I finally turn to face her, and she has her arms across her chest, her jaw is clenched, and her eyes are narrowed. The woman looks both impatient and irritated.

  And goddamn it . . . she’s beautiful.

  Like that fucking matters.

  “You asked me out here. Was there something you wanted to say?”

  “I wanted to show you exactly how this relationship is going to go. I give orders, and you follow.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” I shrug and take a step toward her. “Let’s get one thing straight. You need me. You—”

  “I don’t need—”

  “If you didn’t,” I say, cutting her off and infuriating her further, “you wouldn’t have sought me out in Ginger’s and made a show out of trying to prove you wear the pants in this relationship.”

  She opens her mouth and then proceeds to shut it when I lift a lone brow in challenge.

  “But you know this town better than you think you do. You know they’re judgmental assholes who think only men can ranch and breed and that maybe . . . just maybe, hiring a man like me, who they’ve already taken a liking to, might be in your best interest,” I say, full well knowing her little comment inside might have just damaged that likability factor some. “So, like me. Don’t like me. I don’t give a fuck. You need me to help run your ranch and to help change the tide of opinion, and you know it.”

  “Charming,” she mutters through gritted teeth, but I know I have her. They may think she’s a haughty bitch, but I see the scared lady who’s running on instinct and grit and scraps of hope.

  “I know. Charm is a rarity for me, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Ginger’s patrons are trying not to make it obvious that they are craning their necks to see what’s going on outside the windows, and I turn away from them.

  “And what’s in it for you?” she counters.

  “For me?” I laugh and bite back the first thing that comes to my mind as I take a long look at her because she definitely is not hard on the eyes. “I’ll, uh, get to hone my skills.”

  She angles her head as she tries to figure out what I mean.

  “I thought you were at the top of your game. Now you tell me your skills need honing. Which is it, Sutton?”

  “You’d be a fool not to hire me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Because I’m a Sutton.

  The words almost slip. My birthright almost exposed in a place where no one needs to know my business or who my family is. One more crumb possibly dropped as to why I’m here.

  “Because you just would be. Sending me away is not a mistake you want to make.” A muscle in her jaw feathers as she bites back the retort I can see glaring in her eyes. “Good. Now that we have that settled, let’s set some rules.”

  “I’m the boss,” she says in a soft, even voice that sounds like controlled temper and mistrust all rolled into one.

  “In theory and name, yes.”

  She bristles. “In everything.”

  I give her a half-cocked smile, letting her know how wrong she is. “You may have busted your ass to keep that place afloat, but we both know something had to have been mismanaged. You have no staff, very few foals to sell come season, and you’re running that place on a shoestring budget when you need a hell of a lot more than that to be successful. Hell, I admire you for trying to figure out the ins and outs of this world based on things you overheard from your husband, but I already know them.” I take a step closer to her. “I’ll work your ranch, Knox. I’ll get what needs to be repaired, repaired. I’ll get your mares pregnant with the next batch of foals to sell. I’ll make your name and horses known in the places it needs to be known in order to get some customers who don’t know a thing about the bullshit the people in this town spew about you. On top of that, I’ll even try to get that derby horse of yours a stallion because we both know that foal could net you a pretty penny. Regardless, we do this my way. My rules. My—”

  “But—”

  “Not your turn.” I hold up a hand and take a little bit of joy in watching the shock on her face. “You ran that place into the ground, even if there were extenuating circumstances. You want to learn how to do it, then be prepared to step in and get your hands dirtier than they’ve ever been. I’ll gladly teach you, but I won’t take attitude and I won’t be the punching bag for your temper while I’m trying to rebuild it.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Seems to me like you’ve already been there and back. You can either let me help you or you can keep doing what you’re doing.” I shrug. “Your choice.”

  We stand in the early afternoon sun as a war over who is more stubborn rages between us.

  “Fine.” It takes everything she has to scrape that small contrition from her.

  “Good. Room and board—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  My laugh is long and low, and I just stare at her with a shake of my head. “It’s a deal breaker for me.”

  “Same goes here.”

  “What are you afraid of? That you might actually end up liking me? That I just might show you how to make your ranch work?” I take another step toward her. “You need me on-site. You need me there in case something goes wrong with a horse in the middle of the night. You need them comfortable with me considering I’m the one in charge. I assure you there’s enough air up there for us both to breathe and not get in each other’s ways.” My grin is a taunt for her to test me. “I live there or my offer is off the table.”

  “Your offer?” she asks as she coughs through a laugh.

  “My offer.” I nod. “You can have it one of two ways. You can keep your failing ranch that you run all by yourself because no one else will work for you . . . or you can let me run the ranch and make it what it should be. On my terms. Your call.”

  6

  TATE

  Two duffel bags.

  That was all he had.

  What kind of man plans to move to my ranch, run it for the next six months, and only brings two bags of personal items with him?

  Two bags?

  Is he married? Divorced? A player? Hell, is he even who he says he is?

