by Sarah Monzon
As if reading my mind, Doc indicated the barn with his head. “Go on. I’ll release mama here and make sure she mothers up to the calf, cleans him, and he gets to his feet and starts nursing.”
Jocelyn followed me to the free-standing sink along the far wall of the barn. I turned on the water then stood back so she could wash up first. Suds formed past her elbows as she lathered soap on every available inch of surface along her arms. She rinsed then stepped out of the way to give me a turn.
“I’ve never witnessed anything so…” She wiped her hands on a blue towel that had seen better days while she searched for the right word.
I scrubbed soap between my fingers. “Terrifying?”
“Incredible.” She handed me the towel after I turned the faucet off. “I mean, yes, eww, but also aww.”
My movements slowed. “Are you saying you’ve never seen an animal give birth before?”
She shook her head.
“Not even a pet?”
“I’ve never had a pet.”
Never had a—
A doggie sneeze sounded from the corner, followed by a noisy yawn. Scout rose and stretched then ambled over to Jocelyn, plopping down again at her feet. The traitor looked up at her with adoring eyes as if to say I’ll be your pet.
Jocelyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For letting me experience that. I’ll never forget it.” She turned to go then stopped. “Almost forgot the whole reason I came out here to begin with.”
Took me a second to remember as well. “Domino.”
“Right. Is it weird for a person who’s never had a pet to fall so completely in love with a horse”—Scout whined and she looked down at him with a smile—“and a dog?” She looked at me expectantly.
Shoot. What should I say in return?
She waved a hand. “Never mind. That’s not what I wanted to talk about either. The thing is, I don’t actually have five-thousand dollars on hand. I can get it though, so don’t think I’m backing out of our deal. Or Betsy said something about people leasing horses, but I told her Domino wasn’t a Toyota.”
“He’s more of a Ram classic.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Funny.”
“I’ll talk it over with Nate, but I’m sure he’d be thrilled with the idea of a lease.” I, on the other hand, had come to the opposite conclusion. Her continued presence at the ranch would be nothing more than sweet agony, and I had no intention of torturing myself. Which was why I needed to succeed where I’d failed thus far in putting as much space between the two of us as possible until she returned to the city.
17
Jocelyn
“Can you hang back for a second, Jocelyn?” Jayden looked up at me from the stack of papers he shuffled on the large oak dining table we’d commandeered yet again to hold another staff meeting.
I got it. We were here on a corporate retreat, after all, so a modicum of mini-seminars and gatherings were expected, but I couldn’t help it if my patience for Jayden’s lack of leadership skills had worn thinner than a middle-aged man’s receding hairline.
I schooled my facial muscles into blasé compliance so as not to alert my boss to my rising irritation in his lack of abilities. “Sure thing.”
Bill gathered his briefcase, and Sam followed him out, talking about how nice it would be to bring a fishing pole back to the river. Donald glanced back at me then shuffled his gaze to Jayden, his brows pulling together to form a ridge over his eyes. Tonya pushed him on the shoulder, and the two exited. Henry dashed out without a backward glance.
Jayden’s sigh travelled around the room like the pace car at a Formula 1 race. When the breath of air made it full circle, his words shot from his mouth. “I hope you won’t report Henry to HR.”
An acrid stench filled my nose. “Excuse me?”
He ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling the long lengths on top and transforming his look from office modish to surf-and-sand vogue, reminding me once again how out of place he was in his position.
“I know what he said was out of line.”
I snorted.
“But compounding the situation by filing a formal complaint—”
My head pounded against my skull, and I held up a hand. Jayden really needed to stop talking before he dug this hole any deeper. “I’m not going to HR.”
His Pacific-blue eyes blinked. “You’re not?”
“No.” I stood. “I take it we’re done here?”
He nodded, dumbfounded.
I marched out of the dining room, but instead of turning right toward the front door, I turned left toward the kitchen. Maybe Gran would have something sweet to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.
Dishes clanked together as I stepped over the threshold. Amanda stood in the middle of the tile floor, a plate held below her chin with a large cinnamon bun in the center, white cream cheese frosting running in rivulets down its speckled side. The blast of sugar and spicy cinnamon hit me like a semi, and my mouth watered in anticipation.
Gran rotated from her spot in front of the sink and smiled at me. “Hungry?”
“Umm…” My gaze darted to the corners and out the window. “Nicole’s not around?” I asked Amanda.
Amanda sucked frosting off her finger. “She thought she saw an endangered owl, so she and Sierra are romping around in the woods by the wagon.”
Which would keep her busy for a while. I peeked at the glass dish filled with spinning wheels of sweet dough. Gran chuckled, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and served me a piece. I bit into the confection and my eyes rolled, a moan of pleasure vibrating at the back of my throat. Even if Nicole walked in now, listening to her lecture me about cheating on my sugar cleanse would be worth it. Not that I hadn’t been cheating this whole time, but what Nicole didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her…or me.
“I was just about to show Mrs. Thomas some of the pictures I posted of the ranch on my Instagram.” Amanda set her plate on the counter and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She tapped on the screen a few times then held her phone out and beckoned us to scooch closer to see.
