us where we've been and where we
might go next.”
I was ready to bridge the gap, to taste the promise on her lips.
So, I moved slowly and carefully. Our faces hovered together for a moment until the gap faded away completely, and our
lips met.
Our initial kiss was gentle, yet it held oceans of emotion. But as the seconds passed, it intensified with a desperate hunger
that could not be extinguished. Our tongues entwined in an impassioned embrace, and Lizzie moved her hands through my hair
with fevered intensity. We were lost in a wave of sizzling passion, clinging to each other as if our lives depended on it.
The heat between us was suffocating, my hands exploring her body, memorizing every crevice, and latching onto her
curves. My fingers traveled eagerly along her spine. Lizzie's body quivered beneath my touch, an electric current pulsing
through us both as we were drawn together in desperate need.
I inched my way beneath her clothes, each brush of my fingertips on her skin creating an electric spark that coursed through
my veins. I lifted her breast into my palm and felt it swell with need in response to my touch.
We both trembled as our hands explored one another's body - seeking out every hidden curve and crevice. Each caress
unleashed a surge of pleasure that crashed over me like a tidal wave. I looked into her eyes and saw the desire burning inside
them as she moved closer. Suddenly, she hesitated and whispered, "Clay, I..."
"Are you okay?" I asked, striving to maintain a neutral tone in my voice. As I spoke, I couldn't help but hope that our
passion wouldn't stir memories of similar moments she might have shared with her husband.
"Yes..." Her voice was barely audible as she whispered, "Oh God, yes."
Lizzie's head lulled back. She closed her eyes as I caressed and teased her puckered nipples, her gasp becoming louder
with each stroke of my fingers. She shifted so she was straddling me, pressing into me as we embraced passionately. I could
smell her sweet perfume mixed with the musky scent of arousal between us.
My hands lifted Lizzie’s sweater, just enough to see her supple skin illuminated by the dim firelight. As I continued to
pleasure her breasts and watch how she relished in satisfaction, all I wanted was for our intimacy to never end.
I clenched my jaw, gritting my teeth as I felt Lizzie's gentle caresses against my clothed cock. We were lost in each other,
the world outside our den a distant thought.
Suddenly, shrill sobs pierced through our sanctuary. Before we knew it, Sophie was standing in the doorway, horror etched
on her features.
"That's not Daddy!" she cried out with anguish.
"Sophie, sweetheart!" Lizzie gasped.
The moment shattered like thin ice under a heavy boot. Lizzie's movements were hurried, her hands quickly smoothing
down the fabric of her clothes as she stood, her every instinct focused on the small voice calling out for her. She darted from
the room, leaving me to deal with the sudden chill of interruption.
It wasn't how I'd hoped the night would go. Seemed like every time I got close to connecting with Lizzie, fate had its own
ideas. I sat there for a moment, feeling like a lonesome shadow in the dimly lit room.
Rising from the couch, I made my way to the hallway, the quiet of the house settling heavily on my shoulders. The door to
Sophie’s room was ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. Pushing it gently, I peeked inside to find Lizzie, a
soothing silhouette, bending over the bed where Sophie lay.
Lizzie’s voice, soft but clear, drifted to me. "She had a bad dream about her daddy."
I stepped back, giving them space, but Lizzie caught my eye. "I'm sorry, Clay," she said, tiptoeing to the door, the regret in
her eyes as sincere as any I'd ever seen.
I shrugged, the disappointment ebbing away, replaced by understanding. "It's alright, Lizzie. These things happen," I told
her, my voice low.
She smiled faintly, a ghost of the warmth we'd shared moments before. "We still have our dance date, right?" she asked a
hopeful note in her tone.
I nodded, the corner of my mouth lifting. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Lizzie reached up, her lips grazing my cheek in a feather-light kiss, her gratitude evident. Just then, Sophie stirred, and
Lizzie's attention snapped back to her daughter.
Quick on her feet, Lizzie joined Sophie's side, her movements as natural and caring as only a mother’s could be. I took that
as my cue, stepping out and softly closing the door behind me.
Left alone in the quiet hallway, I pondered the fine line between a comforting embrace and the fear of stepping into
something new. The echoes of our pasts were loud enough to dim the promises of the present. But if I had any chance with
Lizzie—and I hoped I did—I knew I'd have to win over not just her heart but her daughter's, too.
 Chapter Six

Hope in the Heartache

Lizzie

he quiet of the morning was broken only by the chatter of children and the distant rumble of the school bus rounding the
T corner. It had been two days since our return from Cheyenne. From behind the frosted window, I watched as Sophie, my
little dynamo, dashed off to join her friends. Her laughter was swept back to me on the wind, a bittersweet symphony to
my ears. Pride swelled within me, fierce yet tender, as I witnessed her navigate our ever-changing world. Yet, this pride was
shadowed by a hollow ache in my chest, a poignant reminder of the solitude that followed her departure.
With the bus fading into the distance, I sought solace in the ritual of coffee, the rich aroma a brief respite from the creeping
loneliness. The warmth of the mug seeped into my hands as I sipped slowly, steeling myself for the task ahead. Today was the
day to tackle the tangible pieces of my past, to sift through the cluttered memories, and to decide their fate.
I set the mug down, the liquid half-finished, and pulled out boxes, labels, and markers—tools to triage a life into keep,
donate, discard. The task was overwhelming, each item a question of value, a measure of the distance between who I had been
and who I was becoming.
There were the keepsakes of my life with Robert, whispers of a love story paused mid-sentence. The baby clothes Sophie
had long outgrown, each stain and tear a chapter in her vibrant story. Books, dishes, linens—every object was weighed down
with memories, some warm, some worn, all woven into the fabric of our shared history.
The hours slipped by as I wrapped and boxed, labeled and sealed. Anxiety hovered at the edges of my mind, a specter
called forth by the silence of unanswered calls. Two days had passed since I had reached out to property managers, two days
without a response, and the pressure of the ticking clock was relentless.
I stood still, feeling overwhelmed by the numerous boxes around me. They seemed to be watching, reminding me of the
disorder in my mind. The decision to rent out the house, though practical, was not an easy one. My heart was reluctant to let go
of the walls and windows, and the thought of someone else taking care of it made it even harder.
My coffee had grown cold, the morning had given way to the high sun of noon, and I was no closer to the resolution of what
to take and what to donate. But the work had to be done for Sophie, myself, and the future that awaited us—unwritten,
uncertain, but ours for the taking.
The stillness of the house felt like a presence, a silent witness to the turmoil inside me as I pondered my next move. My
hands hesitated over the phone, Sandy's words echoing in my mind, a gentle push towards Clay—a man who seemed to
understand the language of unspoken words, gestures laden with meaning, and who I counted as a friend.
I dialed his number, the beats of my heart keeping time with the ringtone. "Hey, it's Lizzie," I said, sounding more confident
than I felt.
"Hey, Lizzie! How are you?" Clay's voice was a calm stream over the phone, soothing the edges of my frayed nerves.
"I'm okay, just overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done," I admitted, gripping the phone like a lifeline.
There was a brief pause before he responded, "I can come over and help if you'd like."
Relief washed over me like a warm wave. "Would you? I'd really appreciate that, Clay."
 "I just finished up at the office. I'll be there in twenty," he said with a soft chuckle that managed to coax a smile from me
despite the chaos.
"Thank you," I whispered, a breath I didn't realize I was holding released into the ether.
Twenty minutes later, his truck rolling into the driveway set my pulse racing. I watched from the window as he stepped out,
the midday sun catching his handsome face. I felt something flutter as he approached the door—was it anticipation? Anxiety?
Perhaps both.
The doorbell's chime was like the start of a new melody as I opened the door. Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, we just
stood there, a thousand words passing between us in the silence. Then, almost instinctively, we stepped into an embrace, his
arms a haven from the storm of my thoughts.
His kiss was a question I wasn't ready to answer yet. I drew back, not out of a lack of desire but out of a need for clarity
amid my life's maelstroms. "Clay," I began, my voice a thread of sound in the quiet room, "I need help."
He followed as I led him to the couch, his footsteps a solid, reassuring rhythm against the floor. "I need to rent out the
house," I said, the words spilling out in a torrent. "Financially, it's just... I need to do this. But I haven't had any luck so far."
Clay's expression was a mix of concern and resolve. "Let me make a call," he said, reaching for his phone.
And there, in the heart of my disarray, surrounded by boxes and the fragments of a life I was trying to reassemble, Clay
made it seem like everything was manageable. Just like that, with a few words spoken on his phone, he bridged the gap
between panic and peace.
Ellen, he explained, was a client of his and a property manager he trusted. Someone who would make the daunting task of
finding a renter seem like a mere item on a checklist. It was more than just the promise of a solution; it was the assurance that I
wasn't alone in this.
As he ended the call, our eyes met, and I knew, despite the question marks of what lay ahead, Clay was with me at this
moment, solid and real—a friend, a confidant, and something more—although that 'more' was not clearly defined, yet.
The afternoon light slanted through the blinds, casting a lattice of shadows across the room, transforming the space into a
crosshatch of past and future. I waited, the knot of anxiety in my stomach growing tighter with each passing minute, until the
knock came, soft but insistent, a herald of change.
Opening the door, I was met with Ellen's reassuring smile. She stepped into the home that held the echoes of my family's
laughter and the silence of our sorrows, and it was as if her presence ushered in a breath of possibility.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," I said, leading her through the hallways that had witnessed Sophie's first steps
and Robert's last goodbyes.
"This place has a wonderful feel to it," Ellen remarked, her eyes taking in the walls that had been silent confidants to my
solitary tears and hopeful whispers.
We moved from room to room, Ellen nodding her approval, her professional gaze missing nothing. She spoke of potential
and prospects, her words painting a future where this house would once again be home, alive with the daily rhythms of another
family.
When she shared that she had a renter ready to move in by the weekend, my heart did a somersault. It was happening so
fast. The prospect of leaving this life behind was suddenly tangible and immediate.
I glanced at Clay, who was becoming my rock since our lives collided. His nod was all the confirmation I needed. "We can
make that work," he said, his voice solid, leaving no room for doubt.
As Ellen left, promising to send the paperwork over, I stood in the doorway, watching her car disappear down the road.
Clay's hand found my shoulder, a silent message of support.
"We'll get you settled, Lizzie," he assured me, and I believed him. I had to. The future was calling, and I felt ready to
answer for the first time in a long while.
As we worked to begin packing, I pulled a box from my closet's shelf. "These are the pieces of a life that was," I murmured
more to myself than to Clay, who was carefully wrapping glassware in the kitchen.
"What's that?" he called out, his voice gentle, always gentle.
"Just memories," I replied, my voice catching as I lifted the lid. Inside were photographs, letters, and small keepsakes that
spanned the years of a relationship that started when I was just sixteen.
I traced a finger over the image, feeling the sharp sting of tears. "We were kids when we met," I said, not realizing I had
spoken aloud until I saw Clay standing in the doorway, a question in his eyes.
He came closer, sitting beside me on the floor, his presence a silent offer of support. "Tell me about him," Clay said, and
his voice was a soft command, an invitation to share.
So, I did.
I told Clay about Robert, about the dreams we shared and the plans we made. And how we married young, full of hope and
love, while still in college. I recounted the day he went missing in action, the day my world turned grey. "He's the only man I've
ever loved," I confessed, the words spilling out like the contents of the box around us.
Clay listened, his blue eyes never leaving my face, absorbing every word as if he could take on some of the pain that clung
to them.
"The military says he might still be out there, or..." My voice faltered, "...or he might have made a life elsewhere. And I'm
stuck here, not knowing whether to hold on or let go."
The tears fell then, not in sobs, but as silent tributaries tracing the map of a heartbreak that was years old but ever fresh.
"What am I, Clay? A widow? Or just a woman holding on to a ghost?"
He reached out, his hand enveloping mine, his touch grounding. "You're Lizzie and you are Sophie's mom," he said firmly.
"And that's enough."
His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of my guilt for even contemplating life without Robert. At that moment, I
felt the flame I had kept alive for my husband flicker, and I didn't know whether to rekindle it or let it wane.
Clay didn't offer easy answers, but he provided something perhaps more valuable—his presence, his understanding, and a
willingness to walk with me on this journey.
After the box was closed and the memories safely tucked away, we sat in the quiet that followed the storm of my
confession. Clay's gaze was kind and held a question that had hovered between us, unspoken but heavily present.
"Where do we go from here, Lizzie?" he asked, his voice low, filled with the gravitas of the moment.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. I had been adrift for so long, tethered to a past that was as painful as
it was precious. "I don't know, Clay," I admitted. "I'm not sure I'm ready to move on, but I'm also not sure I can stay where I am.
And, well, I miss intimacy. It.... it was a special part of what Robert and I shared."
Clay held my gaze steady, giving a knowing nod. "Lizzie, I've had my share of tough rides," he said, his hands casually
clasped in front of him. "Looking' for something real, that's more than just passing the time—I get it," he went on. "Just say the
word, and I'm here for you—could be just as a buddy, someone to lean on, or maybe more, whenever you're up for it." His
voice held a quiet sincerity as he finished, "And just so we're clear, I'm not lookin' to step into Robert's boots. That's not me."
"Stay for dinner," I said suddenly, the words escaping me before I could think them through. "Sophie should get to know
you, and I could use the company."
He smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. "I'd like that," Clay replied.
As I stood to prepare the meal, the mundane act of peeling and chopping became a meditation. Clay was there, a steadying
presence, setting the table, sharing stories that made me laugh, and filling the house with a warmth that had been missing.
We talked about everything and nothing as we dined. Sophie, who had forgotten her bad dream, chatted about school and
her new friend Bella in Cheyenne. Clay listened, and his laughter joined ours, creating a symphony of sound that made the
house feel like a home again.
After Sophie ran off to play in her room, Clay and I cleaned up the kitchen. "What do you want from me, Lizzie?" he asked,
his voice serious. "A dance partner, a friend, a private lover?"
I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not just the man who had come to help me pack or the friend offering a
shoulder to lean on, but a man who might just be able to understand the complexities of a heart learning to beat again.
"Let's take it slow," I said, the decision felt right. "Let's see where life takes us."
I melted into his embrace as we stood in the kitchen, sharing a moment that felt like an eternity. His eyes were so intense as
he looked deep into my soul, and I was sure he could feel how much my heart was pounding against my chest.
Clay lifted my chin ever so gently and gazed deeply into my eyes. His lips parted slightly. He wanted to say something, but
the words were stuck in his throat.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Lizzie, we can take it slow if you like," he said, his voice low and tinged with desire. A
palpable warmth surged between us, and almost without thought, we were drawn into a kiss. A deep, passionate connection
sent a rush of heat through me, leaving my head spinning with a raw, intense longing.
Clay's retreat was as sudden as it was necessary, a gentle end to our moment of abandon. "I better head out before Sophie
walks in on us again," he said with a cautious smile. I nodded, my breath still catching from the kiss, watching him reach inside
his pocket for his truck key.
As he left that evening, his promise to bring a U-Haul on moving day echoing in my mind, I stood at the window, tracing his
departure down the driveway with my eyes. The future was a hazy silhouette on the horizon, the path forward not yet carved,
but there was a sense of readiness in me to explore what life had yet to offer.
 Chapter Seven

