“You talk a good game, Knox, but you know damn well that, if I leave, ain’t no one else coming to help. I don’t believe the bullshit in town, but others will. No paycheck is enough to put up with your attitude. Not a one.”

  “Good. Be on your way then.”

  The dismissal in her tone this time sets me off. It gives me a temper to feed off, a reason to get pissed and walk away.

  “Thanks for proving you’re exactly how I thought you were going to be.” I tip my hat as her eyes narrow with confusion. “Enjoy losing your ranch to the bank.”

  “Go to hell. I’m not—”

  “It seems to me that’s what you’re angling to do anyway.”

  “Good. Go.”

  “I will.”

  Fury and anger and failure course through me as I turn from her and start toward the steps, as I force myself to walk away from the woman with storm clouds in her eyes and defiance in her voice.

  I’m ten feet from my truck when her voice rings out.

  “Jack.”

  It’s the way she says my name like a woman wanting to hold it all together while fearing she isn’t going to be able to. That single syllable is full of defiance and fear and confusion and determination.

  There’s something about her I can’t peg.

  Something that’s pulling me in that’s just as strong as the promise I made and my need to keep my word.

  Something that I hate myself for wanting to explore.

  I turn to where she stands on the top of the steps, staring at me across the distance with one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes. Her expression is stoic, no reflection of the tinge of desperation that just rang out in her voice.

  And yet, my name felt like an olive branch extended in a war zone. One that’s only going to be offered for mere seconds before it’s snatched back.

  Walk away, Jack.

  Walk the fuck away while you can.

  Instead, I take a step closer, twist my lips, and look around, wondering why I’m not taking the out when I can.

  Because I made promises, that’s why. Duty and defiance war against each other within me.

  I take another step toward her.

  “You can’t expect anyone to successfully sell your brand and this place when it looks like it’s been neglected.” She starts to speak, and I just keep on talking. “How many people do you have on your staff?”

  “One.”

  “One?” I laugh. “Funny. You have forty horses here. How many people besides the one ranch manager do you have on staff?”

  “If you don’t count good ol’ eighty-one-year-old Sylvester who stops by and helps now and again, it’s just one.”

  “Sylvester?” I ask. “Should I assume he’s how you know I’ve been in town for a few days?” She nods and twists her lips as I try to fathom how she only has one employee. How she manages all of this that way. Then again, she isn’t exactly a ray of fucking sunshine either. I can only imagine how pleasant she is to work with and for. “Well, fire the one. He’s not doing his job. Tell him he’s been replaced.”

  “Replaced?” Her chuckle is low and condescending. “By whom?”

  By whom? Definitely the upper crust of New England.

  “By me.”

  Her laugh rings louder now, it’s long and rich, and it is followed by a shake of her head. “I’ve already fired everyone who can be fired. Thanks for letting me know how to run my ranch, though.”

  “Your ranch. Your problem,” I say, noting how moments before it was her husband’s ranch but, now that she’s defending it, it’s hers. “You said you needed to sell more horses this year. Rebuild and revamp by breeding and selling. Pick up some key clients who might create repeat business. Maybe even sell a rodeo circuit champion or two,” I say. “Increase profits in general, right?”

  Tatum just stares at me as indecision fights over her features. The need for help against the want to stand her ground.

  “I don’t think I heard you wrong, did I?” I continue. “Feel free to go at it alone, but from what you told me, you need the help to turn a profit and stay afloat. I can help with that. Or you can tell me to walk away, taking all my experience and connections with me, and you can keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Stubborn pride or guaranteed success.

  Your call, princess.

  Her body tenses, and her teeth grit. “There are other people I can hire. No worries there.”

  “The question is, will they work for you?” I snort. “Next time someone comes out, you might want to mention to them they’re going to be fighting an uphill battle trying to promote a ranch this size without any help.”

  “Running the ranch is my responsibility. Selling the foals was supposed to be yours.”

  “So the rumor mill is true, then. You won’t take qualified help even when it’s sitting on your front porch.”

  “Qualified doesn’t mean quality.”

  I just lift my brow and smirk at the dig. “Tell me something. Did you fire your help or did they quit?” That wipes the look off her face. “I have twenty bucks on they quit. I’ve been here no fewer than ten minutes, and you’ve insulted me more times than I care to count. I heard you were difficult to work for. Criticizing how someone does something when you don’t know how to do it yourself doesn’t exactly win you any respect. You have a smart mouth and a bad rep. Being easy on the eyes and having an Ivy League education doesn’t mean shit in a town like this . . . especially when you throw it around and look down upon those who have less.”

  And almost as if on cue, a neigh sounds off in the distance. The sound of a familiar friend I can relate to in this hostile environment.

  “I thought you said you didn’t listen to the rumors.”

  “I don’t, but your pleasant personality isn’t doing much to dissuade them either.”

  “Then why are you still standing here?” she asks.

  Hell if I know.

  I hate myself before I even utter the words. “So, when do I start?”

