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Beth Dutton was one hedge fund away from committing a felony.
She sat in her home office, shoulders tight, staring into the dead eyes of three Wall Street suits on Zoom who couldn’t problem solve their way out of a paper bag. One kept saying "pivot." One was aggressively mansplaining derivatives. And the third God bless him had just suggested a “corporate rebrand to feel more emotionally authentic.”
She muted the mic, looked to the ceiling, and said to the heavens:
“Lord, grant me the strength not to punch my laptop.”
She unmuted just long enough to hiss:
“I’m billing double for this call, by the way. One for the advice, and one for the emotional trauma.”
Click. Meeting over. Sanity? Questionable.
She dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling smoke from the cigarette dangling between her fingers. Three hours of back-to-back consulting meetings had left her raw. Every client thought they were the smartest bastard in the room, until Beth Dutton cut them down with a few words' sharper than barbed wire.
Her armor had held all day. But now she needed her reward.
Her therapy.
Her salvation.
Frozen. Peanut. M&M’s.
She stubbed the cigarette out and strode straight to the kitchen, bare feet padding across the floor. The freezer door squeaked open, and already smiling, she reached for the one place no one was allowed to touch: the frosty bag of Peanut M&Ms she kept tucked behind a box of frozen steaks.
Then she blinked.
And blinked again.
The bag was gone.
Beth slowly closed the freezer like it had just insulted her. Opened it again, just to be sure.
Still gone.
She stood there frozen, hand still gripping the freezer door like she needed something to strangle.
She didn’t even need to ask who did it. There was only one man in this house who could face her wrath and live to tell about it.
Rip Wheeler.
“RIP.”
Nothing.
“Baby!”
Her eyes narrowed, lips curling into a dangerous smile.
“Oh, you son of a bitch.”
Rip on the back deck, fixing a broken railing with a power drill, trying to enjoy the quiet.
Next to him, Carter leaned against the post, drinking iced tea, watching everything unfold like it was TV.
Beth stormed out the back door, bare feet slapping against the wood like gunshots.
“Rip, have you seen my peanut M&M’s?”
Rip didn’t look up. “I might’ve had some.”
Carter looked at Rip. Then at Beth. Then back at Rip.
Leans in and whispers “That was her last stash.”
Rip paused mid screw, suddenly aware that death was imminent.
Beth stared at him, voice low and dangerous.
“Some?”
Rip glanced at Carter for backup. Carter took a step back like, Nope, you’re on your own.
“I didn’t think they were sacred or nothin’. They’re just...”
Carter mouthing silently behind Beth “Don’t say it.”
Rip still talking: “Candy”
Beth didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Her left eye twitched. Once. Violently.
Carter took another step back. This was the moment therapist would refer to someday as The Flashpoint.
Rip glanced between them, totally missing the atmospheric pressure drop around Beth’s body.
“Sweetheart?” he offered gently.
Beth’s voice came out in a slow, controlled whisper, the kind of whisper that made grown men rethink their choices.
“Did you just call my peanut M&M’s… just candy?”
Rip, sensing the danger a second too late, opened his mouth.
Then immediately regretted it.
“I didn’t mean”
Beth raised a single finger. “Don’t.”
Rip shut his mouth.
She stared at him a moment longer, eyes dark and dangerous, then turned on her heel without another word. Not a stomp, not a door slam. Just deliberate, unnerving quiet. The kind of quiet that screamed, I’m not yelling because I haven’t decided your punishment yet.
Carter watched her glide toward the stairs in her nightgown and slippers like some kind of vengeful bedtime angel.
He leaned toward Rip and whispered, “She’s gonna take your truck.”
Rip blinked. “What?”
But Beth was already upstairs.
Not two minutes later, the unmistakable sound of keys jingling and closet doors opening echoed through the house.
Then the front door creaked open.
Then closed.
Rip walked to the window just in time to see his Ram peeling down the driveway like it owed her money, Beth behind the wheel, wild hair, fuzzy slippers, and righteous fury in full bloom.
He turned slowly toward Carter.
“She actually took the damn truck.”
Carter shrugged. “Told you. That’s her war chariot now.”
Beth gripped the wheel of Rip’s truck like it had personally offended her.
Windows down, wind whipping her hair, cigarette burning low between her fingers, she tore down the long gravel road toward town, dust cloud trailing behind her like a storm warning.
“It’s just candy?” she muttered, her voice sharp with disbelief.
“Just candy? I put it in the freezer. That’s not a snack. That’s therapy.”
She flicked ash out the window. Turned up the radio. Then turned it back down. Too much noise. Not enough M&M’s.
“He’s lucky he’s hot,” she mumbled, slamming her palm against the steering wheel. “Lucky he’s useful. Lucky, I love him. Just candy, my ass.”