Ambitions and Digital Kisses

Clay

settled into the plush chair in my office at the Cody clinic, the well-worn leather cradling me like an old friend. The room
I bore witness to my journey—a tapestry of diplomas and thank-you notes adorned the walls, each a testament to my
unyielding dedication and the countless lives I'd touched as a skilled veterinarian.
My fingers glided across the keyboard, navigating patient records on the computer with practiced ease. The soft hum of
machinery filled the room, a comforting backdrop to my work. Then, my phone chimed with an incoming message like a gentle
interruption. I glanced at the screen, and there it was—Lizzie's name, accompanied by a playful image of her puckered lips in a
virtual kiss. A warm smile crept onto my face, causing me to chuckle.
"She's learning how to brighten my day," I mused aloud, my voice laced with affection. With a skilled touch, I adjusted the
lighting, capturing my own grin to match hers. A quick tap of the screen and I sent back my response—a smile, a playful wink.
My dash of charm. Our banter was a delightful diversion from the bustling clinic.
Yet, even as I exchanged playful messages with Lizzie, I knew that the day demanded more than shared smiles and digital
kisses. Ted Granger, a man with grand aspirations for revolutionizing veterinary care in the expansive landscapes of Wyoming,
awaited me.
As the office door closed, I was greeted by Granger's confident smile and a firm handshake. "Welcome, Ted," I said,
motioning towards a chair. "Please, take a seat."
"You have quite the establishment here. My research showed that you've been in business for eight years and are a
University of Wyoming's School of Veterinary Medicine honors graduate," he noted.
I laughed and gestured towards my diploma on the wall. "That's right, I've never worked harder in my life."
Ted's laughter was robust. "It's no easy feat, indeed. But, as I mentioned earlier, I've got a proposal for you that I believe
will capture your interest."
My curiosity piqued, and I leaned forward. "I'm all ears."
Granger then began to outline a partnership proposal between my clinic and his company, Veterinary Care Services (VCS).
"We aim to bring emergency veterinary services to every corner of Wyoming," Granger explained, sketching out the concept
on paper. "We're looking to strategically establish clinics in Cheyenne, Gillette, Laramie, and Thermopolis."
I studied the meticulous diagrams spread out before me. "This is quite impressive," I responded. "More remote
communities would greatly benefit from such services."
His smile was reassuring. "Wonderful! I'm pleased you see the potential."
Granger's passion was palpable as he detailed the positive impact these clinics would have on Wyoming's farmers and
ranchers. His presentation, complete with compelling statistics and a clear business model, illuminated the mutual advantages
of our collaboration.
For the next hour, our conversation wove through the operational threads of the venture, from staffing and salaries to
inventory management. We painstakingly reviewed the contract, discussing everything from job roles to site locations, and
brainstormed community engagement strategies, like sponsoring rodeo events and offering scholarships. The dedication to
supporting local communities shone through, adding a layer of community service to the business initiative.
I clasped my hands together, feeling the stir of potential. The chance to be part of a larger vision, to pioneer a revolution in
veterinary care across Wyoming, was tantalizing. "The possibilities are endless," Granger declared with an enthusiasm that
was hard not to catch.
Yet, my resolve wavered when the moment came to finalize the agreement. "I share your excitement," I began cautiously,
"but I need to discuss this with my lawyer before making such a significant commitment."
Granger's expression shifted—a slight furrow appeared on his brow. "Understood," he conceded. "Just bear in mind, such
opportunities are fleeting."
Acknowledging his point with a nod, I rose from my chair. He stood as well, offering a firm handshake. I expressed my
gratitude for his proposal and assured him of a prompt response after consulting with my legal counsel. He departed with a
cordial yet somewhat restrained smile.
Watching his truck disappear from the parking lot, I was awash with mixed emotions. There was a surge of excitement
about the possibilities with VCS Enterprises, a thrill at the prospect of expanding my professional reach and contributing to the
greater good. Much like Mark did, I could almost taste the possibility of enhancing the Brooks legacy. Yet, beneath the
anticipation, a current of doubt ran deep. Was I ready to dive into such a commitment? What if the outcome failed to meet our
grand plans?
I relaxed, but the drive to Yellowstone Creek Ranch felt like an eternity, with my mind racing about the future. I was itching
to get Dad's take on this big venture knocking at my door. We've hashed out business ideas over dinner more times than I could
count, so I knew he'd have something worth hearing.
Pulling up to the ranch, I saw Dad lugging a feed bucket around. He glanced up, caught my truck's sound, and waved to me,
heading over to meet me at the gate. "What do we have here?" he greeted me, an all-knowing glint in his eyes. "Back home
before the sun's down, that's a rare sight."
I chuckled, stepping out of the truck. "Got something on my mind, Dad. There's a deal on the table, and I could use your two
cents before I decide anything."
He arched an eyebrow but nodded, a silent invitation to spill the beans. "Alright then, let's hear it," he said as we made our
way to the house.
While the coffee brewed in the kitchen, I laid it all out for him—the offer from Ted Granger and how it could shake up
things for us and the locals. Dad listened, giving me the occasional nod, his expression unreadable.
After I finished, he pushed back from the table, stroking his chin. "Hmm, sounds like you've got yourself quite the
opportunity, Clay. But the real question is, does it light a fire in you?"
I paused, the weight of the decision suddenly feeling more real. "I mean, it's exciting, the difference it could make. But I'd
be lying if I said it's got me as revved up as the day-to-day rush of the clinic."
Dad gave a slow nod, his eyes sharp. "And Lizzie? Is she in the loop on this?"
I had to come clean, "Not yet." Just thinking about opening up about my clinic and finances made me nervous.
Dad raised an eyebrow. "You gotta be straight with those you care about, you know?" He chuckled lightly. "And don't even
start about Lizzie. Word gets around, and let's not forget, I was at Mark's big day, too."
Feeling my cheeks warm up, I couldn't help but nod. "Yeah, I'll talk to her before I decide anything," I promised.
Over a couple of mugs of hot coffee, I laid out the whole deal with Granger and VCS Enterprises, explaining how it could
help out the smaller towns in Wyoming. Dad listened carefully, nodding and throwing in a 'hm' here and there. When I finished
up my spiel, he took a thoughtful sip of his coffee.
"Sounds like a solid chance," he said, "but check all the angles before jumping in. Have a word with our lawyer friend,
too."
Then he got down to brass tacks. "So, what's the financial deal? You gonna need some serious cash for your part, right?"
I cleared my throat, a bit uneasy. "I'm thinking of using the clinic as collateral," I admitted.
Dad frowned a bit, stirring his coffee. "That's a big gamble, son. Just be sure it's worth the risk. You could lose it all."
Feeling a bit down, I decided to switch gears. "Hey, did you talk to Dusty about selling Circle Y South?"
"Yup," Dad nodded. "We had a talk over the weekend while you were with Mark. Dusty's considering coming back home.
Seems like those Texas women are a bit too overbearing for him. Plus, the folks next door to the ranch are looking to buy more
land—they're willing to offer a price that's more than fair, well above market value, actually."
I couldn't help but smile. “Awesome. This will allow for those updates you’ve been wanting to do around here.” I finished
my coffee and got up. "Guess I should head down to the bunkhouse and get cleaned up for dinner."
Dad stood up with me, patting my shoulder. "Do what you gotta do, Clay."
Walking out, my mind was a whirlwind of Granger's offer and Dad's advice. It was a heck of an opportunity, but it came
with its own set of risks. I was aware I had to get everything reviewed by my attorney. It was always better to play it safe than
sorry, especially with something this big.
 I let out a deep sigh. Excitement was one thing, but being smart about it was another. Before I signed anything, I had to make
sure this deal was solid from every angle. After all, a lousy deal would be worse than no deal at all. I was determined to get
this right.
As I stepped out of the shower, lost in thought about the day's earlier conversation with Dad, my phone buzzed against the
bathroom counter.
Lizzie: Hey Clay, sorry for the rush, but I need your help. The move’s been pushed up to tomorrow!