  She shakes her head. “Insult me. Criticize me. Tell me you believe lies, and then you actually think I’m going to hire you? You’re out of your mind.”

  “Insult me. Criticize me. Tell me you hate me after I’ve driven hundreds of miles to take the job offer. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?” Our glares hold and then all of a sudden, it clicks for me. “Ah, I get it. Hard to fire the help when you’re sleeping with him? Your boyfriend isn’t running the ranch now, is he?”

  She fists her hands as her shoulders tense. “Not that it’s any of your business who I sleep with, but I’m not sleeping with the ranch manager. I don’t have one. The ranch manager is me. I’m her. I’m the lone employee!”

  I blink for a few seconds as I try to digest her words. Words there’s no way I believe.

  But I do.

  Because when I look back at her, all I see is fire.

  The fire and grit and determination of someone used to standing on their own with what feels like the world against them.

  Beauty.

  The fact that the harsh voice and haughty attitude on the phone would be owned by a woman who staggered me when she first walked into the doorway didn’t even pass through my mind when I decided to follow through on my promise.

  Pain.

  That definitely was not something I expected to see after listening to the people of Lone Star speak ill of her and make all the petty and catty comments.

  But I know those kinds of rumors.

  I should have known better than to believe them.

  But the hurt and resentment I feel made it all that much easier to.

  Shit.

  Now what I had determined was going to be something I could walk up to, see for myself, and then leave, is gone.

  Fuck.

  And then almost as if she just realized what she’s admitted to, that she’s the failing employee, anger fires in her eyes as she shoves her finger over my shoulder, and grits out, “You can see yourself out.”

  “You live out here all alone?” I ask and whistle. That’s a whole lot of loneliness for anyone this far from town.

  “I have the horses to keep me company.”

  “Humans. You don’t have any other humans out here who you interact with?”

  “Apparently, I don’t need other humans,” she says, but for the briefest of seconds, I see emotions flit through her eyes. Sadness? Loneliness? It’s something, but before she lets me really see it, it’s gone.

  “Everyone needs humans.”

  “I used to think that too, but I’m finding the animals get me more than the humans ever did.”

  The raw honesty in the rasp of her voice tells me she’s been through enough to warrant the chip on her shoulder and the rumors in town.

  Her sentiment is one I’ve voiced more times in my life than I care to count—an excuse so I don’t have to explain shit to anyone—and I nod.

  I’ve been there too.

  Still am there.

  But there’s something about the sadness in her eyes that makes me want to clear it away. That makes me want to push buttons to get that fire back because temper I can deal with.

  Temper at least gives me something to fight against.

  I shut out all other emotions.

  “Looks to me like a ranch manager is what you need. I can be him, get this place up to speed and then work on getting the contracts. That way, you could go back to doing”—I flick my hand in indifference—”the things you’re used to doing.”

  “What I’m used to doing?” she says, voice escalating in pitch. “Like eating caviar and getting pedicures, right? Had to make sure to put me in my place.”

  “What you do on your time is your prerogative.” I lift my hands in surrender, this fight is over. My attempt has been given.

  Silence stretches between us with the chirp of birds and whinny of horses the only other sounds.

  “Oh, I will.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Knox,” I say and mockingly tip my hat.

  “Can’t say the same.”

  “Don’t let your pride get in the way of hiring someone who could bring this place back to life.”

  “And don’t let your ego get in the way of you getting shot,” she says, and I laugh, not sure if I respect her gumption or find it infuriating. “This place is full of life, thank you.”

  I lift a lone eyebrow in question. “So, that’s it? Ask me to come, kick me out when I travel hundreds of miles, and then call my name as if your life depended on it, only to realize you did it and you didn’t want to?” I give a quick shake of my head. “You think I’m trying to pull a power play? I think it’s the other way around.” I lift my hat and scratch my hair beneath it before pulling it back down. “I understand indecision, Knox. I understand fear and confusion and second-guessing whether what you’re doing is right or not . . . but this was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You want help, fine. You don’t want help, fine. But unless you figure it all out—and soon—you’re going to lose this place. Plain and simple.”

  “Goodbye, Jack.” Her voice is strained, her expression hard. The sound of a woman who wants help but is too damn afraid to admit it.

  Fire. Beauty. Pain.

  I think of those three things that prevented me from walking away moments ago.

  I promise, Dad.

  Those were the last words I spoke to my father before he died. That was the promise my being here is keeping.

  With a step in retreat, I offer her a wink and a grin just to piss her off. “I’ll be in town until Friday should you find your sense again and decide to hire me.”

  Without another word, I turn on my heel and stride back down the gravel driveway toward my truck, all the while questioning why the fuck I left the offer open like that.

  As I back down the ranch’s long driveway, I know she’s still standing on the porch with a hand on her hip, watching me with those smoke-colored eyes.

  The question is: why the hell does that give me a small iota of satisfaction?

  2

  TATE

  Bring this place back to life, my ass.

  I don’t know how long I stand and stare at the dust his tires kick up as it dances through the sunlight.

