Rusty sounds much older than his thirty-two years, but I guess that’s what comes from listening to your dad your whole life.
“Your father doing well?” I ask.
He nods. “As good as retirement can be expected. I think he misses the feeling of importance that wearing the badge gave him, but he’s managing just fine.”
I had no idea that Rusty Sr. had retired, but the way his son says it, I should have. I smile to cover my surprise. “Does that mean he’s driving you crazy and constantly asking about the town happenings?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rusty moves across the driveway, his eyes taking a curious glance around the ranch, and I wonder what it is he sees. Does he still see Fletcher Knox’s ranch or does he see Tatum Knox’s attempt to keep it afloat?
And I’m not quite sure why I care but Jack Sutton’s words from the day before hit a nerve that I want settled.
“What can I do for you, Rusty?”
He hooks his thumbs in his utility belt and shifts his feet some before meeting my eyes. “Another complaint has come in on the ranch.”
“Christ. For what this time?” I ask with a part chuckle, part sigh of exasperation. “How can there be any complaints about my care when there isn’t a single person who’s been up here to see otherwise?”
“Not a one?”
“I think I’d know, and I assure you no one was up here who looked close enough to have a valid reason to lodge a complaint.”
He draws in a steep breath and nods. “I have to investigate it all the same.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says, slipping his sunglasses on. “So, you haven’t had anyone come up here and cause you trouble?”
Jack was here, but he seemed like a straight shooter, not some asshole who would call in a petty complaint as a way of getting back at me.
But he has been hanging out at the bar.
“Nope. Can’t say that I have.”
“What about that Jack fellow. The one who’s in town for the job?”
Definitely been at the bar.
“The complaints have been happening well before he got to town. I mean, I don’t really know him, so I can’t say for sure, but what reason would he have to say anything?”
Besides the fact I ran him off and he mentioned the complaints himself.
Shit.
“Did you hire him?”
“No.”
“There’s reason enough right there. He traveled quite a way to interview.”
“He told you that?”
“No. Haven’t met him yet . . . but rumor at Ginger’s is that he did.”
“Hmm. Love those Lone Star rumors.” I sigh. “What was the complaint this time? You know I’m not starving the horses because you already checked on that complaint two months ago. You know they have the best medical care because Doc is your friend and she’d tell you otherwise. Besides, when that complaint was lodged last month, I showed you all of my vet bills so you knew that was false. Should I keep going through all of the grievances that have been filed and that you’ve debunked or can we just assume this one is just as baseless? Because, honestly, this is getting quite ridiculous.”
“It is.” His eyes take in the ranch slowly.
“When are they all going to get over that damn article? It wasn’t meant how it was taken. I wasn’t bad-mouthing Lone Star. I wasn’t showing them how much better I was than them. Christ,” I mutter, “if they don’t want people to think they’re small-minded, then they need to stop acting like it.”
“We may be simple folk here, but we don’t take being insulted lightly.” He holds his hand up when I start to argue. “I know. You didn’t mean any harm by the article, but opinions have been formed.”
“And, apparently, they can’t be unformed.” I sigh in frustration, and Rusty nods without expressing an opinion. “The complaints are bullshit, Rusty. You know that. I know that. I’m not going to let them push me out, and I’m not going to tolerate being harassed.”
“I know.” He shifts his hat from one hand to the next and then places it back on his head. “But I still have to investigate all the same. The anonymous caller stated that you have a lame mare that you aren’t getting the proper care for.”
I laugh. “Apparently, I have a lot of lame mares considering less than half of them are pregnant.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Of course, he’s heard. Everyone’s probably heard about how Tatum Knox took over her dead husband’s ranch and doesn’t know how to run it any better than her husband did.
Just another thing for this damn town to gossip over. Just another instance where they think Karma has worked her magic.
I look down at my scuffed boots and then back up at him. “What is it you need so you can go back to doing the real crime fighting?” Sarcasm laces my tone, and I don’t try to hide it.
“Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“Be my guest.”
Rusty walks down toward the stables, poking his head here and there. Pushing open doors to see what’s inside. He pauses briefly to talk to some of the horses, his hand automatically sliding up and down their noses in greeting before he passes on to the next one.
“See anything amiss?” I ask when he seems to have reached the end of his half-assed search. “All horses standing? Fed? Healthy?”
“Everything looks good to me. You’ve got some great-looking ladies out there.” He lifts his chin to the pasture where a few of the mares are out roaming. “You’re thin on stock, though,” he says, reminding me of those first few months of chaos after Fletcher died.
When I was so lost in simply trying to get through the next second, the next moment, the next day because I’d been so swamped in grief that I let my storage rooms almost run bare. And then, just when I thought I might be able to breathe again, I was hit with the truth about what Fletcher had done. I was forced to figure out just how in the hell I was not only going to make it through the next day but also how I was going to keep this place afloat.
“You planning on bringing some new mares in here or are you going to keep some of the foals when they’re born so you have more to work with going forward?” he asks, his tone genuine, as if he’s interested in my future plans. All I really hear is the reminder of just how few horses I’m housing, which is nowhere near enough to maintain a breeding ranch’s standard.
“I’m working on figuring all of that out. Finding someone who can come in here and tell me if it’s better to keep the foals or to sell them and use the money to secure better bloodlines. Obviously, what we’ve—I’ve done in the past hasn’t worked, so we’ll see. Regardless, I need more mares for breeding. I need to build up my stock . . . my reputation”
“But more horses mean more work and more work—”
“Means needing more staff.” I lift my eyebrows, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. I laugh disbelievingly and cross my arms over my chest. “Hell, Rust, maybe this is fate’s way of telling me I don’t know shit about being a breeder and I need to just sell this place and walk away.” My chest constricts at the thought.