People talked, Vic knew that better than anyone. He’d been fodder for the rumor mill most of his life. Couldn’t be helped, his daddy being who he was, and Vic’s own wild days being what they were. But Vic had long since settled down, learned the difference between giving a damn and taking everything personally, and pretty much kept himself to himself. There was no telling what Tennyson had heard about him, but the fact of Vic’s solitary nature was certainly old news by now. It also wasn’t actually a fact, but that never mattered when tongues were wagging.
Truth was, Vic loved the Crofford Ranch almost as much as he loved the Croffords, and the only fights he had these days were with himself, late nights out grazing with the herd, the sea of stars overhead his only witness. On the one hand