  How about stop sitting at the bar listening to rumors, huh? How about not believing the lies told and meeting me first? How about giving me a chance before they poison you to who I really am?

  That cocky grin. Those chocolate-colored eyes alit with humor because, even though I told him he wasn’t, he was right . . . so right in so many ways. Still, it was worth every damn word of that fight. His sarcasm, which hit all the right notes at all the right times, like nails on a chalkboard to my ears and sledgehammer to my ego. The truth he threw around was so much closer than anyone could ever imagine because I’m doing everything I can to keep my financial trouble a secret. I’ve been doing everything to prevent the vultures from circling while they wait for me to lie down and die.

  The town knowing the truth would only help them run me out of here, and that’s the last thing I want to give them—victory and satisfaction.

  I think about what he said, focusing on the emotions he evoked and not on what it felt like to have a man standing on my porch challenging me. The slight flutter in my belly when those dimples showed. The uptick in my pulse over the flex of his biceps beneath the cuffs of his shirt.

  I was supposed to hate him on sight.

  Sylvester’s warnings about seeing him in Ginger’s bar the past few nights talking with the locals were supposed to be enough of a warning to send him packing.

  Too bad, because I’d wanted to hire him up until Sylvester told me. The last thing I need is for another employee to blast what’s going on at my ranch all over town like the last one did.

  I learned my lesson. Never again.

  I was supposed to hate him on sight.

  Instead of hating him, though, I watched him as he sat in his truck at the edge of the driveway. As he drove slowly toward the house, looking here and there as he took in the fence and pasture and house. When he climbed out of his truck, it was as if I’d been sucker punched squarely in the gut.

  When our eyes met for the first time.

  When his body tensed, his eyes widened, and the slightest hint of desire crawled through them a moment longer than would be normal, allowing me to notice it.

  My plan to lay out my reasons calmly went out the window because I’d felt that slightest hint of desire too. The notion I had that I was going to explain to him that I had to trust who I hired, and that I simply didn’t trust him, got lost in that momentary lapse of concentration.

  In my head, I’d had it all worked out. I’d spout off to him, and he’d wave a hand in the air—maybe even lift his middle finger—as he walked away without a second thought. He’d save me the trouble and the heartache of getting attached to another ranch manager only to learn they were in town badmouthing me and telling everyone my secrets again.

  In my mind, the whole scenario would have been over in mere minutes.

  But damn it, he stood there with his pride bristling and his smile smug as I was a bitch to him. And the more I spoke, the more he dug in as if something were keeping him here. Something that made him fight for a job that was way beneath his qualifications.

  I should have been asking myself why he would do that, but I was so determined to hate him on sight that I didn’t.

  So, I fought him. I was rude and nasty and scared as hell because I wanted to hire him—knew I needed to hire him—but am so gun-shy after hearing Sylvester tell me who he was sidling up to in town that I pushed him away.

  And now that the dust from his departure had settled, I couldn’t help but feel as if I’d made a monumental mistake.

  Being about to lose my farm is not exactly what I’d call having things handled.

  But Jack’s comment and Sylvester’s warning marry together and ring through my thoughts, telling me I did the right thing.

  He is arrogant and cocky and handsome and qualified and tall and is willing to stand up to me when most people don’t even talk to me these days.

  “Christ.” My shoulders sag under the weight of that choice, and the humid air is suddenly suffocating me.

  It’s how I’ve felt day after day, month after month, for the last year because I’ve done all of this myself. I have thrown myself into the thick of things—feeding and grooming and tracking estrus cycles—and have learned to do Fletcher’s job all on my own. When he was alive, all he’d let me do was the trivial stuff, and I’d become the window dressing to all the hard work everyone else did. It was all he allowed me to do.

  All because Fletcher didn’t want me to get too close to anyone. He didn’t want me to hear the whispers among workers about how the jefe was down in the bunkhouse placing bets with money he didn’t have. How on the breeding trip he’d just gotten back from, he’d spent more time in the sports bar, hedging his bets and unbeknownst to me, losing everything we had, than he’d spent at the stables, ensuring breeding success.

  By the looks of it, moments of weakness are all you seem to have.

  “Prick,” I mutter, hating Jack for no other reason than he called me out on failing at the ranch. Okay, there was also a bit of dislike that he’d walked away when I really needed him to stay. Not that I blame him after the way I’d acted.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing how crazy I sound, and yet, simply being too exhausted to care.

  I’ve been busting my ass, trying to make this work and having to figure things out as I go. God forbid, anyone in this town ever offer any advice other than to tell me I should sell and move back to where I came from.

  And I’m the cold-hearted bitch who’s too good for them?

  The thought grates harder than the stacks of correspondence from the bank inside and the voicemails filling my phone that tell me I’m about to lose my ranch.

  I storm through the house, feet stomping on the hardwood floors in an attempt to try to make myself feel better. Isn’t that the best part about living alone? You can do what you want, and there is no one there to tell you that you’re overreacting.

  But I am.