“The sheriff’s up there weekly. There’s one complaint after another about her substandard care for the horses. No one in town dares to buy one. They don’t trust that they’re in good health.”
“She doesn’t deserve the land she owns. No wonder the Destin twins are pissed and want it back. She and her husband have done nothing but waste their opportunity with that ranch.”
“Do I need to call the sheriff to have you removed?” she asks.
“I hear you two are good friends with his regular visits up here and all.” The tendons in her neck strain as she tries to hide her temper. I’m trying to push boundaries so that I can walk away from this place with the lie set in place that I really tried to make this work but failed.
“It’s Texas, Mr. Sutton. No one will think twice if I shoot you for trespassing.” She smiles sweetly. “We like to protect what’s ours and know we won’t be questioned for doing so.”
“Ah, but you’re not from Texas, are you?” I ask, uncertain why I feel the need to keep bantering. “From what I gather, the citizens of Lone Star don’t really claim you as their own.”
I’m a prick for pointing out the obvious since I’m probably more welcome in this town than she is, but I can’t figure out how she lives here, has set up a life here, and yet, no one really seems to know her.
Maybe it’s their not knowing her that’s earned her the vitriol.
Then again, all she has to do is open her mouth and their point’s proven in the first few sentences.
“I don’t care what the people in town think of me, let alone anyone else, really.” Another tight smile. A throw of her thumb over her shoulder. “Should I go prove to you I have the shotgun locked and loaded, always on the ready . . . just in case?”
“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.”