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder. Probably Rip. Or Carter. Or maybe God, calling to ask if she was okay.
She ignored it.
She had a mission. And a body count if necessary.
Inside the cab, the radio chirped something about “today’s hottest country hits” before Beth punched it off.
“Not today, Luke Bryan. Not. Today.”
The town’s only decent convenience store was thirty minutes away if you drove like a rational adult.
Beth made it in Fifteen.
She skidded into the gravel lot, half-parked across a handicapped spot and a yellow painted line that might’ve once meant something to someone. Shoved the door open, stomped across the pavement in a silk nightgown with cartoon sheep, and fuzzy slippers that had once been white but were now Montana ranch gray.
Inside, the bell above the door jingled.
A bored teenage clerk looked up from behind the counter. Froze when he saw her eyes.
Beth stalked past the beef jerky and off-brand chips like a lion on the savannah, zeroing in on the candy aisle.
She scanned the shelves.
Skittles.
Gummy worms.
Milky Way.
Then
Empty. Slot.
Under the label that read: M&M’s – Peanut.
She stared at the void.
Blink.
Twitch.
Not again.
Beth turned, calmly, walked up to the front counter, and leaned in.
“Hi,” she said sweetly.
The clerk, who was now sweating, gave a shaky nod.
“Do you have any peanut M&M’s in the back?”
“I, I don’t think so. Maybe Tuesday’s delivery?”
Beth smiled like a crocodile.
Then she slammed a bottle of overpriced spring water on the counter.
"Ring it up." The clerk didn’t blink. Just nodded and bagged the water like it was plutonium.
Beth stormed back out of the store with nothing but a bottle of water. Climbed into the Ram like she was mounting a warhorse. Revved the engine.
In the rearview mirror, the teenage clerk could be seen locking the front door and flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed.”
Beth snarled at her empty passenger seat. “Water. Like that’s supposed to fix this. Jesus Christ, Rip, if you wanted me to burn the town down, just say it.”
Carter sat cross legged on the porch railing, phone in hand, camera angled just right so the whole world (or at least his twelve TikTok followers) could see the storm they were living through.
He lowered his voice to a hushed, serious tone.
“Day one without peanut M&M’s,” he whispered like David Attenborough narrating lions in the Serengeti. “The beast is loose. Pray for us.”
Behind him, Rip gave a grunt, tightening another bolt on the railing, clearly pretending not to hear.
Carter swung the camera around to catch him in frame. “That’s the male of the species,” he continued. “Currently unaware that his mate is hunting. He thinks he’s safe. He is not.”
Rip shot him a look. “Boy, if you put me on the damn internet…”
Carter grinned. “Gotta leave evidence behind in case she buries you out by the north pasture.”
Rip muttered something under his breath, but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
The phone buzzed in Carter’s hand, Beth’s name lighting up the screen. He fumbled, shoved it at Rip.
“You answer it!”
Rip shook his head, leaning back against the post like a man resigned to fate. “Hell no. You poked the bear, you answer the bear.”
Carter gulped, hit accept, and put it on speaker.
Beth’s voice blasted through like a war siren.
“WHERE THE HELL IS THE EMERGENCY STASH, RIP?”
Carter winced, whispering to the camera, “The beast is communicating. She sounds angry. Hungry. Both.”
Rip scrubbed a hand down his face, taking the phone. “Sweetheart, I told you”
Click. She hung up.
Silence fell across the porch.
Carter turned the phone back on himself, deadpan.
“And so, ladies and gentlemen, begins the countdown to Wheeler Doomsday. Estimates say… thirty minutes before she comes back with either a case of M&M’s or a criminal record.”
In the background, Rip muttered, “More like fifteen.”
Carter whispered into the camera one last time. “If you don’t hear from me again… tell the world my last words were: ‘Hide the candy.’”
Carter adjusted the phone, leaning in with wide, serious eyes.
“The beast has left the territory in the male’s vehicle. That’s right, Rip’s truck. Pray for the Dodge Ram, it was innocent in all this.”
He swung the camera toward Rip, who sat sharpening a knife on the porch step.
“This here,” Carter whispered, “is the mate. You can tell by the thousand, yard stare and the way he’s definitely pretending not to be scared.”
Rip grunted. “Boy, I’m right here.”
Carter zoomed in on Rip’s face anyway. “Notice the denial. Classic prey behavior.”
Carter leaned closer to the phone.
“New intel: She’s hit the gas station. Early reports suggest casualties in the snack aisle.”
He tilted the camera toward Rip again. “Notice the male grooming his blade. It’s a mating ritual or possibly preparing for his own funeral. Time will tell.”
Rip shook his head. “I should’ve just left her the damn candy.”