Clay: Whoa, that's sudden. What’s up?

Lizzie: The new tenants are super keen to move in. They even offered extra cash on top of the first and last
month's rent for the trouble.

Clay: That’s great for you! Count me in. What time do you need me?

A grin split my face. The thought of spending more time with Lizzie, even in the chaos of moving boxes and furniture, was
an opportunity I wasn't about to pass up.
Lizzie:

Clay: Hey sexy, I need more than just kisses. Show me something that will make my heart race.

Lizzie: Okay, how about this?

She sent me a picture with her blouse unbuttoned just enough to show her cleavage.
Clay: Wow! You look beautiful.

I couldn't resist after our text exchange; I had to hear her voice. So, I dialed Lizzie's number. "Hey, there sexy. I just wanted
to double-check about tomorrow. Are you sure you're ready?" I asked when she picked up.
"Oh, Clay, yes, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. And with the tenants offering a bit extra for the rush, it's
become even more hectic," her voice was a mix of stress and gratitude.
I laughed a bit, "Well, I'm glad I can be there to help. Plus, it gives me a good reason to spend some time with you."
Her laughter came through the line, light and genuine. "Is that your subtle way of saying you're looking forward to it?"
"Maybe not so subtle," I admitted. "And speaking of looking forward, what do you say about going dancing this weekend?"
There was a pause, and I could almost hear her smile. "I'd love to, Clay. It's a date."
"Perfect. Hey, I could stay at your guest house for the weekend. You know, help you unpack? Make an adventure out of it?" I
suggested.
"That sounds wonderful. All of it," she said, giggling.
"And while we're at it, I figured we could take Sophie and have a look around Cheyenne. I'm being proactive and scouting
locations for my new clinics,” I said, hoping she'd be interested.
"Look at you, multitasking. I'm impressed, and yes, let's do that. It'll be fun," she agreed, her enthusiasm infectious.
"Then it's settled. I'll see you bright and early," I said, already looking forward to the morning.
"Thanks again, Clay. Goodnight," she said before hanging up.
I put the phone aside, a comfortable sense of expectation settling in for what tomorrow would bring—the weekend ahead
seemed full of promise.
Then my phone lit up with a new message from Lizzie—a playful, daring photo that sparked a heat in my cheeks. I couldn't
help but respond in kind, snapping a quick picture as I toweled off.
With a grin, I thought to myself this weekend was quickly turning into something more than just interesting—it was heading
into uncharted, exhilarating territory.
 Chapter Eight

