Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Cal’s workday normally started somewhere around sunrise and ended after sunset. There was no such thing as a typical forty-hour work week in ranching, and Cal liked it that way. Ranching was often unpredictable, but Cal was nothing if not a problem-solver.
Though when ranch hands came to him to solve a problem he shouldn’t have to solve, it tended to put a crimp in his daily to-do list.
“He’s not pulling his weight.”
“Oh, fuck you. I do twice the amount of work you do.”
“Pfft. In your dreams maybe. Every time I see you, you’re slacking off.”
“You see me twice a day. While I’m on break . I’m legally allowed those.”
Biting back a sigh, Cal held up a hand, shutting both men up.
The day was miserable as hell: cold, wet, and gray. He stood outside the horse barn in a patch of mud that was becoming soupier by the minute. Rain dripped off the brim of his hat, and considering he’d been putting out one fire after another all morning, he wasn’t in the mood for petty squabbles that could be resolved without him.
Being foreman wasn’t all get-your-hands-dirty ranch work. It was people management too.
Cal turned to the first man. Kid, really, at barely twenty-one. “Ewan, Orson’s right—he is legally entitled to breaks.”
“But—”
“And Orson, Ewan’s right,” Cal continued, wiping the smirk off Orson’s face. “You do tend to slack off when you think I’m not looking.”
“But—”
“There’s a fallen tree in the northeast field that came down during last night’s storm. I need you both to get rid of it.”
They looked at him, each other, him again.
“Together?” Ewan asked.
Cal raised an eyebrow and added a trace of steel to his voice. “That a problem?”
“Nope.”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Take one of the trucks. You’ll need it.”
They slunk off, shoulders hunched against the rain, already arguing about who would drive.
“Children,” Cal muttered under his breath and walked into the horse barn and out of the rain.
“Think they’ll kill each other while we aren’t looking?”
He snorted a laugh and turned to his boss. “We should be so lucky.”
Whitney Windsor-March smiled back at him as she stuffed a pair of work gloves into her back pocket. Windsor Ranch was her legacy. Hell, her great-grandfather had founded the town and built the ranch from the ground up. The Windsors weren’t exactly considered royalty, but they were held in high esteem. Not a surprise given that the ranch was the biggest economic provider in town, creating jobs, donating money and goods when needed, and supporting the tourism industry.
Whitney was built as sturdily as the land she was raised on. She wasn’t a boss in name only either; she worked as hard—if not harder—than any of the ranch hands, putting in just as much manual labor while her husband oversaw the marketing side of the business.
“Got a second?” she asked now, tucking a strand of gray-threaded dark hair back into her braid. “I wanted to chat about Las’s thesis project.”
Cal took off his hat and shook excess water off it. “Sure.”
“Did I hear my name?” Las—Lassiter Windsor-March—stepped out of his horse’s stall. He was as soaked and mud caked as every other worker, but Cal knew he loved it. Las had recently returned from a year at grad school in Laramie, studying agriculture and applied economics, and although he’d met lots of cool people and learned tons of great shit—his words—nothing beat being home. Also his words.
“Do you still need help with your thesis project?” Whitney asked her son. “Because I was thinking Cal might be able to help, and if not, he might know which employee might be your best bet.”
Las’s dark eyes lit up. “Yeah. I’ll take any help I can get.”
“I’m happy to help,” Cal said. “But I don’t know much about conservation grazing practices.”
Cal didn’t have a college degree. What he did have was self-taught knowledge and experience gained through years of doing and reading. And ever since Whitney and her husband had signed off on Las’s graduate thesis project, which would unfold in collaboration with the University of Wyoming and the United States Nature Conservancy, Cal had been reading up on case studies about conservation grazing practices.
But he was by no means an expert.
“I’m willing to learn though,” he added.
“Thank you.” Las nearly wilted in relief. “The idea behind my thesis project is that instead of being on a rotational grazing system, we’ll turn a pasture into several smaller cells. Each cell will see about three days of intense grazing, followed by a longer resting period than we normally get in rotational grazing. That way?—”
“We’ll potentially see a healthier herd,” Cal interrupted. “And because we’re moving the cattle more frequently, we’ll be better able to spot any health problems. I know, Las. I was there when you met with the USNC reps last summer, remember?”
“Right.” Las chuckled. “But you forgot the best part. Since we’ll be letting the grass rest and regrow?—”
“We’ll be providing habitat for other wildlife,” Whitney said.
Las’s smile turned rueful. “I guess I talk about this a lot, huh?”
Cal held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a bit. So what do you need my help with?”
“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Whitney pointed at Las as she walked away. “Family dinner tonight. Don’t be late.”
Las grunted his reply, then turned to Cal. “Okay, so thankfully, I got permission from my advisor to extend the project to two years with the option for three.”
“And that’s good because...?”
“This type of experiment we’re doing, it’s really more of a longitudinal study. I doubt we’ll see any real concrete results in only a year.”
