Chapter 6 Jesse
Jesse
Well… my confidence around the ranch didn’t last long.
By the time Evelyn rang the lunch bell, I’d been kicked, headbutted, had fallen in the mud, and had torn a hole in my very expensive jeans.
My hair was sticking out in all directions, hay and mud poking through in places.
I was about ready to give up, to throw in the towel and say fuck it to this whole endeavor.
But every time I fell, every time a horse raised a hoof to kick me, Cole chuckled under his breath.
He’d give me that knowing smirk, the one that said I was right, before going back to his business.
I’d never felt such a burning hatred for another person in my life.
And I’d be goddamned if I was gonna give up and allow Cole to be right.
Fuck that. I didn’t care what it took, I was gonna stay goddammit, and prove him and his stupid handsome face wrong.
I’d been a rancher before, I could do it again.
I could still feel the bruise forming on my hip from where the heifer had slammed me into the fence.
Who knew cows could be so goddamn vindictive?
But I’d managed to get the medication down her throat eventually, even if it meant practically wrestling her to the ground while Cole watched from a safe distance, not lifting a finger to help.
“You coming or what?” Cole called over his shoulder, already halfway to the house. “Evelyn don’t like to be kept waiting.”
I limped after him, wincing with each step.
My body ached in places I’d forgotten existed.
Fifteen years of city living hadn’t prepared me for the physical toll of ranch work.
My muscles screamed in protest, my hands were raw and blistered, and I was pretty sure I’d pulled something in my lower back.
“I’m coming,” I muttered, trying to keep the pain out of my voice.
Cole glanced back at me, those blue eyes taking in my disheveled state. For a split second, I thought I saw something like concern flash across his face, but it was gone so quickly I must have imagined it.
“Better clean up before Evelyn sees you,” he said gruffly. “She’ll have a fit.”
I looked down at myself and grimaced. I was filthy from head to toe, my new clothes ruined beyond repair. I’d have to make a trip into town soon for proper work clothes, the kind that could withstand the abuse of ranch life. My designer jeans clearly weren’t up to the task.
“There’s a washroom off the kitchen,” Cole added, not slowing his pace. “Use it.”
I bit back a retort about how I knew where the fucking washroom was. I’d lived here too, after all. But I decided it wasn’t worth the fight. Instead, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to limp too obviously.
The kitchen was warm and fragrant when we entered, the smell of fresh bread and beef stew making my stomach growl audibly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment. Ranch work burned calories like nothing else.
“Jesse Harris, what on earth happened to you?” Evelyn exclaimed, her hands flying to her hips as she took in my appearance.
“Turns out cows don’t like me much,” I said with a weak smile. “The feeling’s becoming mutual.”
Cole snorted as he washed his hands at the sink. “That’s because you approached her like she was a rabid grizzly. They can smell fear.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” I lied, heading for the washroom. “Just... cautious.”
“Is that what they call it in Seattle?” Cole called after me. “Here we just call it bein’ a coward.”
I gritted my teeth and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. I could hear Evelyn scolding Cole through the thin wood, her voice sharp but too low to make out the words. I sighed and pushed away from the door, turning to face myself in the small mirror above the sink.
Jesus Christ. I looked worse than I thought. My face was streaked with dirt, a bloody scratch running along my cheekbone from when I’d fallen into the barbed wire fence. My expensive haircut was ruined, matted with hay and mud. I barely recognized myself.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, wincing as it hit the scratch.
The water ran brown down the drain as I scrubbed at my skin, trying to make myself somewhat presentable.
My hands stung as I washed them, the blisters raw and painful.
I hadn’t worked this hard in years… maybe ever.
The Seattle marketing firm where I’d been working didn’t exactly require physical labor.
“Fuck,” I muttered, examining a particularly nasty blister on my palm. It had already burst, the skin peeled back to reveal angry red flesh beneath. I’d need bandages, but I was too proud to ask Cole for help.
I did my best to clean up, using paper towels to wipe mud from my jeans and picking the larger pieces of straw from my hair. It was a losing battle, but at least I didn’t look like I’d been dragged through a swamp anymore. Just half a swamp.
