“With the girls about to go in estrus, which will happen sooner rather than later, they’ll send some guys out to stay here. We talked about logistics, and it’s easier for them to bring the studs here for the month than for us to travel to them. And if Doc Arlington’s right, the mares we have will start going into labor about the same time.”
“It’s ’bout to get busy around here.” Will laughs.
“In more ways than one,” Jack jokes. There’s a clatter of pails against the concrete floor and the sound of a hose being turned on. “If it goes the way we think it will, I might be asking you to stay a few nights up here with me in the bunkhouse. All of that’s a lot for Tate and me to manage on a normal day, but trying to pretend like we’re ten times bigger than that for these Steely guys’ sake means we need to look like it too.”
My mind tries to calculate where the money is going to come from to feed hungry cowboys for a month. I think back to the bills when we had a full staff before money started getting tight and cringe.
I’ll have to make a decision soon whether to use the money I’m saving by not having to pay Lone Star Feed toward trying to make up a mortgage payment, a show of good faith that I’m really trying, or use it for this new development.
Rob Peter to pay Paul.
Christ.
Maybe I need to lower my asking price on Ruby.
No matter what I decide, Jack’s right. We have to appear bigger than we are because no operation as huge as Steely Brothers is going to sign on a rinky-dink operation.
“You good with that, Will?” Jack reiterates.
“With staying here a few nights? Not a problem at all. My old man’s been hitting the bottle a lot lately, so I’d gladly take the chance to be elsewhere for a bit.”
There’s a pause of silence, and I wish I could see Jack’s face because something tells me that little tidbit of information was new to him.
“Hey, Will?” Jack asks.
“Yeah?”
I peek my head out from the stall to find Will looking at Jack, his expression serious and hopeful and all things youthful.
“You’re welcome to stay up here any time you need to,” Jack offers. “You have a good future ahead of you. If you need to get away to keep your head on straight, know there’s a bunk here any time you need it.”
Will nods but averts his eyes quickly, but I catch a sniffle as he occupies himself with an already mucked stall.
Hell.
Why did I need to see that? Why did I need to know that Jack is not only kind to me but also good to others?
Why did my heart need to skip a beat?
Jack looks over to me with a somber expression. He may be standing there with a hose in his hand cleaning down the stalls, but I see the man who was standing in my studio two nights ago. The one whose jeans hung low on his hips and tugged on the desire he awakened. The lover who didn’t judge me as I told him I cheated the system, who didn’t blame me for not wanting to believe my husband committed suicide to escape.
The man who held me against his bare chest as we fell asleep on the couch after talking till the early morning hours.
“You good?” he asks, and I just nod.
But it’s the crunch of gravel that pulls my attention away from him. His eyes narrow as I walk to the stable’s opening to find Rusty’s cruiser pulling to a stop, the dust he kicked up swirling behind him.
“What is it, Knox?” Jack asks, and I’m not sure what bugs me more: knowing why Rusty is here or Jack calling me Knox.
“Nothing,” I mutter as I stalk toward the driveway.
“Tate?”
I stop and look back at him, my smile slight and my anger simmering. My name back on his lips goes hand in hand with my need for this bullshit to go away because things might finally be looking up for me. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”
“Who is—Christ,” he swears when he finally sees who the visitor is. “How about you introduce me to him.”
Will glances our way, oblivious to what is about to happen, and I shake my head.
“No, it’s just . . .” I can take care of it myself. I know he’s seen how this town is to me, but I don’t want him to see more of it. I don’t want him to see me through a different set of eyes. “Let me. It’s my . . . I can handle it.”
Jack stands there, the muscle feathering in his jaw, but he nods without saying another word and moves back to helping Will.
My hands are on my hips, and my feet are on the edge of my driveway by the time Rusty steps out of the cruiser.
“Let me guess,” I say as soon as he shuts his car door. “You finally found out the truth. I’m a fugitive who’s been on the run for years. The stable is actually a meth lab, and I keep the horses as a cover. That’s why I can’t make a profit to keep this place afloat with horse sales . . . but, shhh, I do have a tank load of money over in the broken-down silo from all my drug sales.” The smile I flash is sickeningly sweet and loaded with the same sarcasm that laces my voice.
He coughs out a laugh with a shake of his head. “Seems someone ate their Wheaties with a side of snark this morning.”
“Nope, just sick of this bullshit.” I shift on my feet. “What is it, Rusty? You’ve only come out this way for two reasons: to tell me my husband died and to tell me someone hates me or my ranch or both. The first one can’t happen again, so I’m guessing it’s the latter.”
His smile is slow to spread, but when it does, it brightens his eyes. “I like this new you. Where has she been?”
“Good question.” I snort, but I know.
And I hate that it has anything to do with a man, but it does.
Not that Jack gave me worth by befriending me or that a few bouts of sex gave me that a-ha moment about everything, but there is something to be said about finding someone you trust after feeling like there is no one you can.
“So?” I let the word stretch out as he eyes the two trucks in the driveway that aren’t mine.
“Rumors are you’re selling. That you’re getting this all set up to pawn it off to some big rancher who’s going to gut this land and make a circus of the town.”
“Uh-huh. Big ranchers are knocking down the door to buy me out. The line they’re waiting in is right there.” I point to the empty lot on the side of my house. At least the rumors make sense since Jack used to deal in acquisitions. “What is the deal, Rusty, because I know you aren’t here to chase down gossip.”
“There is no deal,” Jack says, startling me since I hadn’t heard him walking up behind me. Rusty turns slowly, his thumbs hooked in the loops of his slacks, his shoulders squared. The look of surprise on his face probably mirrors mine. “Is there, Sheriff? You’re out here chasing bullshit rumors and badgering Tate because it’s ten times easier than confronting your old buddies from high school about shit they need to stop.”
“And you are?” Rusty asks, his tone not the slightest bit amused.
“A concerned citizen who’s having to connect the dots because it appears that you’re not exactly doing your job,” Jack says as he steps up beside me, arms folded over his chest, posture defensive.
“Name.” There is no mistaking that Rusty’s pissed.