Chapter 14 A Diabolical Plan
A Diabolical Plan
Sawyer
Gravel crunches under big tires, and I glance out the window to find Pops pulling up to the house in his truck. Dixie barks as she follows his truck up the driveway. I top my braid with a hat, tug on my boots, and am on my porch by the time his door slams closed.
I squint against the sun that’s still too low in the sky to be blocked out by the hat. “Hey, neighbor,” I say as he pats Dixie on the head and gives her a brief scratch behind the ears.
Pops shuffles toward me, a little slower than usual, making me think he must be sore this morning. He lifts the small casserole dish he’s carrying. “Thought I’d bring this back to ya. It’s been in my cupboard for about a month now.”
It’s been there longer than that, but I’m not going to call him out on it. I hadn't expected to see it again.
I extend my hand for the dish, and he cocks his head to the side. “Is that coffee I smell brewing? Mind if I sit and have a cup with ya?”
I’m caught off guard by the request, but I open my screen door and gesture him inside.
He grunts as he plops into a chair. “Thanks, darlin’,” he says as I set the cream in front of him and pour him a cup of coffee.
“You know I love having you here, but I have a feeling you’re here for more than just the caffeine fix.” I lift a skeptical brow.
He takes a swig of his coffee and sighs heavily. “Wes and Tripp have the ranch in hand today. I had some things I needed to speak to you about.”
“Oh?”
He nods, tongue glossing over his teeth. “You know why Wes is here?”
I meet his stare and my head bobs in acknowledgement.
“I imagine Wes said somethin’ to ya and you had quite a bit to say back.”
“Did he tell you that?” My arms cross over my chest and my temper rises, heating my whole face.
Pops chuckles. “He didn’t, but you’re always gettin’ bees in your bonnet over somethin’ or other, and I know you and Wes have had a disagreement or five since he got here.”
I snort derisively.
“Listen, Sawyer. I know Wes. He’s a good boy, a good man.
I always dreamed the ranch would go to him one day.
He loved it out here when he was young.” Pops shakes his head back and forth as he stares at my scarred kitchen table.
“But he’s gotten himself lost. He’s not who he once was, and if I thought he was happy, well then, I’d let sleepin’ dogs lie, but the light he used to have behind his eyes has gone dark. ”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, letting Pops talk even though I have no idea why he’s disclosing any of this to me.
“I made Wes a deal. If he stayed at Dawson Ranch until Thanksgiving, then I’d sell the place.”
I slam my mug down on the cheap kitchen table, making it wobble dangerously. “Pops! You can’t sell! You love Dawson Ranch.”
He grimaces and bows his head, studying the grain of the wood on my table. “I do love it, but what’s the use of keeping it when I’ve got no one to share it with, Sawyer?”
His statement brings me up short, and I bite my lip to stop myself from badgering him.
“Once upon a time, I'd thought Rick would want to take over when I was too old, but he met Janine and there was nothing I could do to get him to stay after that. She wanted the city life, and he had no real love for this place. It was a job, but it didn’t bring him the same joy it brings me. But Janine did. So, I sat back and watched my only son move on. Once they had Wes and Quinn, I asked Rick if he’d send them here over the summer, so I could show them what life was like on the ranch.
“They loved being here, and I had such high hopes that despite Rick not being inclined to take over the ranch that Wes or Quinn would. But once they graduated, they stopped comin’ out to help in the summer. They stayed in the city. Got jobs. They moved on. And I stayed here.
"I made it work as long as I could, and God knows, I’d keep going if I could. But the writing is on the wall. This is a young man’s game and I’m much too old to keep doin’ it.”
He raises his glass to his lips and takes a deep swallow.
I tense, body rigid and ready to swing at something. “You’re giving up the ranch? Just like that.”
“Now, I didn’t say that. Did I?” He strokes his mustache and gives me a sly grin.
I lean forward. “What’s your diabolical plan, old man?”
“Wes is my last chance for this place to stay in the family for another generation. I need your help to remind him what he always loved about it here. I need you to make him fall in love with Cottonwood Creek again.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as I consider Pops from across the table. “Pops, you know I want to help, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with Wes. We can barely stand each other.”
His mustache twitches as he looks at me in amusement. “I’m not askin’ ya to climb into bed with the boy, Sawyer. I said make him love the town, not you.”
My face flames in embarrassment. Of course, he’s not telling me to have sex with his grandson. That would be absurd. But now that he’s said it, I can’t help but picture Wes’ hands on me. His mouth between my thighs and his tongue doing wicked things that make me...
I blink hard, trying to force the image from my mind.
I clear my throat. “So, what exactly do you want me to do?”
Pops gives me a knowing smile, making me blush even harder.