Carter nodded gravely. “And yet, here we are. History books will not be kind.”
Carter whispered dramatically into the phone.
“Final update: The beast is returning. We expect dust clouds, shouting, and possible vehicular homicide within the hour. Thoughts and prayers.”
Rip took the phone from him, ended the livestream, and slipped it in his pocket.
Then he stood, stretching his back, and muttered, “Guess I better start diggin’.”
Carter blinked. “A grave?”
Rip glanced at him. “A bigger freezer.”
Dust rolled up the gravel road like a warning flare.
Carter shaded his eyes with one hand. “She’s back.”
Rip tightened his jaw. “Yup.”
The Ram whipped into the drive like it had just escaped a hostage situation. Beth killed the engine, flung the door open, and stepped out still in nightgown, slippers, and a storm cloud’s worth of fury. Cigarette dangling, bottle of water swinging like a weapon.
Carter whispered, “Don’t make eye contact. She can smell fear.”
Beth stomped toward them, each step promising someone’s untimely end.
“Rip Wheeler,” she growled, “you’re sleeping in the barn ‘til Jesus comes back unless you explain why I had to threaten a child clerk with a Dasani today.”
Rip opened his mouth, then the sound cut through the tension.
A diesel engine. Big. Heavy.
Everyone turned as a delivery truck rumbled up the road, dust trailing behind it like salvation.
The logo stenciled across the side: Mars Candy Co.
Beth froze. Eyes narrowing. “What the hell is this?”
The truck pulled into the yard and hissed to a stop. The driver hopped out, clipboard in hand.
“Got a bulk order here for… uh, Dutton Ranch?” He glanced at Rip. “That you?”
Rip nodded, cool as ever. “Yep.”
The driver swung open the back. Stacked floor to ceiling, shining like buried treasure: cases of peanut M&M’s.
Beth’s cigarette slipped right out of her fingers.
Carter gaped. “Holy shit, it’s like Willy Wonka had a baby with Costco.”
Beth turned slowly toward Rip, eyes unreadable. “You… you did this?”
Rip shrugged, scratching his beard. “Figured you’d need ‘em. Supply’s been short lately. Thought I’d surprise you.”
Beth just stared at him for a long, long beat. The air so heavy Carter thought about bolting for cover.
Then Beth let out a sharp laugh half-cackle, half-sigh, and launched herself at Rip, kissing him hard enough that Carter made a face and muttered, “God, get a room.”
Rip murmured against her lips, “Still think they’re just candy?”
Beth pulled back, grabbed a whole case from the truck bed, and hugged it to her chest like a newborn. “Baby, I’d marry you all over again right now in these damn slippers.”
Carter pointed his phone toward them, whispering, “Day two: the beast has been appeased. The male survives another season. Balance restored to the ecosystem.”
Beth shot him a glare, but she was smiling as she ripped open a bag and popped a frozen-cold handful in her mouth.
“Get in the house, kid. Before I change my mind and feed you to the bears.”
Carter grinned, camera still rolling. “Worth it.”
The storm had passed.
Beth lay sprawled on the couch in her nightgown, hair messy, feet tucked under a blanket, one entire case of peanut M&M’s cracked open beside her. She was working through bag number three with the kind of focus Wall Street never got from her.
Rip sat at the other end of the couch, boots off, leaning back with a beer in his hand, watching her like a man who had narrowly dodged execution.
She popped another candy into her mouth, chewed slow, and finally muttered, “You’re lucky I love you.”
Rip smirked into his bottle. “Reckon I am.”
From the armchair, Carter angled his phone at them, whispering like a nature documentary narrator.
“And so, the great beast is calm again, lulled into submission by her natural habitat: frozen chocolate and peanuts. The male survives another day, though the danger is never truly gone.”
Beth shot him a glare mid-chew. “Kid, if you don’t shut that thing off, you’ll be on TikTok with two black eyes.”
Carter grinned. “Worth it.”
Rip chuckled low, shaking his head. “Boy’s got a death wish.”
Beth leaned back against the cushions, ripped open another bag, and muttered, “Nah. He’s just smart enough to know the story’s funnier when I win.”
Carter tapped his phone screen, whispering one last line to his invisible audience.
“Day’s end. Candy secured. Ranch intact. Apocalypse postponed.”
Beth tossed a peanut M&M at his forehead. He caught it, popped it in his mouth, and winked.
The room settled into quiet: the crackle of the fire, Rip’s low breathing, Beth’s steady crunch of candy, Carter snickering to himself.
For once, the chaos at Dutton Ranch had nothing to do with cattle, land, or blood feuds.
Just one woman, her man, her kid, and the candy that kept them all alive.
For tonight, the beast was calm.
For tonight.