Struggling to Bloom

Lizzie

s dawn's early light spilled into the kitchen, it brushed the walls with the soft pastels of morning. I nestled into the
A familiar embrace of my weathered card table, a silent witness to solitary games, intricate puzzles, and lively board
games with Sophie. With a steaming cup of coffee warming my hands, I gazed out the window, watching as the new day
stirred to life, each moment unfolding with the promise of a story yet to be told.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of cardboard boxes and the remnants of memories that still
lingered in the air. Boxes, some sealed and others half-empty, stood as silent witnesses to the impending change that was about
to take place. Furniture, once the centerpiece of our home, had been gradually dispersed to new owners or donated to those in
need. The emptiness in the room echoed with a bittersweet resonance.
As I gazed out the window, lost in my thoughts, a soft, grumbling voice pulled me back to reality. "Mommy," came a sleepy
yet endearing voice, tinged with a touch of irritation. I turned to see my little Sophie, her eyes heavy with sleep, clutching her
cherished doll, a worn-out companion.
She approached me with a mixture of determination and concern. Her small fingers lovingly cradled the doll, a symbol of
comfort and security amidst the stress of packing and moving. "Mommy, don't forget Sally," Sophie pleaded, her voice
quivering with the gravity of this request.
I reached out and gently caressed her cheek, offering Soph a reassuring smile that concealed the unease I felt. "Don't worry,
sweetie," I said, my voice soothing, as I embraced both her and the doll in my arms. "We'll make sure Sally's safe and sound on
this adventure with us."
Sophie's eyes brightened with a mixture of relief and gratitude, and she hugged her doll even tighter as if to seal the pact we
had just made. With a final sip of my coffee, I rose from the table, my heart heavy with the weight of change but also filled with
the expectation of a new life in Cheyenne.
Clay's arrival was like a beacon of hope that calmed my swirling thoughts. He pulled up in the U-Haul, flanked by Big Red
and TJ—Mark's employees from his non-profit, all ready to lend their strong arms and helping hands to the endeavor. It was a
motley crew of movers, united by the common goal of getting us to our new life in Cheyenne.
"Morning, Lizzie," Clay greeted with a warm smile as he stepped out of the U-Haul, his breath forming a misty cloud in the
chilly air. "I've brought the essentials to keep us fueled and warm."
Clay, ever the thoughtful one, had prepared for the day ahead. He reached into the back seat and retrieved an assortment of
provisions that promised to keep our spirits high and our energy levels in check. In one hand, he carried a tray of steaming cups
of coffee, fragrant and inviting, and in the other, hot chocolate that promised warmth and comfort on this chilly morning.
"Thanks, Clay," I replied with a grateful nod, taking one of the cups of coffee and savoring its comforting warmth. The
contrast between the brisk morning air and the hot coffee was invigorating, offering a brief respite from the whirlwind of
emotions.
Sophie, still in her sleepy daze, clung to her favorite doll, her eyes fixed on the array of donuts and bagels. I extended a
chocolate-covered donut toward her, a familiar treat that had always been her favorite. "Hey, sweetie, look what Clay brought
for us."
Sophie's response, however, caught me off guard. Her small voice, barely above a whisper, carried a hint of distress as she
turned down the treat. "No, Mommy, I don't want it," she murmured, scrunching up her nose and gazing at the ground.
I was taken aback by her refusal, and concern furrowed my brow. Sophie's decision to decline something she usually
enjoyed was puzzling. I glanced at Clay. "Thank you for trying, anyway."
"Of course," Clay nodded.
I offered my daughter a gentle smile, trying to alleviate the unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach. "It's okay,
Soph," I reassured her, though my concern lingered beneath the surface. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to. Maybe
you're just a little off today because of the move."
As we all rallied together, the day's mission became clear: to pack up the remnants of our old life and forge ahead into the
unknown. It was a bittersweet endeavor, culminating in the emotional moment when I carefully placed my house keys into the
lockbox provided by Ellen. Snapping it closed felt like a final farewell to the memories that had been woven into the very
fabric of the sturdy walls of our home.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of moving, I turned to Sophie, wanting to make her as comfortable as possible. I offered her a
ride in the U-Haul with Clay, emphasizing the excitement of the adventure ahead and the warmth of the cab. But Sophie, her
preferences clear, clung to my leg with a sleepy determination, shaking her head in refusal.
"All right, sweetie," I said, understanding her need to stay near me. "You can ride in the Subaru with Mommy, under your
favorite blanket, where it's nice and warm."
Sophie's eyes brightened at the prospect of staying enveloped in her familiar sanctuary, and I lifted her into the Subaru,
blanket and all, ensuring she would have her cozy haven for the ride ahead.
The road to Cheyenne lay ahead, a charcoal ribbon bordered by the pristine white of snowdrifts left in the wake of plows.
Clay was at the helm of our little procession, his Stetson a silhouette in the cab of the U-Haul's driver's seat.
Behind him, I guided my old Subaru through the stretches of highway, Sophie's soft snores the sweet soundtrack to our
travels. In the rearview mirror, Big Red's truck lumbered along, their silhouettes a comforting sight amidst the swaths of snow-
dusted scenery.
We reached Mark and Sandy's expansive ranch house in the early afternoon. The property basked in a soft glow from the
winter sun. Our hosts welcomed us warmly, explaining Laura was keeping the baby for a few hours. But when Sophie was
roused from sleep in the back seat of the car, she was visibly hesitant.
Soph surveyed the house warily, clinging to my leg instead of embracing Aunt Sandy's outstretched arms. Her mood hadn't
improved since morning; if anything, it had intensified. With a resigned sigh, I watched her dash into the house and slump onto
the couch, clutching her doll Sally as if anchoring herself in a sea of change.
Unloading was a swift process; the men quickly retreated to the sanctity of the living room, where the cheers and groans
accompanying the football game on TV soon became the soundtrack of the afternoon. Meanwhile, Sandy and I unpacked the
clothes and the few personal belongings I’d brought. The rhythm of our work was interspersed with laughter and the clinking of
kitchenware, the domesticity a soothing balm to the chaos of change.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the room, Sophie found a spark of her old self. She emerged from
her new room, now adorned in her favorite princess dress over her clothes, a makeshift crown of resilience atop her head.
In the kitchen, amidst the scent of coffee and the warmth from the oven, Sandy and I found a quiet corner to talk. Our
conversation meandered from the mundane to the intimate, and I confided in her about the budding attraction between Clay and
me. Her knowing smile was all the encouragement I needed to ask if she might keep Sophie for the evening. "Clay and I... we
have plans to go dancing tonight," I admitted, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
Sandy’s eyes twinkled with complicity. "Of course, Lizzie. Sophie will be just fine with us. Mark can show her his new
horses tomorrow. And I'll have Laura drop off Bella for company," she reassured me, her voice soft but firm.
We were on the cusp of the evening, the golden hour casting a peaceful haze over the house, as I began to gather a few
things in Sophie's backpack. The tranquility was shattered by a sudden, harsh cough that echoed off the pastel walls. My heart
raced as I darted to Sophie, finding her huddled in her new bed, her small frame wracked with coughs and her face streaked
with tears.
Instinct took over. In no time, I was rifling through boxes for Tylenol, setting up the vaporizer with practiced hands, and
tucking a cool washcloth on her forehead. Sophie's usually bright eyes were clouded with the sheen of fever, and her raspy
voice whispered for ice cream, a plea for some cold comfort for her sore throat.
There was no doubt about it. Tonight’s plans would have to shift. The disappointment settled like a weight in my chest as I
realized my stomping boots would have to stay in their box tonight. Clay and I exchanged a look, and I saw the question in his
eyes even before he spoke.
As the others quickly retreated, not wanting to get sick themselves or expose a preemie to a respiratory infection, Clay
spoke up, "I'll stay," he offered the words a balm to my fraying nerves. "We can reschedule dancing. Right now, she needs you,
and if you'd like, I'll be here too."
His commitment, so unexpected and yet so solid, was like a promise of something more profound than an evening out. It
was a commitment to us to whatever lay ahead. And as Clay left to pick up some ice cream, I nodded, grateful beyond words. I
felt the evening's loss transform into something else entirely—a quiet acknowledgment of the growing bond between us.
Clay returned, a triumphant grin on his face as he unveiled the ice cream. "I come bearing the ultimate cure," he announced,
setting the tubs down with a flourish.
Sophie's gaze locked onto the chocolate. "Is that for me?" she asked, her voice brightening.
"All for you, kiddo. But I have to warn you, I might fight you for it," Clay teased, winking at her as he opened the tub and
started scooping.
Sophie giggled, the sound like music in the kitchen. "You can have the green one," she declared magnanimously, pointing at
the mint chocolate chip.
"That's my girl, making the tough choices," I said with a laugh, joining in the light-hearted banter. "You sure you don't want
to try Clay's favorite?"
She shook her head with a grin. "Nope, chocolate wins!"
We settled into an easy rhythm around the kitchen island, the simple joy of sharing ice cream soothing the remnants of our
earlier worry. "This is nice, isn't it?" I mused aloud.
"The best," Clay agreed, his smile reaching his eyes.
As the night wound down and the bowls were scraped clean, Sophie's energy began to wane. "Soph, how about a hot
shower? It'll help your breathing."
"Yes, I want it. But where's the shower? I haven’t found it yet.”
I took my daughter’s hand, and soon the warm water was doing wonders for Sophie, washing away the remnants of her
fever and bringing a healthy glow back to her cheeks. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, her eyelids drooped heavily as I brushed
through her damp hair, the earlier spark of mischief now mellowed to quiet contentment. With a bedtime story and a gentle kiss,
I watched her slip into dreams, her breathing deep and even. I tiptoed out, the peaceful silence in her room a stark contrast to
the day's earlier trials.
I found Clay in the living room, the glow of the TV flickering across his focused face as he navigated through endless
movie options. "Find anything good?" I asked, peering over his shoulder.
He turned to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I think I did," he said, his voice low. "How about some show and tell?"
"What do you mean?" I gasped, beyond intrigued.
"Come and see," Clay whispered as he turned on the music channel instead.
With a deep breath, I took a seat beside him on the couch. Clay was holding up his phone with a picture I had sent him in a
text of me flashing my cleavage from an unbuttoned blouse.