A picture of the farmhouse with a brilliant sunrise streaking across the sky in the background filled the screen. The place looked idyllic and magical and everything it truly was. Amanda hadn’t even written a caption; just added a few hashtags.
#ranchlife #westernlifestyle #longlivecowboys #duderanch #yournextvacation #youcouldbehere.
Already there were a thousand-plus likes.
She scrolled down to the next picture, a close-up of Snoopy, his furry face and round nose highlighted in an adorable way. Over two hundred comments ranging from heart and smiley emojis to gushing over the calf’s cuteness factor.
More pictures of the ranch, the horses, and the Thomas siblings. Amanda swiped and Malachi’s face filled the screen.
My breath caught, and that little kick of surprise I’d felt in my gut that first time I turned and saw him shoved against the back of my ribs again. I’d found him attractive even then, with his charming manners and natural cowboy swagger.
His dark eyes stared steadily back at me through the screen, and I took the opportunity to study their depths. Often, he’d avert his gaze instead of maintaining eye contact. Which would explain why I hadn’t noticed the rim of color two shades lighter surrounding his pupil, or the way his left eye appeared rounder than his right. His ever-present black cowboy hat filled the top of the frame, the dip in the brim low across his brow. His square jaw and the firm lines around his mouth gave him a serious look—one I wanted to tease away to hear an encore of his rich laughter.
The picture was a good one, evidenced by the number of likes and comments. A strange twinge of something foreign skittered down my breastbone.
Malachi probably wouldn’t like his picture plastered on the internet. He was a private man, even though he worked somewhat in the hospitality business (which made the question of why buzz louder in the back of my brain). Quiet, unassuming, loyal, and p
atient. Some might call him brooding or aloof, but I found his habit of keeping his head down while shouldering a mountain of work to be an intoxicatingly appealing trait.
“He looks so imposing in this picture.” Gran fingered the side of the phone in Amanda’s hand.
That word echoed in my heart. Malachi had used the same description for me. I leaned forward to look around Amanda and see Gran. “What do you mean?”
Gran glanced up from the screen. “I’ve always thought that boy rather remarkable. He has a dignified quality to his character that is arresting. Most of the time he’s ducking his head, so it’s harder to see for those who don’t know him like I do, but I think Miss Amanda here has captured his essence quite nicely in this photo. Don’t you agree?” She gave me a grandmotherly look that brooked no argument.
Not that I wouldn’t have agreed with her without the pointed expression.
My gaze drifted back to the picture.
Did Malachi think I was remarkable?
Amanda squeezed the sides of her phone, and her screen went black. “Just say the word, Mrs. Thomas, and I’ll set up a few social media accounts for you. Miriam’s already said that she can manage them, and I can even show her how to run a few ads on Facebook and Instagram that might help boost occupancy numbers.”
Gran pursed her lips then nodded. “I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of that before.” She scooped out the last cinnamon bun in the row and handed it to Amanda. “You’ve earned yourself another.”
Amanda’s greedy little fingers snatched the sweet. She pulled out her phone again and snapped a picture. “If your cooking doesn’t bring in more guests, then I don’t know what will.” She sank her teeth into the soft roll.
I pushed on her shoulder. “Thanks, Gran, for the treats, but we should probably head out and meet up with our friends.”
Gran waved. “Have a good day, girls.”
Amanda made moaning sounds that would bring a blush to the most seasoned sailor’s cheeks as she finished off the sweet roll.
I gave her a side eye. “Do you have to do that?”
“I can’t help it,” she said around the last bite.
With her uncomfortable noises silenced, a rhythmic, rasping noise drifted to us.
“What’s that?” she asked.
I shrugged. I may have surprised myself with how comfortable I’d become on the ranch, but that didn’t mean I’d transformed into an expert overnight. We rounded the outside corner of the barn and pulled up to a stop.
Malachi, his legs covered in dark-brown leather chaps that ended at his shins, bent at the waist beside a horse. The chestnut-colored equine had one of its front legs extended, its hoof resting on a knee-high metal cylinder. Malachi held the largest emery board known to man between his hands, and he ran the ridged edges of the flat side along the horse’s hoof.
“It looks like he’s giving his horse a pedicure.” But that couldn’t be right, could it?
“I’m sorry, what?” Amanda sounded unfocused. “I’m too distracted by that man’s perfect backside.”
My eyes started to dip, but I stopped their downward projection by turning to watch the back of my hand slap at Amanda’s upper arm.
She grinned unapologetically then leaned in and whispered, “I know you like him.” The way she waggled her eyebrows, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started singing Jocelyn and Malachi sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.
“What are we looking at?” A third voice caused me to whirl around, my heart pounding.
Molly frowned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You know, it’s a good thing cowboys wear wranglers.” Amanda tapped her chin, still staring in Malachi’s direction.
“What?” My brain tried to catch up to her random observation.
“I was just thinking, if they wore pants that didn’t fit so well around the hips—you know, like the ones some guys wear where we can see four inches of their boxer shorts?—then when they bent over like that, giving some sort of horsey mani-pedi, they’d end up with the equivalent of a plumber’s crack farmer’s tan.”