  The thoughts fire off as I tell myself not to watch him from my perch on the porch. I should be focused on my dwindling finances, which are listed on spreadsheets on the table before me, but curiosity rules my mind.

  It doesn’t help that Fiona’s comments run circles around my own thoughts.

  I glance toward the bunkhouse and the shadow that keeps passing in front of the window every few seconds. I can only imagine what he’s doing in there. It isn’t as if he has many belongings to put away. Maybe he’s on the phone with his lover or telling someone how crazy he is for agreeing to work here.

  And yet, I keep watching.

  I keep questioning if I made the right decision in inviting Jack Sutton to work here, to be a part of my life, to know my business.

  I keep wondering if he will even be able to save my ranch and home.

  One glance at the total listed at the bottom of the spreadsheet is a stark reminder of what’s left of my savings.

  At some point, the dream of running this ranch stopped being only Fletcher’s, but I don’t know at which point it started to be mine. Is it my dream, or is it my chance to prove to everyone else that they are wrong? Can my motivation be spite? To prove to a dead person exactly how it can be done without cheating people and to show an entire town that I’m stronger than they think I am?

  Maybe it’s more personal than that. Maybe it’s my need to know that I didn’t give up my family, my career, and my possibilities for nothing.

  Will simply saving my ranch from foreclosure give me that, or do I also need to make sure it’s a raging success before I feel as if I’ve found whatever in the hell it is I’m trying to find? Closure. Confidence.

  Blowing out a breath, I lean back in the porch chair, rest my head along its back, and look up. Stars light up the night sky, and I stare at them until they blend into the darkness. The tumult of emotions that never seem to stop whirl around me, but this time, they’re different. Sure, the anger over what Fletcher did will always be there and so will the sense of loss I felt when I found out that everything I had believed in was a lie. There is even a bit of understanding that, while he might have loved me, loving someone doesn’t mean I have to accept being screwed over and left to clean up the other person’s mess.

  But there’s also a guarded curiosity.

  Is Jack Sutton what I need right now? Not only to fix my ranch but also to help me learn how to run it myself?

  Perhaps it’s a bit of all of them.

  An echo of laughter floats across the country silence. I’m so used to the rustle of trees, the neigh of horses, and the sound of my thoughts, that a man’s deep tenor as he laughs at something is alien to me.

  It feels weird to have a man living on-site again. Sure, I’ve had ranch hands on and off, but they went to their own homes at night. I haven’t let them live here because I didn’t want to share space, hear them, see them, or run into them while I was sitting on the porch in my pajamas at eight o’clock at night with only the ache of loneliness as my company.

  It’s only been four hours since Jack followed me up here, signed the contract, and started getting settled, but the change in atmosphere is noticeable. Undeniable.

  I squeeze my eyes shut but force my hands to relax their grip on the arms of the chair.

  Six months.

  That’s all it is, Tate.

  One hundred eighty days before his contract expires and he’s gone and I’ll know if I . . . what? If I’ve saved my ranch and have turned some kind of profit? If I’ll be forced to walk away as a failure?

  Hell, even if I save this place and prove everyone in town wrong, I’m not sure if I’ll stay. The thought of living with Fletcher’s ghost isn’t something that really appeals to me.

  I shake my head as uncertainty circles and watch the small window above the shower light up as he moves into the bathroom.

  “Work, Tatum. Get back to work,” I mumble as I grab my papers and head inside, but not before one more glance his way.

  7

  TATE

  One cluck of a tongue is all it takes for Willow to fall in love with him.

  That’s all it takes for her to saunter over to him, lower her nose, and nuzzle her forehead against his as he whispers sweet nothings to her.

  Gracie and her all-black flank with the diamond of white on her forehead is even easier for him to schmooze than Willow. She sees the attention he is giving to Willow and fell into line: tail swishing, ears falling apart, a neigh sighing from her mouth.

  Then there’s my thoroughbred Ruby, Fletcher’s pride and joy, who prances some at the sight of Jack.

  Looking at her hurts, but the decision I made when it came to her hurts even more. So, I focus on Jack instead. On how irritated I am at him because all he has to do is talk to them to win them over while I have to pull out every stop.

  I’m standing just outside the stable, watching him. The grass is wet, and steam rises off it in the early morning sunshine, a promising prelude to a warm day. In short, it’s a beautiful and poetic morning to watch my horses get to know him while I personally bristle every time I hear his voice.

  Fletcher used to laugh at me as I called the horses over and over, bribing them with apples and carrots and affection, only to have them walk over to him. After he died, their desire for my comfort was even less. It was almost as if they knew he was gone and blamed me. They refused to eat. They fought my direction or urging every chance they got.

  They weren’t sick. They just didn’t like me. Still don’t, not really.

  Watching them cozy up to Jack and playfully vie for his attention has me choking on an odd sense of betrayal.

  Just like a female to fall for a sexy voice and a nice ass.

  Not this female, though.

  Gracie dances as Jack moves out of the ring and into the stable area before reappearing a second later, leading Ruby by her bridle.