"Let's start with this one," Clay teased, becoming visibly aroused and shifting in his seat.
My body tensed with excitement and desire, and my breath caught in my throat as he leaned toward me, his hand cupping
my jawline as our lips met in a passionate kiss. "Now, I want you to show me in the flesh what you've been sending me... you
little tease."
"Oh, my God... You're so naughty!" I said, my cheeks blushing.
"Yes, and I'm pretty sure you like that vibe on me," he said with a cheeky grin.
I felt a rush of heat between my legs as Clay inched toward me. I slowly lifted my sweater, revealing my black lace push-
up bra, accentuating, my cleavage. "That's it," he said, his eyes smoldering as he cupped my breast. His touch was electric, and
the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.
I leaned forward and slipped my hand between his legs, rubbing his crotch and feeling his cock harden in his jeans. "So,
you like my boobs?"
"I do. And if my memory serves me right, you like me giving them some attention.” His gaze roved over my body, and he
ran his fingertips over my bra again, making me shiver. His voice was low and husky, sending a thrill rippling through me. "I
also like to see this." He flipped to the pic of me in my matching black panties, with my finger just under the elastic lace band.
I giggled, feeling the desire between my legs building. "Nope. You're turn now."
Abruptly, the living room door creaked open, and Sophie's small voice pierced the calm. "Mommy, can I have some
water?"
I quickly shifted down on the couch to shield myself from her view. Clay, ever the quick thinker, stood up with a reassuring
smile. "Hey there, champ. I'll get that water for you," he said smoothly. "I was just saying goodnight to your mom before
heading to the guest house."
Sophie, clutching Sally to her chest, rubbed her eyes, softening a bit. "Can I have some ice in it, too?" she asked, her voice
sleepy but hopeful.
Another random document with
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proibite l’uscita del denaro, e scarseggerà; se il Governo lascerà
fare, si farà sempre meglio di lui».
Solo a chi giudica gli uomini e le dottrine da ciò che ne cianciano la
piazza e i giornali sapran di strano questi accordi fra i liberali e i
teocratici. Dei quali un altro campione fu Carlo Luigi Haller da Berna,
che da protestante resosi nostro, nella Restaurazione della scienza
politica (1824) combattè accannito il filosofismo e la rivoluzione,
condannando i pubblicisti vantati e i re riformatori, fra cui Maria
Teresa, Giuseppe II, Leopoldo granduca; e traverso ai secoli
indagava con vasta erudizione e arguta logica i semi delle idee
liberali, ripudiando gli acquisti di cui si gloria la moderna civiltà. E
poichè l’eguaglianza politica viene dall’eguaglianza civile,
patrocinava la nobiltà come prodotto della natura, i privilegi come
effetto della naturale giustizia; mentre pareagli tirannia l’uniforme
generalità delle leggi. Dalla natura (egli insegna) nascono gli Stati,
ed ella assegna il comando al potente, al debole l’obbedienza, e
porge i mezzi per far rispettare la legge come per impedire gli abusi
degl’imperanti. Gli Stati primeggiano quanto più poderosi e liberi, e
quanto più indipendente il governante, sia un uomo o un corpo. Il
diritto de’ principi deriva dal diritto di proprietà; nè vi ebbe contratto
sociale, bensì una moltitudine di convenzioni particolari, spontanee,
varie, non per alienare la libertà individuale, ma per conservarla più
pacificamente che si può; onde non deve esservi sovranità e
indipendenza del popolo, ma sovranità di quello che per potenza e
ricchezza è indipendente; non potestà delegata, ma diritto personale
del principe; non mandati e statuti, ma doveri di giustizia e d’amore;
non governo delle cose pubbliche, ma amministrazione de’ proprj
affari; e le leggi non venire dal basso ma dall’alto, siccome in una
famiglia, cui in fatto somiglia lo Stato, se non che non ha un potere
superiore. Ma anche de’ sudditi il diritto è inviolabile; il principe non
può intaccarne la libertà e gli averi, nè essi devono pagare imposte
senza consentirle, non servire in guerra di principe; e quando esso li
tiranneggi, possono non solo emigrare, ma resistere armata mano.
Ancor più di De Maistre era letto il visconte Bonald perchè meno
profondo; il quale la religione faceva politica, uffiziale, principesca,
mentre il Savojardo proclamava l’intima unione della Chiesa
coll’ordine privato e pubblico, con tutto l’insieme del cuore e
dell’ingegno umano, senza riguardo a politica locale o nazionale.
A queste idee non mancarono fautori anche in Italia, e le
propugnarono in iscritto il Cavedoni, Monaldo Leopardi, il principe di
Canosa; ma il vulgo che le dottrine personifica, volle incarnarle in
una setta che intitolò de’ Sanfedisti, e dei Concistoriali, che doveva
sostenere i monarchi e i sacerdoti, come la Carboneria propugnava
le costituzioni e il pensare indipendente. Diceasi diffusa per tutta
Italia con diverse sembianze: e come avviene ne’ partiti, non v’è
stranezza che non se ne sia raccontata, nè ancora il tempo vi portò
luce. Credeasene istitutore esso De Maistre, e affigliati il duca di
Modena, il duca del Genevese, altri principi e prelati, nell’intento di
congiungere costituzionalmente Italia tutta sotto la supremazia del
pontefice [164]. E fu allora che prima nacque codesto concetto di
Neo-Guelfi, deriso dai Liberali come stupida resurrezione d’idee
quatriduane, ma venticinque anni più tardi ridesto come unica
speranza d’Italia da buoni pensatori e da caldi oratori, ai quali un
tratto parve che gli eventi dessero ragione.
Delle costituzioni, la più liberale che siasi veduta fu quella che si
diede la Spagna quando respingeva i napoleonici; quella Spagna
che dicono infracidita dal cattolicismo come l’Italia. Ratificava essa
l’antico diritto delle municipalità, a queste affidando la polizia,
l’igiene, la tutela delle persone e delle proprietà, l’educazione e la
carità pubblica, le strade e gli edifizj comunali, il dazio consumo, il
preparare le ordinanze, che sarebbero sottomesse alle assemblee o
cortes dalle deputazioni provinciali. Queste sono una specie di
municipalità superiore, eletta dai consigli di città, con diritto di
proporre le imposte comunali, chiamare l’attenzione superiore sugli
abusi di finanza e sugli intacchi alla costituzione. La sovranità risiede
nel popolo; distinte le tre podestà; il re fin nel sanzionare le leggi è
subordinato alle assemblee, formate di deputati scelti a tre gradi
dagli elettori di parrocchia, di distretto, di provincia; fin ai soldati
rimane il diritto di esaminare lo statuto e la giurisdizione.
Ferdinando VII, recuperando il trono spagnuolo, prometteva
conservare quella costituzione, poi la abolì (1820 marzo); ma
l’esercito sollevatosi lo obbligò a proclamarla. Basta essere vissuto
dieci anni per sapere quanto nelle opinioni e negli avvenimenti
convenga ascrivere all’imitazione: debolezza della natura umana,
che alcuni s’ingegnano di nobilitare col supporre che le circostanze
medesime maturino il medesimo seme contemporaneamente in
diverse contrade. Allora dunque dappertutto scoppiano rivoluzioni
militari e costituzionali, nè tardò a venire la volta dell’Italia.
Ferdinando che già era IV in Napoli e III in Sicilia (1815), e allora
s’intitolò I del regno delle Due Sicilie, rimesso in questo dalle armi
straniere, prometteva un governo stabile, saggio, religioso; il popolo
sarà sovrano, e il principe depositario delle leggi che detterà la più
energica e la più desiderabile delle costituzioni». Oltre che
nazionale, egli non trovavasi legato all’Austria per parentele o
riversibilità, nè per vicinanza; pure strinse alleanza con essa a
reciproca difesa, obbligandosi darle venticinquemila uomini in caso
di guerra, e non introdurre nel governo innovamenti che
discordassero dal sistema adottato dall’Austria nelle sue provincie
d’Italia.
In vent’anni di tante rivoluzioni, nell’avvicendarsi di vincitori e vinti, il
paese avea fatto miserabile tesoro di rancori e vendette; pure
Ferdinando non veniva anelando sangue come l’altra volta, ma
aborriva ciò che appartenesse al decennio, fino a non camminare
nelle strade aperte da’ Francesi; considerava come occupazione
militare un regno sì lungo, come ribellione ogni atto di quella; aboliva
le cose, o almeno i nomi. Divise il regno continentale in quindici
provincie, organandone l’amministrazione di provincia, di distretto, di
municipio; l’accademia già Ercolanense poi Reale trasformò in
Borbonica, con tre sezioni di archeologia, di scienze, di belle arti;
fece trattati coi Barbareschi, coll’Inghilterra, la Francia, la Spagna.
Nuovi codici a cura del Tommasi ministro, poco mutarono del
francese quanto al commercio e alla procedura; il civile tornava
indissolubile il matrimonio, e ingagliardiva l’autorità paterna; nel
penale si tolsero la pena del marchio e le confische, ma anche i
giurati, facendo giudici del processo i giudici dell’accusa;
s’introdussero i delitti di lesa maestà divina, e quattro gradazioni
nella pena di morte, secondo che il reo mandasi al patibolo vestito di
giallo o di nero, calzato o scalzo: pure tutti i cittadini restavano
sottoposti alle leggi medesime, alle medesime taglie. Di titoli
abbondava la nobiltà, ma non portavano privilegi; nè degli antichi
bracci e seggi sussisteva più che la memoria; onde il re operava
affatto indipendente co’ suoi ministri. L’esercito fissò in sessantamila
uomini sotto all’irlandese Nugent, generale al servizio dell’Austria:
non guardò a spesa nel fabbricare il tempio votivo di San Francesco
di Paola, nè il teatro di San Carlo, e ventiquattromila ducati l’anno
spendeva in limosine e in arricchir chiese: sistemò gli archivj, e
stabilì che delle carte e diplomi si pubblicasse un catalogo, e sopra
le memorie raccolte dalla giunta diplomatica si tessesse una storia
del regno. Oltre il debito pubblico, pesavano i ventisei milioni di
franchi dovuti all’Austria, e i cinque al principe Eugenio; ma
vendendo le proprietà dello Stato e de’ pubblici stabilimenti, e
obbligando questi a ricevere iscrizioni di rendite sul gran libro, legava
l’avvenire di essi alle finanze dello Stato; e poichè il ministro Medici
ebbe cura che puntualissimi si facessero i pagamenti, rinacque la
fiducia.
È noto come, dopo che dalla peste nel xiv secolo fu spopolato un
estesissimo paese di Puglia, i re se l’appropriarono col nome di
Tavoliere, lasciando che, col pagamento d’una fida, vi pascolassero
alla libera gli armenti sotto la guardia di pastori, nomadi e quasi
selvaggi, senza legami di casa o di famiglia, e obbedienti a capi
proprj, anzichè al Governo. Tra siffatti nella rivoluzione del 1799
eransi reclutate le bande assassine, poi molte parti se ne diedero a
censo; infine il dominio francese emancipò il Tavoliere, sicchè
rendeva cinquecentomila ducati, distribuito fra piccoli possessori, i
quali per interesse divenivano fautori di quel Governo. Ferdinando lo
restituì a possesso comune, talchè una quantità di spropriati ne
concepirono malevolenza.
Il re, quando stava ricoverato in Sicilia, domandò forti sussidj a quel
Parlamento per recuperare la terraferma; e perchè i baroni glieli
stiticarono, egli, loro malgrado, vendette i beni comunali, e gravò di
tasse i contratti. Il Parlamento protestò, e il re incarcerò i capi; ma
gl’Inglesi l’obbligarono a dare una costituzione (1812), secondo la
quale, la rappresentanza nazionale divideasi fra due Camere, che
poteano pregare il re a proporre una legge, cui esse non aveano che
a discutere; il re, inviolabile, potea sciogliere il Parlamento, i cui atti
non valeano senza la sanzione di lui; responsali i ministri, piena
libertà civile e di stampa e d’opinioni, inamovibili i giudici. La legge
elettorale favoriva ai minuti possidenti; dalla rappresentanza
restavano esclusi i funzionarj pubblici, eccetto i ministri; largo
l’ordinamento comunale.
Rinforzatosi nel 1815, il re s’invoglia a recuperare intera la potestà e