Now there was a mental image you couldn’t unsee.
I met Molly’s gaze, her eyes brimming with laughter.
“Also, our girl here is crushing on a cowboy.”
My eyes swung back to Amanda. How had she drawn that conclusion? I hadn’t even figured out how far my feelings for Malachi went.
“He’s shy though, so she’s obviously going to have to make the first move.”
“Oh, I know.” Molly raised her hand like she had the answer and wanted to be called on in class. “She should walk up to him and give him a big, fat kiss. That’ll erase all the doubt from his mind.”
I threw my arms out at my side.
She half-shrugged. “Worked for me with Ben. Sort of. Eventually.”
“First of all, Amanda, stop ogling Malachi’s backside.” I gripped her shoulders and forcibly rotated her to face the other direction. “Second, no one is kissing anyone.”
Amanda frowned, clearly disappointed.
“As for me and Malachi—” My ringing phone interrupted. Thankfully. Wasn’t really sure how that sentence would have ended.
I dug my phone out of my pocket. Damien? Unease slithered up my spine. My brother never called, not even when he needed something. He always went through Mama. “What’s—”
“Jo Jo, Mom’s in the hospital.”
18
Malachi
The heels of my palms dug into my lower back as I stretched out the kinks that hours of bending over had put there. Trimming the horse’s hooves myself saved me about forty dollars a head every six weeks or so, but my muscles protested against the DIY farrier work.
I straightened and patted Lightning’s rump. Only one more to go and I could pack away the nippers and rasp until next month.
“How’s it going?” Bill shaded his eyes against the bright afternoon sun as he leaned against the fence boards.
I picked up my water bottle and took a long draught, then wiped away the liquid that had dribbled down my chin with the back of my sleeve. “It’s going.”
“Good. Good.” Bill nodded, looking around. He seemed unhurried, as if he had nothing better to do than stand around and shoot the breeze.
Well, I had better things to do. “What can I do for you, Bill?”
The accountant leveled his gaze at me. Gone the guest who’d asked to borrow a fishing pole this morning; in his place, a shrewd businessman. “Actually, I wanted to discuss what I could possibly do for you.”
I untied Lightning’s lead rope and led him to the gate that opened to the pasture where the horses grazed. Muscle memory took over as my fingers worked the nylon straps through the buckle at the jaw of the gelding’s halter. Freed, Lightning trotted off.
I turned back to Bill. “I’m listening.” But I was also too busy to stop. If he had something he wanted to say, he’d have to say it while I worked.
“Right.” Bill’s hand reached for the base of his throat—to adjust a tie knot was my guess, but he wasn’t wearing one today since, obviously, we weren’t in an office building. “Nate and I were discussing your operation, and I wondered if you’d be interested in taking on an investor.”
My hand paused midair from untying Thunder and leading him around to the farrier stand. “You want to invest? In the Double B?”
“I do. From what I understand of how your ranch runs now, you breed and birth the calves, then sell once they’re weaned. However, if you retain ownership until maturity and sell directly to the processing facilities when they reach market weight, then your profits will increase exponentially.”
“I realize that, but we don’t have the capital to foot a feed yard bill for six months for each head, nor do we want to take out financing.”
“That’s where I come in.” Bill’s eyes shone with excitement. “As an investor, I’ll take on the financial burden of getting the calves from six-hundred-pounds at the time of weanin
g to the optimal packaging weight of twelve-hundred pounds.”
Double the weight meant double the profits, but it would cost around six-hundred dollars per head at the feed yards to reach those numbers. “For what percentage? And are you talking about a claim in just the calf operation or a stake in the ranch itself?”
Somehow the last option felt like a failure and betrayal to a hundred-and-fifty-year heritage. If I started to parcel out shares of our family’s history, would there be a legacy left at the end?
“The ranch and land and revenue from guests would be untouched by me. I’m not interested in the day-to-day running and have no plans to actually get my hands dirty with this. I want to write a check and have one written out to me six months later. I’d leave everything else in your hands.”
A few quick mental calculations gave me an estimated figure for what such earnings would look like. “With the price per hundredweight what it is and the size of my herd at present, we’d be looking at a yield of about twenty-seven thousand dollars.”
“Split fifty-fifty.” Bill beamed.
An extra thirteen grand sounded good. More sounded better. Like he said, he didn’t want to get his hands dirty. I rubbed at my jaw, considering. “Seventy-thirty, seeing as how my family and I will be doing all the work.”
His head jerked back, surprised I’d countered. He seemed to consider. “Can your land support more cattle?”
I nodded. “We could add about fifty more beeves. But you won’t see a return on your investment in them until next year. My heifers will come into heat again a month or so after calving and will be artificially inseminated before reaching the seventy-five days after dropping point.”
“And the gestation period?”
“Two-hundred-eighty-three days.”
After a moment, Bill nodded and stuck out his hand to shake on the deal. “Get me the total you’ll need to pad your herd and pay the feed lots, and I’ll get you a check.”
My fingers closed around his, mind whirling. “Let me talk to the rest of the family first, but I’m pretty sure you have yourself a deal.”