  “Jealous girl,” he croons to Gracie as he lets go of Ruby, her coat glistening in the sunlight. She bows her head a few times and whinnies at the sound of his voice.

  “You could at least play hard to get,” I grumble as I turn my back and start to head back to the house. A man gives them attention, and they preen from it.

  “Who was that?” Jack calls over his shoulder, making me stop in my tracks and turn to face him again.

  “Who was who?” I feign ignorance about who was in the truck that kicked up the dust on the driveway a half hour ago and step toward the fence. “Oh, the man? Wrong address.”

  “He sure stayed a long time if it was a wrong address.” He tips his hat up off his forehead with a finger. “Was the envelope he handed you for the wrong address too or was he serving you papers?”

  “Wrong address.” It was actually the process server who was in the right place, and the envelope he hand delivered to the correct person was from my lender.

  Sheryl warned me it might happen and that it was standard procedure, but it didn’t make it any less jarring to be receiving them.

  “Usually, lawsuits are served like that?”

  Or foreclosure notices.

  “He was at the wrong address.” My voice rises with each word.

  “Huh.” The sound carries across the breeze but doesn’t convince me that he believes me, but he purses his lips and nods before turning back to Gracie, letting it go for now.

  Still, with each passing second, my cheeks heat and anger rises. Embarrassment from actually being served and anger over him watching it all happen are both clear emotions in me.

  It’s none of his damn business, and I’m not sure why he feels as if he has any right to ask about who stopped by.

  I stare blindly through the tears welling, my hands beginning to hurt with how hard they are gripping the railing in front of me, but it stings.

  All of this stings. The unforgiving bank and Jack with the damn horses that like him on the spot but that still somewhat hate me.

  “You gonna stand there all day and watch me, or are you going to come learn something?” Jack calls out as another gust picks up and I have to shield my eyes against the dust it brings with it.

  “My ranch.” I shrug and push the hair off my cheek.

  His chuckle is low and even as he angles a glance over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes are unrelenting when they meet mine.

  “This is how it’s going to be?” He shrugs as he takes our all white mare, River, by the reins. “Suit yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Another chuckle. Another shake of his head. Another slow rub up and down her nose as he continues walking her around the ring. “It isn’t worth getting upset over, you know?”

  “What am I upset over?”

  “It seems as if you’re pissed that the horses like me, which, to me, would seem to be a bonus considering you hired me to take care of them.”

  “And?” I shift my feet and wait for the point he’s trying to make known, but he doesn’t continue. He walks River a bit more before reaching into a bucket and handing her a piece of apple while praising her.

  It’s hard to want to hate him when he’s nice. It’s hard to want to trust him when I know he went into town last night and did who knows what at the bar.

  “If you’re going to stand there and watch, you might as well help. Grab Willow and brush her down for me, will you?”

  “Fine. Sure.” Still angry but happy to have something to do besides sulk, I climb the fence, and my boots thump when I land. Within seconds, I have Willow by the reins and am leading her toward the gate that leads into the shaded area outside the stables where the grooming supplies are.

  “You know, we could hire someone else to do that, right?” he calls out as I shut the gate at my back. “Most ranch owners aren’t the ones responsible for that task.”

  “I’m not most ranch owners,” I counter instead of asking him why he suggested I do it in the first place.

  “You most definitely are not,” he murmurs so quietly that I can just barely make it out.

  I set to work on Willow, running the brush in one hand followed by my bare palm of the other over the strong muscles playing beneath her coat. I find an odd solace in the work. In the repetition. In taking care of something that truly needs it.

  Here and there, she leans into me when I hit a sensitive spot that feels good to her.

  Jack’s clucks and praise to the other horses slowly become background noise as I let the mindless task become a sort of meditation that both relaxes and soothes me in the simplest of ways.

  The gate at my back clanks open and shut as Jack goes to grab something. My guess is more treats, but I don’t turn to look. Instead, I listen to the beat of his boots on the concrete floor as they grow faint when he walks away and then louder as he returns.

  And just as the gate clanks open, another gust of wind hits, swirling inside the alcove where I have Willow hitched. The blast of air picks up a plastic shopping bag that had been shoved in a bucket to save it for a later use and throws it up.

  Before I can intercept it, the bag flutters against Willow’s face, and she spooks. With the handle of the bag freakishly looping over her ear, she rears up on her hindquarters and a loud cry falls from her as she bucks to get it off.

  “Woah, girl!” I shout as I try to avoid her landing on me at the same time I try to pull the bag off her face.

  Right as I’m within grasp of the bag, she rears up again, but this time, she turns toward me as she comes back down.

  Seconds pass in what feels like snapshots of time—fast and furious.

  Jack pulling me back from her front legs. The tether rope coming loose from where I tied it. Willow running toward the dead end of the stables, bag still attached to her ear as she bucks and thrashes her head.

  His hands are on my shoulders as his head lowers so his eyes can meet mine. “You okay?” he asks, and when I fail to find words around the adrenaline surge, he gives me a shake. “Knox? Are you okay?”