uniformar l’isola al continente. Gl’Inglesi più non aveano interesse a
favorirvi la libertà; all’Austria sgradiva quest’esempio di Governo
rappresentativo, sicchè la costituzione siciliana fu abolita (1818
agosto), allegando che il re non l’avesse giurata. Ed era così; ma
avea spedito a giurarla in suo nome il figlio duca di Calabria, vicario
del regno. Istanze e proteste non valsero; carceri ed esiglj punirono i
reluttanti [165]; solo rimase scritto che le cariche non si darebbero che
a Siciliani, le cause dei Siciliani si deciderebbero nell’isola, le taglie
sarebbero fissate in 1,847,687 onze, non potendo accrescerle senza
il consenso del Parlamento.
Questo dunque sussisteva di diritto; e Guglielmo A’ Court, succeduto
al Bentinck come ambasciatore d’Inghilterra, congratulavasi d’avere
con quella parola assicurato la rappresentanza siciliana; Castlereagh
felicitava il re d’aver sì bene composte le cose: ma erano parole,
senza modo di darvi sostanza. L’amministrazione della Sicilia fu
uniformata a quella di qua del Faro, dividendola non più in tre, ma in
sette valli, di cui erano capi Palermo, Messina, Catania, Girgenti,
Siracusa, Trapani, Caltanisetta; abolita la feudalità, accomunatovi il
codice napoletano. Era certo un gran miglioramento, ma guasto per
avventura dai modi: cessato lo spendio ingente dell’esercito inglese
e quel della nobiltà che voleva emulare la Corte, il denaro parve
scomparire: se alcuni signori andarono a brigar favori a Napoli, altri
sequestraronsi in dispettosa astinenza: e l’invidia contro la nuova
capitale prorompea in quell’ultimo ristoro del parlar male sempre e di
tutto, e d’ogni danno recar la colpa alla tolta indipendenza.
Nè i sudditi di Terraferma s’adagiavano alla ripristinata condizione, i
servi di Murat guardavano con disprezzo i servi di Ferdinando, e
questi quelli con isdegno; a molti furono ritolti i doni di Gioachino; si
ridestarono liti già risolte, si concessero favori contro la legge,
mentre contro i patti di Casa Lanza si degradò qualche uffiziale: si
esacerbavano nell’esercito le gelosie fra i così detti Siciliani,
improvvidamente distinti con medaglia, e i Muratisti, ne’ quali
sopravviveano l’entusiasrno della gloria e il sentimento
dell’indipendenza italiana; la coscrizione rinnovata aumentò i
briganti, mal frenati da un rigore insolito fin nel decennio [166].
Crescevano dunque i malcontenti e le trame, e la Carboneria nel
1819 contava seicenquarantaduemila adepti: anche persone d’alta
levatura, sgomentate dall’impotenza del Governo o desiderose di
prepararsi una nicchia nelle novità che ormai vedeano sovrastare, le
diedero il proprio nome, aggiungendo la forza morale a quella del
numero; e sperando che con istituzioni fisse si sottrarrebbe il paese
alle rivoluzioni, che in breve tempo l’aveano sovvertito sì spesso, e
due volte sottoposto a giogo straniero. Il re, ascoltando solo ad
uomini del passato, non volle condiscendere in nulla; e il principe di
Canosa, ministro di polizia, credette bell’artifizio l’opporre ai
Carbonari la società segreta de’ Calderari, cospiranti coi famosi
Sanfedisti a sostenere il potere dispotico: ma poichè i suoi
eccedeano fino ad assassinj, egli fu congedato con lauti doni, e i
Carbonari parvero tutori della vita e della proprietà [167].
Allora cominciarono nel Regno (1820) le persecuzioni contro di
questi, ma le prigioni si tramutavano in vendite; ben presto ai moti di
Spagna si scuote anche il nostro paese, parendo che la somiglianza
d’indole e l’antica comunanza di dominio chiedessero conformità
d’innovazioni: gli applausi dati da tutta Europa a Riego e Quiroga,
generali voltatisi contro il proprio re, lentano la disciplina degli
eserciti, e fanno parer facile una rivoluzione militare. Era la prima
volta che si vedesse un esercito insorgere per la libertà, e
l’assolutismo parve ferito nel cuore dacchè contro lui si torceva
l’unico suo sostegno: i ministri che fin allora aveano inneggiata la
felicità de’ sudditi e riso della setta, allora ne ravvisano l’importanza
(1820); diffidano de’ buoni soldati, e col sospetto gli esacerbano;
conoscono inetti quelli in cui confidano, ma non osano nè secondare
i desiderj, nè comprimerli chiamando i Tedeschi. Fra tali esitanze la
setta procede; a Nola e ad Avellino (2 luglio), istigati dal tenente
Morelli e dal prete Minichini, alcuni soldati e Carbonari gridano, Viva
Dio, il re e la costituzione, e senza violenze nè sperpero, ma tra
gl’inni e i bicchieri e le danze tutto l’esercito diserta dalla bandiera
regia; e il re, «vedendo il voto generale, di piena sua volontà
promette dare la costituzione fra otto giorni, e intanto nomina vicario
il duca di Calabria» (7 luglio).
Come la Spagna avea preferito quella del 1812, solo perchè
riconosciuta dalle Potenze, così ai Napoletani sarebbe stata a
scegliere la carta siciliana, già sanzionata dall’Inghilterra, e che
avrebbe prevenuto ogni dissenso coll’isola sorella: ma ai liberali
parve assurdo un Parlamento fondato sull’aristocrazia, e per seguire
la moda proclamarono la costituzione di Spagna, sebbene non se
n’avesse tampoco una copia per ristamparla. Allora applausi e feste
alla follia; Guglielmo Pepe, gridato generale dell’esercito insorto,
entra in città trionfante coi colori carbonari, rosso, nero, turchino,
seguito da migliaja di settarj stranissimamente divisati e condotti dal
Minichini; sfilato sotto il palazzo, si presenta al re, che gli dice: — Hai
reso un gran servigio alla nazione e a me; adopra l’autorità suprema
per compiere l’opera santa dell’unione del re col popolo: avrei dato la
costituzione anche prima, se l’avessi creduta utile e desiderata;
ringrazio Dio d’avere serbato alla mia vecchiezza di fare un tanto
bene al mio regno». Con solennità cittadina e religiosa Ferdinando
giura la costituzione (13 lugl.), e dopo la formola scritta aggiunge
spontaneo: — Dio onnipotente, il cui occhio legge ne’ cuori e
nell’avvenire, se presto questo giuramento di mala fede, o se debbo
violarlo, lanciate sulla mia testa i fulmini della vostra vendetta».
Fare una rivoluzione in Italia è tanto facile, quanto difficile il
sistemarla. Subito irrompono i mali umori; alcuni non intendono la
libertà che alla giacobina; altri vogliano scomporre il paese in una
federazione di provincie; chi domanda la legge agraria quale
gliel’aveano spiegata in collegio; i soldati muratiani pretendono i
primi onori; quelli del campo di Monforte non soffrono essere
posposti; tutti voleano essere Carbonari quando ciò portava
sicurezza e gradi, e settantacinque vendite si eressero nella sola
capitale, di cui una contava ventottomila cugini; tutti i militari v’erano
ascritti, con gradi che pretendeano conservare nell’esercito; molta
gente onesta per far quello che faceano tutti; molte donne col nome
di giardiniere; e accusando, investigando, promettendo
impacciavano il Governo, che non poteva abbattere le scale per le
quali era montato. Così tutto scomponeasi, nulla s’instaurava;
disordinavasi e Governo ed esercito e pubblica sicurezza, e si
diffondeano reciproci sospetti.
In Sicilia i Carbonari poche fila aveano, per quanto il pisano
improvvisatore Sestini vi fosse andato ad annodarne; odiavasi tutto
ciò che fosse napoletano, talchè nell’insurrezione di Napoli non si
vide che un’occasione d’emanciparsi, e alle solennità della santa
Rosalia in Palermo (15 luglio) si proclamava Dio, il re, costituzione e
indipendenza da Napoli, ai tre colori unendo il giallo dell’isola; intanto
si abbattono gli uffizj del bollo, del catasto, del registro, delle
ipoteche, di tutto ciò ch’era venuto da Napoli; si saccheggia,
s’insulta; ai soldati si tolgono i forti e le armi, e trenta sono uccisi,
quattrocento feriti, sessantasei cittadini feriti e cinquantatre morti, fra
cui il principe Catolica capo della guardia civica, poi i principi di
Paternò e d’Aci, non meno del Tortorici console de’ pescatori; liberati
prigionieri e galeotti; l’anarchia gavazza fra quella mescolanza di
scarcerati, contadini, marinaj, bonache come là dicono i mascalzoni;
gl’impiegati fuggono, ogni onest’uomo si trincera in casa e
nell’arcivescovado [168], e la giunta provvisoria, in balìa della ciurma
armata, delle vendite, de’ consoli d’arte, di frate Vaglica, non
trovavasi nè denaro nè forza nè senno. Intanto i nobili vogliono la
costituzione siciliana; i settarj la napolitana; onde ai valli di Palermo
e Girgenti s’oppongono in arme gli altri e la memore Siracusa e la
ricca Messina, e ne nasce guerra non solo civile ma domestica,
come ogniqualvolta la piazza equivale al palazzo; dappertutto capi
violenti raccolgono bande feroci; Caltanisetta, assalita dai
Palermitani e con molto sangue presa e mandata a macello e
vituperio, sgomenta le piccole città, inviperisce le maggiori; tutta
l’isola è infetta di sangue; i Palermitani mandano a Napoli a chiedere
l’indipendenza e re distinto, e avuto il niego gridano Indipendenza o
morte, e aggiungono ai quattro colori un nastro con quelle parole e
col teschio.
Napoli, uditi quegli orrori colle esagerazioni dei fuggiaschi, grida
morte ai Siciliani; si vuole cacciarli d’impiego, tenere ostaggi quanti
se ne colgono; a un atto non men giuridico che quello de’
Napoletani, si dà il titolo di ribellione, e mandasi un esercito col
generale Florestano Pepe per mettere l’isola all’obbedienza. Come
al solito, fu attribuita alla Corte la ribellione della Sicilia; averla
fomentata per contraffare alla napoletana, ora volerla rendere
irreconciliabile colle armi. I rivoltosi, da Pepe ridotti in Palermo, dove
pure fra loro si trucidavano, patteggiano (1820 3 8bre), assicurati
d’un Parlamento distinto: ma il Governo napoletano dichiara viltà
questo cedere a fronte di poca bordaglia colpevole, e concedere a
città vinta quanto avea chiesto ancora intatta: Messina se ne duole, i
Napoletani ne urlano, il Parlamento cassa la capitolazione pur
lodando Pepe, il quale le lodi e la decorazione repudiò, e viene
spedito Pietro Colletta a frenar col rigore, cioè ad esacerbare.
Fra tali scogli navigava il Governo costituzionale mentre si facevano
le elezioni del Parlamento [169], aprendo il quale (20 8bre) nella
chiesa dello Spirito Santo, il re dichiara «considerar la nazione come
una famiglia, di cui conosceva i bisogni e desiderava soddisfare i
voti». Ma il Parlamento, nel bisogno di secondare gl’impulsi esterni,
spinge a novità incondite, disputa se fosse costituto o costituente,
muta i nomi delle provincie coi classici, e trovasi eliso dall’assemblea
generale della Carboneria, composta dei deputati delle vendite
provinciali, più gagliarda del Governo stesso, il quale dovè più volte
invocarla per levar milizie, rivocare congedati, arrestare disertori,
esigere tributi. Terzo potere sorgeva la guardia nazionale, massime
da che vi fu posto a capo Guglielmo Pepe.
In dicerie e in decasillabi applaudivasi a una rivoluzione senza
sangue nè sturbi, ove concordi popolo e re, ove questo non fece che
estendere la propria famiglia: ma la setta vincitrice impaccia, decreta
infamia o lodi, molesta per alti passati e per opinioni, unica libertà
concede il pensare e parlare com’essa, unica legge il proprio senno.
Quei tanti che sparnazzano coraggio finchè il pericolo è remoto,
vantavano formato un terribile esercito, disposte fortezze
insuperabili, coraggio spartano: ma realmente gli uffiziali, esposti agli
attacchi delle congreghe settarie, indignavansi e rompeano la spada:
Pasquale Borelli, direttore della Polizia, non osando reprimere,
fingeva secondare; e intanto spargeva terrore di congiure e
d’assassinj per ottenere lode d’averli scoperti e prevenuti: e i trionfi e
le baruffe distraevano dall’avvisare al crescente pericolo [170].
Ciascun ministro presentò al Parlamento un ragguaglio, donde
raccogliamo la statistica di quel tempo. La popolazione sommava a
5,034,000; nati in otto anni 1,872,000, di cui soli 280,000 vaccinati;
15,000 i trovatelli, di cui nove decimi perivano nei primi giorni
