He merely scowled sending a wad of tar colored saliva flying to the ground.
“One of the things my father wrote in that journal was There ain’t a rule that ain’t meant to be broken.”
His grunt of approval disintegrated into quiet laughter. “That was one of your father’s favorite lines.”
“I think maybe that applies here too.”
“You know what I think?” Mr. Montgomery didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “I think you’re starting to sound like a woman who wants to stick around.”
She couldn’t hide the pride settling in the grooves surrounding her mouth. “It’s growing on me.”
“There are benefits to both. In my opinion, I think a mixture of old ways and new would be a better, more productive fit.”
“Would it profit the ranch, economically speaking, to make some changes?”
“It’s not all about the bottom line, Miss Thompson. Your father, as well as the generations before him, nursed this ranch through the changing era when it came under fence, through drought and blizzards, and panic when prices fell and cattle died.”
“I bet they made changes to improve herds and their bottom dollar.”
“Cattle business is hard and dirty and there are no guarantees. However, I do believe that if we made a few adjustments, the ranch’s bottom dollar would grow.” Another spit of tobacco skewered the ground. “And the hands are all deserving of a raise.”
“How long has it been since any of them got a raise?”
“It’s been quite a spell. We’ve lost a few good hands to other ranches. Several stick around because they were loyal to your father, but I’m aware of offers that have been made to a few.”
“Is Travis one of them?”
Concern notched a deep groove between his brows. “Are you taking a likin’ to…”
“No no. Just curious. You said he was one of the best workers on the ranch.”
Mr. Montgomery dipped his head, hat shadowing his features from her view. “Yes, Travis is considering a move.”
Ember remained quiet for a moment. “If they’re giving us their loyalty, shouldn’t they be our most precious assets? Other than the cattle of course. I mean, after all, you’re only as good as the people you surround yourself with.”
“Did you read that one in that journal too?”
“No, that one came from my mother.” Ember smirked, lifting the straw hat from her head, wiping the sweat from her temples with the back of her hand. “I’d like to sit down and at least look at the numbers and discuss some of the possible advantages.”
“I suppose we can do that,” he acknowledged with a whiskery grin and another spat of tobacco juice. “While we’re on the subject of making some changes, how ‘bout you get yourself some real boots.”
Her lips turned upward teasingly. “How ‘bout you consider giving up that horrid habit, Mr. Montgomery?”
Half a dozen boxes of roper-style boots sat on the floor beside a long wooden bench. She slipped into the third pair hoping for a more comfortable fit than the first two. Ember walked to the end of the aisle, checking for comfort and support.
Hearing a deep, familiar voice in the near vicinity sent a rush of delight spindling through her. She decided to extend her boot comfort test, fighting to slow her steps as she meandered to the next aisle over.
Rounding the corner, she was greeted with the view of Nash’s firm muscular butt as he hinged at the waist, assisting an older man with a boot. A pleasant, ticklish heat prickled her skin. The play of his sunbaked muscular arms, cording and flexing, drew a small sigh of appreciation.
Ember cleared the nerves from her throat. “Hey.”
Still bending, Nash cocked his head, showering her with a surprised smile. “Hey, yourself,” he said, taking her in. “Boot shopping?”
“Yeah, apparently, mine weren’t up to snuff.”
He nodded in agreeance.
The older man sitting in a chair looked her over with wide-eyed curiosity. He bore the same square jaw and rugged handsomeness as Nash. His frown was a clear indication the boots on her feet were still not up to par.
“You lookin’ for a riding boot?”
“Yes, sir,” Ember said. A large knee brace running from his shin to his thigh hindered his movements, so she stepped closer and extended a hand. “You must be Nash’s father, Mr. Harris.”
“That I am, and who might you be?” His striking blue eyes were a little less intense, the vibrancy tamed over time, but the orneriness a mirror image of the young man standing at his side.
Nash straightened to his full height, his long fingers brushed downward against his abdomen, tidying the creases in his perfectly pressed blue shirt.
Her thoughts scattered remembering how good he felt, hard muscles pressed against her body, when he tackled her to the ground.
Rolled on top of her.
Wedged himself between her thighs.
“Dad, this is Mr. Walker’s daughter, Ember Thompson.”
A puzzled look came over his face, softening his features, pulling years from his weathered skin. He may have been maimed, but the man sitting before her wreaked of power. Other than the glow of his umber skin, layer upon layer of years in the sun, she would’ve never guessed him to be a rancher. He had the appearance of a well-kept businessman, slacks and button-down shirt neatly pressed, gray hair trimmed to perfection, and an expensive watch wrapped around his thick wrist.
He reached for Nash’s arm, struggling to his feet. Tucking a crutch up under his arm, he clasped her hand between his. The flesh of his palm was smooth and uncalloused. “It is a pleasure. Sorry for your loss, honey.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze drifted between them. “What’d you do to your leg?”
“Knee replacement,” he said with a speculative gaze, stacking up any similarities she shared with her father. “I knew your daddy for nearly half my life.” He smiled, a genuine smile that made her want to sit by his side and soak up the years of knowledge tucked beneath a headful of thick gray hair. “It’s a damn shame you never got a chance to know him.”
The admiration in his tone surprised her. Mr. Montgomery had only mentioned Mr. Harris’s name in passing a few times, but there was always a hint of disapproval in his tone. She tried to innocently pull information out of him, but at times Mr. Montgomery could be as tight-lipped as a turnip.
“You were good friends?”
Their gazes met and held. His throaty chuckle reverberated through her bones. “We were many things, but friends might be stretching it a bit.”
Ember’s eyes widened, darting toward Nash hoping for a little more input. “You were enemies?”
“Honey, this is Texas. We don’t have enemies. We have friendly adversaries.”
Nash made a face, eyes dusting shut as he shook his head. Cynicism coated his tone. “It’s a long story. One I’ve heard a hundred times.”
“Ha! Is there ever such a thing as a short story?” Mr. Harris’s booming voice carried through the store.
“Not when it comes from you, Dad.”
The old rascal looked at her as if they were old friends, giving her hand a few pats before easing back onto the bench. “Your father was a good man and a great rancher, but he could hold one hell of a grudge.”