“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.