dell’esposizione. A’ luoghi pii nelle provincie soccorreva l’assegno
annuo di 1,080,000 ducati; 438,000 ai ricoveri di malati e poveri della
città, fra cui 5100 erano mantenuti nell’Albergo dei poveri: 560,000
ducati destinavansi all’istruzione pubblica, 80,000 al teatro di San
Carlo, ove una coppia di ballerini costò 14,000 ducati. L’introito
dell’erario valutavasi 19,580,000 ducati, in cui la Sicilia figurava per
soli 2,190,000 assegnatile come quarta parte delle spese di
diplomazia, guerra, marina; chè pel resto teneva conti distinti. Il
debito, consolidato nel 1815 in annui ducati 940,000, or ascendeva a
1,420,000; il debito vitalizio a 1,382,000. Dal 1683 in poi la zecca
avea coniato 25,000,000 di ducati in oro, 69,741,000 in argento,
320,000 persone traevano sussistenza direttamente dal mare, sul
quale era necessario tenere una forza per respingere i Barbareschi,
che in altri tempi aveano ridotte deserte le coste, e in conseguenza
ingorgati i fiumi e peggiorata l’aria. Si aveano di qua dal Faro 3127
bastimenti da traffico, 1047 barche da pesca; di là 438, con 1431
legni da traffico; e il crescente commercio marittimo porterebbe a
decuplicarli. Di 242 navi da guerra non erano atte al servizio che un
vascello, due fregate, una corvetta, tre pacchetti con settantatre
legni minori. L’esercito di 40,000 uomini sentivasi la necessità di
crescerlo e rifornirlo.
Perocchè i liberali di tutta Europa fissavano gli occhi sull’Italia,
bollente di speranze; chi offre denari, chi la persona e soldati; si
fanno prestiti al Governo nuovo; s’insegna a difendersi, a fare la
guerra di bande, se mai l’Austria ponesse ad effetto le cupe
minaccie che le poteano tornare in capo: ma da nessuna potenza
venivano conforti [171], anzi si udì che il principe di Cariati,
ambasciatore costituzionale, non fu voluto ricevere alla Corte di
Vienna, la quale all’Europa dichiarò voler intervenire armata mano,
ed assicurare ai principi italiani l’integrità e indipendenza de’ loro
Stati. Ferdinando trasmette alle Corti una nota del suo operato (1
xbre); «libero nel suo palazzo, in mezzo al consiglio composto de’
suoi antichi ministri, aver determinato di soddisfare al voto generale
de’ suoi popoli: vorrebbero i gabinetti mettere in problema se i troni
siano meglio garantiti dall’arbitrio o dal sistema costituzionale?
All’articolo segreto della convenzione coll’Austria nel tempo della
restaurazione egli s’attenne fin qua: ora egli re e la nazione erano
risoluti a proteggere fino all’estremo l’indipendenza del regno e la
costituzione» [172].
L’alleanza perpetua delle quattro Potenze costituiva una specie
d’autorità suprema per gli affari internazionali d’Europa, attenta che
nessun cambiamento degli Stati attenuasse le istituzioni
monarchiche. Or dunque che novità erano minacciate in tutte le tre
penisole meridionali, i principi alleati si raccolsero a Troppau.
Alessandro czar, che erasi sempre mostrato propenso alla libertà,
che in nome di essa guerreggiò nel 1814, che nella pace avversò ai
calcoli freddi ed egoistici, che fece dare la Carta alla Francia, ispirato
anche dal ministro Capodistria, trovava che i Napoletani erano nel
loro diritto, e repugnava dal violentarli. Ma alla politica di sentimento
ne opposero una positiva Metternich ministro dell’Austria, e
Francesco IV di Modena [173], i quali, mostrandogli in pericolo la
pace d’Europa, e sgomentandolo delle rivoluzioni militari, lo resero
ostile alle costituzioni, e persuaso d’essere dalla Provvidenza
chiamato a difendere la civiltà dall’anarchia, come già l’avea salvata
dal despotismo.
A quel congresso pertanto si stabilì il diritto d’intervenire armati negli
affari interni di qualunque paese, ogni rivoluzione considerando
come attentato contro i Governi legittimi. Metternich dichiarò
all’ambasciatore napoletano, unico scampo pel Regno sarebbe il
rimettere lo stato antico; gli uomini meglio pensanti andassero al re,
e lo supplicassero d’annullare quanto avea fatto; se occorresse,
centomila Austriaci li sosterrebbero nel comprimere la rivolta. Russia
e Prussia secondano quel dire: ma l’Inghilterra vedea d’occhio
geloso l’intervenimento austriaco in un paese che tanto le fa gola;
Francia sentiva spegnersi l’influenza che la parentela le dava, onde
s’interpose, promettendo che gli Alleati soffrirebbero la rivoluzione,
se, invece della spagnuola, si accettasse la costituzione francese. I
Napoletani persistettero per la Camera unica, la deputazione
permanente e la sanzione forzata del re: ma avessero anche ceduto,
la loro sorte era decisa, in nulla volendo prescindere i sovrani del
Nord [174]. Da questi invitato (7 xbre), Ferdinando chiese al
Parlamento di andare per «far gradire anche alle Potenze estere le
modificazioni alla costituzione, che senza detrarre ai diritti della
nazione, rimuovessero ogni ragione di guerra». I Carbonari
proruppero in tutto il regno per impedire quest’andata, esclamando
contro il re che fin allora aveano glorificato; alle proposizioni non si
rispondea se non, La costituzione di Spagna o morte; d’ogni parte
venivano armi, e d’armi si muniva la reggia. Questa è
opportunissimamente situata sul mare: in rada stavano la flotta
napoletana e legni francesi e inglesi per impedire ogni violenza,
sicchè il re trovavasi pienamente arbitro della sua volontà: e i
giuramenti che, con espansione di sincerità, egli ripetè alla
costituzione, e di volere, se non potesse altrimenti, venir a
sostenerla in armi a capo del suo popolo, gli ottennero di partire fra
benedizioni e speranze, lasciando vicario il figliuolo (14 xbre), al
quale scriveva in sensi di padre più che di re.
Trovava egli il congresso trasferito a Lubiana, dove erano stati
invitati i ministri degli Stati italiani per discutere sulle pretensioni dei
popoli. Ogni concessione si sapeva «diverrebbe pretesto a
domandare innovazioni, e ogni esempio un motivo d’agitazione negli
spiriti» [175]; una novità introdotta in un paese sarebbesi desiderata in
tutti, poi voluta: onde parve più spediente il negar tutto; escludere
ogni partecipazione del popolo al governo, e ogni confederazione di
Stati italiani, che seminerebbe gelosie fra essi; nessun principe
d’Italia innovi le forme di governo senz’avvertirne gli altri acciocchè
provvedano alla loro sicurezza; i turbolenti sieno deportati in
America; intanto si assalga Napoli senza aspettare i centomila
Russi, che muoveano un’altra volta dal Nord per rassettare il freno
all’Italia [176].
Castlereagh, ministro inglese, non vuole s’intervenga a nome di tutti
gli Alleati; però lascia libera azione all’Austria [177]. La quale,
malgrado l’unico dissenso di monsignor Spada inviato pontifizio,
annunzia che, d’accordo colla Russia e Prussia, manderà un
esercito di 50 mila uomini capitanati dal generale Frimont ad
appoggiare il voto de’ buoni Napoletani, qual era il ristabilimento
dell’ordine primitivo; e se trovasse ostacolo, poco la Russia
tarderebbe. Re Ferdinando, cambiato tenore, scrive minaccie eguali
(1821 9 febb.); volere svellere un Governo imposto con mezzi
criminosi, dare stabili istituzioni al regno, ma quali a lui pajano e
piacciano; e rimesso nella pienezza de’ suoi diritti, fonderà per
l’avvenire la forza e stabilità del proprio Governo, conformemente
agl’interessi de’ due popoli uniti sotto il suo scettro.
Il Parlamento ripudia quell’atto, come di re non libero, e accetta la
sfida di guerra con quel fragore che sembra coraggio ed è rispetto
umano; armansi fino i fratelli e amici del re; i veterani tornano
volenterosi alle bandiere, che ricordavano recenti vittorie; i giovani vi
sono spinti dalle mogli, dalle madri, dall’esempio; trentaduemila
vecchi e quarantaduemila soldati nuovi sono in armi, si restaurano le
fortezze, preparansi bande a guerra paesana, difendesi il mare;
eppur si vieta agli armatori del pari che all’esercito d’uscire dai
confini per non parere aggressori. Se poco era mancato perchè
Murat riuscisse nella guerra offensiva, quanto più facilmente
basteranno ora alla difensiva?
Ma l’esercito costituzionale era nuovo, e scarso di disciplina come
avviene nelle rivoluzioni; insufficienti l’armi e i viveri; impacciate le
operazioni dal rispetto al confine forestiero, e dalla discrepanza dei
due generali Carascosa e Guglielmo Pepe. Il primo mena un corpo
sulla strada di Roma fra Gaeta e gli Appennini, donde più
probabilmente aspettavansi gli Austriaci; ma accortisi quanto le
parole distassero dalla realtà, consiglia di patteggiare cogli Alleati.
Pepe, con disordinate e sprovvedute cerne ch’egli supponeva eroi,
munisce gli Abruzzi, per dove appunto si accostano i nemici,
secondati dalla flotta dell’Adriatico, e dietro a loro Ferdinando,
ingiungendo ai sudditi (27 febb.) d’accogliere gli Austriaci come
amici. O per baldanza di far parlare di sè almeno un giorno, o
spintovi dai sellarj di cui era stromento, Pepe, quantunque tenesse
ordine di limitarsi sulla difensiva, e senz’avere nè concertato con
Carascosa, nè preparato i rifugi da una sconfitta, fa una punta sopra
Rieti, sperandosi secondato da insorgenti Papalini: ma un corpo di
cavalleria austriaca accorrendo gli rapisce la sua posizione; quando
vuole riprenderla è battuto (6 marzo), e i Tedeschi occupano le gole
di Antrodoco e Aquila, porte del regno.
È insulto gratuito il trattare da vili le truppe napoletane. Non aveano
coraggiosamente combattuto in terra e sul mare a Tolone e in
Lombardia ne’ primordj della rivoluzione? se nel 1798 furono
sbaragliate, la colpa ricade sul generale Mack, straniero,
presuntuoso e troppo fidente in reclute, malgrado gli ammonimenti di
Colli e di Parisi. Ritiratosi in fuga l’esercito, cedute le fortezze, il
popolo, i lazzaroni teneano testa a Championnet, se i loro capi non
gli avessero quietati. L’assedio di Gaeta e di Civitella del Tronto nel
1806, i briganti delle Calabrie, i tentativi realisti della Sicilia fecero
costar caro ai Francesi l’acquisto del Reame; uniti poi ad essi, i
Napoletani combatterono con buona sentita in Ispagna e in Russia.
Perchè sarebbero stati vili soltanto all’Antrodoco? Ben vuolsi
avvertire che sempre mutabili governi aveano ad ogni momento
introdotto cangiamenti di disciplina e di tattica, sicchè l’esercito, stato
alla spagnuola fino al 1780, barcollò poi fra la tattica prussiana e la
francese; tornò francese sotto Murat; pigliò dell’inglese dopo unitovi
il siciliano, sotto lo straniero Nugent; tirocinio continuo che togliea
vigore, oltre che la gelosia de’ realisti aveva rimossi molti uffiziali
muratiani.
Qui poi erasi creduto che una rivoluzione tutta interna ed unanime
non abbisognerebbe d’armi; come il vanto più bello cantavasi il non
essere costata una stilla di sangue [178]; col restare inermi voleasi e
mostrar fidanza nella propria causa, e togliere ad altri il pretesto
d’intervenire col togliere la paura che s’invadesse il paese altrui,
perciò ricusando, non solo di eccitare i vicini Stati, ma neppur
d’accettare Benevento e Pontecorvo, insorte contro il dominio
papale. Quindi il precipitoso armarsi dopo che il pericolo si
manifestò, gli scarsi provvedimenti, le rivalità fra i due capitani, la
persuasione dell’inettitudine della proclamata costituzione e
dell’inutilità del resistere, comunicatasi dalla moltitudine all’esercito,
l’inesperienza d’un Governo improvvisato, a fronte d’uno che
procedea con fine determinato e colle spalle munite, bastano a
spiegare le rotte, senza ricorrere al solito macchinismo de’ libellisti,
tradimento e viltà, apposti anche a nomi onorevoli.
Quel popolo vivo, chiassoso, scarso di bisogni, lieto di starsi
contemplando lo splendido cielo e il mare ondeggiante, e che
considera libertà il non far nulla, come avrebbe inteso queste
metafisiche liberali, che cominciavano con una menzogna, e
sospendeano a mezzo le conseguenze? Poi tali scosse di popoli
traggono sempre alla superficie la feccia, e questa è la più attuosa;
oltre coloro che del nome di libertà fansi un talismano con cui