When I emerged from the washroom, Cole and Evelyn were already seated at the table, bowls of steaming stew in front of them. Cole didn’t look up as I took the seat across from him, but Evelyn’s eyes narrowed at the sight of my hands.
“Those need tending,” she said, already rising from her chair.
“It’s fine,” I insisted, embarrassed. “I can handle it.”
“Sit,” she commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. “Eat your stew before it gets cold. I’ll be right back.”
As she disappeared into another room, an uncomfortable silence fell between Cole and me.
He ate methodically, his eyes fixed on his bowl as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
The muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement, the sleeve of his flannel rolled up to reveal the edge of a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before.
“What’s with the ink?” I asked, desperate to break the silence. “You didn’t have any when I left.”
Cole’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, then back to his food. “Got my first one after Dad’s heart attack. ‘Bout ten years ago.”
“Dad had a heart attack?” The news hit me like a physical blow. “I didn’t know.”
“‘Course you didn’t,” Cole replied, his voice flat. “You weren’t here.”
The words stung more than they should have. “He didn’t send a letter or try to call?”
“He did,” Cole’s gaze was cold when it met mine. “But just like always, you didn’t answer.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“Eat your stew,” Evelyn repeated as she stepped back into the kitchen with a first aid kit. She glared at Cole before sitting down. “Let me work on that left hand while you eat.”
I held out my hand, knowing it was best to keep my mouth shut. All Cole wanted to do was fight. There was almost no reason to even try to talk with him.
“So,” I said, watching Evelyn work as I ate. “The ranch hands don’t eat in the main house?”
“Not for a few years,” she nodded, breaking out the antibiotic ointment.
“Cooking for them isn’t a problem. I still do that and take it down to the bunkhouse before we eat.
But the cleanup…” She shook her head. “That many boots tracking mud through the house, all the dishes, and the bathroom upkeep… well, I’m just not as young as I used to be. ”
“I didn’t realize you were still doing all that,” I said, wincing as Evelyn dabbed antiseptic on my raw palm. “That’s a lot of work.”
“It’s my job,” she replied simply, wrapping a bandage around my hand with practiced efficiency. “Been taking care of this house since Cole was a little kid, and I’ll keep doing it till I can’t anymore.”
I glanced at Cole, who was still focused intently on his food.
The muscles in his jaw worked as he chewed, tension radiating from him like heat from a stove.
I wondered if he ever helped Evelyn with the cooking or cleaning, or if he just expected her to do it all.
He’d always been that way as a teenager.
Entitled, expecting others to pick up after him because he worked outside all day.
“The ranch looks good,” I offered, trying again to break through his wall of silence. “You’ve made improvements.”
Cole’s eyes flicked up to mine, suspicion written across his features. “What would you know about it?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?” I shot back, my patience wearing thin. “The solar panels are new. The chicken coop’s bigger. The south pasture fencing is different.”
Something flickered across his face, possibly surprise, before he masked it with indifference. “Had to adapt to survive. Ranches ain’t exactly printin’ money these days.”
Evelyn finished with my left hand and moved to the right, clicking her tongue at the state of it. “Cole’s done wonders with this place,” she said proudly. “Modernized what needed modernizing, kept the rest traditional. Your daddy was so proud.”
I felt that familiar twist of guilt in my gut. Dad had been proud of Cole, and rightfully so. What had he thought of me, his other son who’d run away and never looked back?
“Not that he’d ever show it,” Cole grumbled.
Evelyn was about to reprimand him again when I heard the crunching of gravel in the driveway. All three of us glanced out the window to see a sparkling clean black SUV pulling up to the house.
“‘Bout time,” Cole said, pushing his half-finished bowl aside.
I watched as Mr. Whitaker stepped out of his vehicle wearing a denim jacket that made him look less like a lawyer and more like a rancher himself. He paused for a moment to grab a briefcase from his passenger seat and then headed for the house.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked, turning back to Cole.
“I called him,” he replied, pushing himself up from the table. “I don’t know about you, but I wanna spend as little time with you on my property as possible. The faster this year is over, the better.”
I frowned, watching as Whitaker approached the house. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re signing the paperwork right now,” Cole said, standing to open the door before the lawyer could knock. “Making this official so the clock can start ticking.”