“Invite him to come help you train a horse. He loves riding, and every time he passes my empty stable, his face falls a little. Horses are good therapy. And that boy could use a little therapy. And maybe the horses will help him find himself while they’re at it. ”
I tilt my head to the side, taking another drink of my coffee. “I guess I can do that.”
Pops slaps his hands on his thighs. “Atta girl. I knew I could count on you. Love ya, darlin’,” he says as he rises out of the chair and sets his mug in my sink. “Take it easy on the boy, would ya? He’s got a soft heart.”
There’s a boulder sitting in my throat as I nod. “Love you, Pops.”
When he walks out the door, I slouch in the chair and ponder exactly what in the hell I just agreed to.
I drive over to Dawson Ranch once I finish up my training sessions for the day. Pops has needed me less since Wes has been here, and it has been nice to have some extra time with the horses.
It’s been a warm start to fall. It’s mid-October and still in the 80s this afternoon. And while the mornings and evenings have the chill of autumn and the leaves are taking on multi-colored hues, the sun is bright and glaring this afternoon, making the flannel over my graphic tee feel stifling.
I wander toward the feed barn. Hay is stacked on pallets that line the wall, and the sun shines through, hitting on an empty swallow’s nest. In summer, the swallows fly in and out in droves, but now that the nights have cooled, they’ve started their migration further south.
The feeder herd we penned for vaccinations are back out in the pasture, grazing, and I find Tripp and Wes cleaning out the pens and the feeders. They’re too busy laughing to hear my approach, and I’m taken aback by the sight of Wes with a smile.
I’m so used to seeing him scowling at me, lips curled in disgust, that the smile takes me by surprise. His eyes crinkle at the corners and a dimple deepens the left side of his cheek.
I look Wes over while he shovels out manure.
His biceps flex as he works, and I’m not sure what it is I find so alluring about him cleaning up literal shit, but I like the way he looks when he’s doing it.
He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, and it’s a big step up from how he appeared on his first day back in town.
With the dirty Levi’s and his Stetson resting on his head, he looks like he belongs here.
“What are you smiling at, Sawyer?” Tripp calls out, pulling me from my ogling.
I tear my eyes from Wes, and I take in Tripp’s knowing grin. No way in hell could he know I was checking out Wes. He’d never let me hear the end of it.
I narrow my gaze. “Can’t a girl just be happy it’s such a beautiful day?”
“A girl can. But you’re not a girl. You’re more like a honey badger,” Tripp teases.
Wes wipes the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, and my mouth goes dry. “He’s got a point there, Red.” He drops his T-shirt that’s now dotted with his sweat.
I put a hand on my hip. “And here I came by to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Wes stops shoveling, and his gaze trails slowly up my body before finally resting on my face. “Oh yeah. And what would that be?”
I shrug and pray that I’m convincing. “I was going to offer to teach you how to train a horse.”
He scoffs. “I’ve trained horses before.”
“Not one like Lucifer, you haven’t.”
He leans on his shovel, his interest piqued. “You’re gonna let me train Luci?”
I let out an unladylike snort. “Luci?”
He smirks at me. “Lucifer is a terrible name. I thought I’d try out a nickname.”
I purse my lips. I’m not sure if I hate the nickname or if I just hate that Wes came up with it first.
“I’m not letting you train him. You’d probably get yourself killed. I’m going to teach you how to train him.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why?”
I shrug again, wanting to seem nonchalant, as if I don’t care whether or not he takes me up on my offer. “He seemed taken by you the other day. After you spooked him and made him throw me, that is.”
“You what?” Tripp chimed in.
“I didn’t realize she was working with an easily spooked horse, and I slammed the truck door,” Wes explains.
“And after saving me from getting trampled and the brownies, I do believe you said I owe you one. I hate being indebted to people.”
“Oh, so you want me to come help you train a horse because you owe me?”
I huff out an annoyed breath. Did he always have to be this difficult?
“Pops told me he strong-armed you into staying on the ranch for the next seven weeks. And I remember how much you used to love the horses when you came out here for the summers. I thought you’d like being able to spend some time with them in the training arena.”
“And you want to do something nice for me?”
“Sure.”
“Why?” he asks again, still skeptical.
I throw my hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake! I give up. I’ll have him in the training arena at four. Come. Don’t come. I don’t give a damn.”
Tripp’s shoulders shake at my outburst, and Wes smirks at me as he cocks his head to the side. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll come.”
“Oh, yeah. Wes would never pass up an opportunity to come,” Tripp says.
My eyes roll at the way he says it, his tone ringing with innuendo. Tripp can’t hold it in anymore and lets out a bark of laughter.
“It’s always so disappointing when the men still have the humor of twelve-year-olds,” I quip, my expression settling into an unimpressed mask.
Their smiles fall, and I bite back a smile. My work done, I turn on the heel of my cowgirl boots, giving them both a middle finger as I stalk off.