guadagnare e dominare. Nella breve durata, il Parlamento avea
mostrato facondissimi oratori, principalmente Poerio, Borelli, Galdi, e
qualche pensatore, come Dragonetti e Niccolini: valenti ministri
parvero Tommasi e Ricciardi: proposizioni savie non erano mancate:
non si sciupò il denaro pubblico, e più d’uno del governo dovette
andarsene pedone, e ricevere le razioni dell’Austria per arrivare ai
luoghi ove questa li relegava.
Il Parlamento in agonia dirigesi al vecchio re, supplicandolo
«comparire in mezzo al suo popolo, e svelare le sue intenzioni
paterne senza intervenzione di stranieri, acciocchè le patrie leggi
non rimangano tinte dal sangue de’ nemici o de’ fratelli»; ma
gl’invasori non si arrestano, ed entrano in Napoli (24 marzo); il
Parlamento, per l’eloquente voce del Poerio, protesta avanti a Dio e
agli uomini per l’indipendenza nazionale e del trono, e contro la
violazione del diritto delle genti, e si scioglie.
Pari sorte corse la Sicilia. Soli i Messinesi risolsero sostenersi e il
generale Rossarol che comandava la guarnigione, prendea parte
con loro (28 marzo); ma non secondato dalle altre città, egli
andossene a combattere in Ispagna e morire in Grecia; e Messina
cedette. L’occupazione austriaca costò trecencinquanta milioni di
franchi [179]; un milione fu regalato al generale austriaco Frimont col
titolo di principe d’Antrodoco; e con enormi prestiti bisognò coprire le
enormi spese.
Allora cominciansi i processi; e ad una commissione speciale
sottoposti quarantatre, principali nel movimento di Monforte; cioè in
un fatto innegabile, ma sancito dalla posteriore adesione del re e
della nazione, dopo molti mesi si condannano trenta a morte, tredici
ai ferri. Morelli e Silvati, presi a Ragusi nel fuggire e consegnati,
sono uccisi; agli altri grazia; condannati molti in Sicilia a cagione
degli assassinj; poi dall’amnistia eccettuati alcuni capi profughi come
Pepe, Carascosa, Russo, Rossarol, Concili, Capecelatro, il prete
Minichini; moltissimi andarono esuli. L’esercito fu sciolto, molti
uffiziali degradati, altri chiusi nelle fortezze austriache; e il re soldò
diecimila Svizzeri, con laute convenzioni e con diritto di codice loro
proprio. Il pensiero fu messo in quarantena mediante un gravoso
dazio sopra le stampe forestiere, dal che fu rovinato il commercio de’
libri, colà fiorentissimo. Canosa, tornato ministro della Polizia,
l’esercita inesorabile; pubblicamente applica la frusta per mezzo alla
città; empie le prigioni, moltiplica le spie; molti unisconsi in bande,
consueto postumo delle rivoluzioni; lo stiletto risponde spesso alle
detenzioni e alle condanne; e l’anno corre sanguinoso, quant’era
stata incruenta la rivoluzione. Ferdinando stabilì che Sicilia e il
Napoletano, sotto un solo re, si reggessero distintamente, con
imposte, giustizia, finanze, impieghi proprj; le leggi e i decreti fossero
esaminati da consulte separate in Napoli e Palermo.
La rivoluzione di Napoli non sarebbe caduta sì di corto se le fosse ita
di conserva quella di Piemonte. Colla caduta dell’impero francese
ricuperato l’indipendenza, il nuovo re dichiarava abolita la
coscrizione e la tassa sulle successioni; Torino da capo dipartimento
tornava capitale d’un regno di quattro milioni e mezzo d’abitanti: qual
meraviglia se, quantunque ricevesse il regno da soldati austriaci, la
Liguria da inglesi, fu accolto con tripudio il re [180] quando da Cagliari
passò all’antica reggia, in vestire e contegno modesto che facea
contrasto collo sfarzo del Borghese? «Non v’è cuore che non serbi
memoria soave del 20 maggio 1814: quel popolo s’accalcava dietro
al suo principe, la gioventù avida di contemplarne le sembianze, i
vecchi servidori e soldati di rivederlo; grida di gioja, spontaneo
contento dal volto di ciascuno; nobili, persone medie, popolani,
contadini, tutti legava un sol pensiero, a tutti sorrideano le stesse
speranze, non più divisioni, non triste memorie; il Piemonte doveva
essere una sola famiglia, e Vittorio Emanuele il padre adorato».
Queste parole d’un caporivoluzione [181] possono indicare che i
Piemontesi erano ancora realisti, come quando l’Alfieri si lamentava
che non s’udisse a Torino parlar d’altro che del re.
Beati i principi che sanno profittare di queste disposizioni! Vittorio
che non avea patteggiato col forte, nè s’era avvilito a’ suoi piedi
come i gran re, potea meglio di qualunque altro operare il bene: ma
si conservò re patriarcale, persuaso che il regnante è tutto, ed ogni
novità un male, e che i popoli devono credere altrettanto; ingannato
dai soliti camaleonti, che si misero vecchie decorazioni, e calzoni
corti e code, non seppe riconoscere che alcune ruine non si devono
più riparare. Non punì; stracciò una lista sportagli di Framassoni e
Giacobini: ma ostinandosi a ripristinare il passato, anche dopo
cessate e la fiducia reciproca e l’economia d’una volta, abolì tutte le
ordinanze emanate dai Francesi; ripristinò quanto essi aveano
disfatto, i conventi, la nobiltà, le banalità, le commende, i
fidecommessi, le primogeniture, i fôri privilegiati, gli uffizj di speziale
e di causidico, le sportule de’ giudici, l’interdizione de’ Protestanti, i
distintivi degli Ebrei, le procedure secrete colla tortura e le tanaglie e
lo squartare e l’arrotare. L’editto 21 maggio 1814, che ripristinava le
antiche Costituzioni del 1770, turbava persone e sostanze; cassati
fino i grossi affitti che s’estendessero oltre il 14; sbanditi i Francesi
che qui aveano preso stanza dopo il 96. Coll’ajuto del conte Cerutti e
dell’almanacco 1793 rimettea persone e cose com’erano avanti la
rivoluzione. Fin nell’esercito si richiamarono alle bandiere i coscritti
del 1800, e poichè erano morti o invalidi, si supplì coll’ingaggio; poi
si dovette tornare alla coscrizione, pur conservando gli antichi
pregiudizj, escludendo l’esperienza di chi conoscea la tattica nuova
sol perchè avea servito coi Francesi, e proibendo di portarne le
decorazioni meritate, mentre si davano i gradi ai cadetti delle
famiglie patrizie. Ma a quel suo ritornello d’aver dormito quindici
anni, Potemkin segretario dell’ambasciatore russo, rispose: —
Fortuna che non dormisse anche l’imperatore mio padrone,
altrimenti vostra maestà non si sarebbe svegliata sul trono».
Il non aver servito a Napoleone, che spesso era indizio d’incapacità,
diveniva merito ad impieghi, dai quali escludeansi i meglio abili,
perchè giacobini o framassoni: buoni professori dell’Università
furono cassati, fra cui l’abate Caluso amico d’Alfieri, il giureconsulto
Reineri, il fisico Vassalli Eandi, il botanico Balbis, il chimico Giobert.
Le ipoteche, le riforme amministrative, la regolata gerarchia di giudizj
cessarono: alle provincie s’imposero comandanti militari: i giudici mal
pagati, erano costretti a trarre stipendio legale dalle sportule dei
litiganti, illegale dalle lungagne e dalla corruzione.
Abbatteasi il Governo napoleonico, ma conservavasi l’istituzione più
repugnante ai Governi paterni, la Polizia, esercitata da carabinieri e
da uffizj che decidevano in via economica, cioè fuor delle forme
giuridiche. Il risparmiare, studio supremo de’ Governi antichi,
abbandonavasi per moltiplicare impiegati; conservavansi i
dispendiosi statimaggiori, perchè d’illustri famiglie. In conseguenza
bisognò stabilire le imposizioni alla francese; alle disgrazie naturali di
carestia e tifo, all’invasione di lupi e di masnadieri, si aggiunse la
fama di enormi malversazioni nel liquidare il debito pubblico, e fu
duopo ricorrere a prestiti forzati.
I senati di Torino, Genova, Nizza, Ciamberì aveano diritto d’interinare
gli editti del re, ma si lasciò cader in dissuetudine; di maniera che al
potere assoluto non restava barriera alcuna, e un ministro potè dire:
— Qui vi è soltanto un re che comanda, una nobiltà che lo circonda,
una plebe che lo obbedisce». La legge non era sovrana, potendo il
re con un suo biglietto cancellare o sospendere le sentenze; e
centinaja di lettere regie circoscrissero contratti, ruppero transazioni,
annullarono giudicati, per sottrarre alla ruina la nobiltà impoverita, a’
cortigiani dar dilazione al pagamento dei debiti, concedere la
rescissione di vendite antiche, obbligare ad accomodamenti gravosi.
Il conte Gattinara, reggente della cancelleria, nel 1818 confessò che
da questo turpe traffico egli ricavava non men di duemila franchi al
mese [182]. Avendo il re decretato che la regia autorità non si
mescolerebbe più a transazioni private, gli si fece vergogna dell’aver
messo limiti alla propria onnipotenza, ed egli revocò l’editto. Maria
Teresa, moglie del re, mostravasi dispotica; ed un intendente che
esprimeva d’esser venuto colle autorità della provincia a inchinarla,
essa lo interruppe dicendo — Ove è il re non avvi altra autorità»; al
ministro Valesa che faceale qualche rimostranza sui milioni che
mandava in paese estero, disse: — il ministro non è che un
servitore», ond’egli si dimise.
Di poi si confessò la necessità di migliorare, s’abolì la tortura, si
ricomposero l’Università con cattedra d’economia politica e diritto
pubblico, l’Accademia delle scienze e la Società agraria, e gli studj
sottentrarono alla bravería guerresca: l’istruzione non era sfavorita,
sebben nelle scuole si desse piuttosto l’abitudine dell’assiduità
meccanica e della sommessione irragionata [183]. Plana
scandagliava gli abissi dello spazio col calcolo e coi telescopi: Grassi
e Napione zelavano a disfranciosare il linguaggio: Casalis, Saluzzo,
Richeri, Andrioli poetavano, e meglio la Diodata Saluzzo, mentre di
Edoardo Calvi divulgavansi versi in dialetto rimasti popolari: Alberto
Nota esibiva le sue commedie che pareano belle interpretate da
Carlotta Marchionni.
Ma questo destarsi del pensiero facea viepiù dolere il vederlo
sagrificato all’assolutezza del Governo e alle pretensioni
dell’aristocrazia, che quivi rimaneva qualcosa meglio che un nome,
provenendo da origine feudale, cioè da case che erano state
sovrane quanto quelle di Savoja e d’aspetto militare, separata dal
popolo e sprezzandolo, e che fece sua causa la causa della Casa
regnante, difendendola e ingrandendola col proprio sangue, e perciò
sola a dar uffiziali alle truppe e aver privilegi, che la faceano astiosa
a progressi. Rimanea dunque malvista alla classe media che allora
veniva su, e che se ne vendicava coll’ira e col sarcasmo; neppure
riconoscendo che sempre i re ebbero fra i ministri qualche popolano
o di nobiltà inferiore, che molti nobili primeggiavano per ingegno e
virtù, e che anche ignobili studiosi poteano farsi strada, massime se
preti e penetrati nell’Accademia.
I Gesuiti, reputati l’argine più robusto alle idee rivoluzionarie,
doveano essere aborriti o venerati all’inverso di quelle. Una società
senz’armi, senz’impieghi, senza tampoco una cattedra
nell’Università, non potea avere quella tanta efficacia che si
asserisce; se affollatissimi i suoi collegi: se nelle case de’ grandi
erano i bene accolti, consultati negli affari, interrogati sulle persone
da mettere negl’impieghi, di chi la colpa?
I Piemontesi erano un popolo savio e calmo, sicchè li chiamavano
gl’Inglesi d’Italia; non chiassi, non risse, silenziosi i caffè, contegnosi
i passeggi, la conversazione signorile regolata da cerimoniale aulico
e con impreteribili esclusioni; pochi i delitti; della morale rispettate
almeno le apparenze. Riverenza ben rara in questi tempi otteneva
quella dinastia che non s’era logorata in vizj, e veniva considerata
come tutrice dell’indipendenza della patria, nome che restringevasi
al Piemonte.
Il malcontento fermentava negl’impiegati destituiti, negli antichi
uffiziali, ne’ Buonapartisti, negli aggregati a società segrete, più nei
Genovesi, che careggiando le reminiscenze repubblicane, trovavansi
non uniti, ma sottoposti a un altro popolo eminentemente realista.
Fin quando i nobili Piemontesi esultanti e plaudenti corsero a
Genova incontro ai reduci reali, i Genovesi non si espressero che col
silenzio; molti si ritirarono in campagna, come fecero poi