“Are we doing an A/B study? Only converting some of the pasture and rotating some of the cattle on the cell grazing system? To later compare those results against the rotational grazing system?”
“Yes. Exactly. And?—”
Cal’s phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out to make sure none of the workers needed him, grimaced at the notification, and went to put it back in his pocket.
Las stole it out of his hands and gaped at it. “Is that...? Are you on a dating app?”
Cal swiped the phone back. “Say it with a little more venom, why don’t you?”
“Sorry, just...” Frowning, Las shoved his hat slightly up his forehead. “Since when do you date?”
“I date,” Cal said, avoiding Las’s gaze.
“No, you don’t.”
Well... that was true. Dating was somewhere below waxing his balls on his to-do list.
And it wasn’t just because there was only one person who’d ever caught his eye—it was also because dating was terrible. He had no desire to sit across from a stranger and make small talk.
“It wasn’t my idea, okay?” he admitted, burying his phone back in his pocket where Las couldn’t get to it. “I forgot my phone in your mom’s office the other day. Your sister swiped it and downloaded this app. Made a profile for me and everything.”
He should’ve deleted the app. Didn’t know why he hadn’t.
Las cocked his head. “Why isn’t your phone password-protected?”
“It’s inconvenient.”
“But safer.”
“What part of your project did you need me for, exactly?” Cal asked, inelegantly plodding his way through a subject change.
“Let me see your profile.”
Cal sighed. “I don’t?—”
“Let me see.”
“I don’t want?—”
“Come on, hand it over.”
“Oh, for the love of...” Giving in—mostly to shut Las up—Cal opened the app and passed the phone over. Las and his sister had always been like the younger siblings Cal had never had—and sometimes it was easier to give them what they wanted.
Las gave his profile a quick read and whistled softly. “She put you down as pansexual. Bold, considering how conservative this state is.”
Cal shrugged and crossed his arms. “Windsor’s progressive. Hell, so is most of Teton County.”
“Not so much the rest of the state,” Las muttered. “I’m fixing your settings to a fifty-mile radius. Unless you’re willing to go farther than that to meet your date?”
“I’m not sure I’m willing to go even that far,” Cal muttered.
Las nodded. “Twenty miles then. Actually, you know what? You should just delete the app.”
“Give that back.” Cal stole his phone and shoved it in his pocket.
“Have you been on any dates yet?” Las asked. “Were they any good? I bet they were terrible, weren’t they?”
Cal stared at him. “Do you want them to be terrible?”
“No.” Las dragged the word out. He pulled at the string of his hoodie. “No, of course not. But... isn’t there someone you already know that you’re interested in?”
“What?” Did Las somehow know about Cal’s feelings for Austin? Impossible.
“Friends often make the best lovers,” Las added, a knowing smirk on his face. But what did he actually know?
“Why do I feel like you’re speaking in code?” Cal asked.
Harriet, Las’s horse, stuck her head out of her stall and nosed at Las’s shoulder. Cal reached over to rub her muzzle, but she tossed her head with a whinny, dodging him.
“Why must you hate everyone?” Cal muttered.
“She doesn’t hate me,” Las said.
“Or me” came another voice. Marco entered the barn from the opposite end, quickly closing the distance between them with long-legged strides, his raincoat dripping onto the floor.
“That’s because she’s a good judge of character,” Las said with a grin for Cal.
Cal grunted. “You’re hysterical.”
Smile widening, Las tipped his head back and accepted a quick kiss from Marco. “What are you doing here?”
“The trails are closed on account of the rain,” Marco said, pushing the hood of his coat off his head. He led guided hikes for guests of Windsor Ranch as well as working for Austin. “So I thought I’d come make a nuisance of myself over here.”
They stared at Cal like two toddlers awaiting permission to cause mischief.
“You—” Cal pointed at Marco. “—don’t technically work for me, so you can do whatever you want. And you—” He pointed at Las. “The cows need milking. Donny was scheduled to do the afternoon milking, but he’s dealing with flooding in his basement. Why don’t you do that while I finish up some paperwork? Once you’re done, we can talk about your project and what you might need my help with.”
It was never not weird to order the boss’s son around, but Las didn’t consider himself the boss’s son. He was just another ranch hand, and he went where Cal told him to.
Las nodded and wound his arm around Marco’s elbow. “On it. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”
Cal watched them walk away, then took his phone out again. The notification from the dating app was simple enough: You’ve got one new message.
He clicked on it.
Hi :) I’m a Libra too!
What... was he supposed to say to that?
The message was from username AmeliaJ, pronouns: she/her. Her profile photo was of a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman who appeared as cornfed as they came.
She was cute. Looked friendly. Had a wide white smile that reminded Cal of a toothpaste commercial.
His thumb hovered over the Reply button, but what the hell was he supposed to say?
“Hey, Cal?” one of his ranch hands called, muddy boots squelching on the floor as she approached. “Gwen and Soren’s truck got stuck in the mud near the southern boundary. You available to come with me to help push them out?”
Grateful for the interruption, Cal nodded. “Lead the way.”