Chapter 7 #2
"High praise," I said. "I'm going to put that on my resume. 'Hector-approved fence repair.'"
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Don't get cocky. You still hold a hammer like it's going to bite you."
"Progress, not perfection."
Tre groaned and stretched his back. "I'm going to feel this tomorrow. And the next day. And possibly for the rest of my life."
"Welcome to ranching," Jake said.
"I didn't sign up for ranching. I signed up for moral support and strategic consulting."
"Strategic consulting involves fence repair now," I said. "It's in the fine print."
"There was no fine print. There was a midnight phone call and you sounding like you were about to have a breakdown."
"And yet you came anyway."
Tre shrugged, trying to look casual and failing. "Yeah, well. Someone had to make sure you didn't accidentally set the place on fire."
That was as close to "I love you, man" as Tre ever got. I'd take it.
We were loading the tools back into the truck when my phone buzzed.
Caitlin: On my way to check on Starlight. ETA 20 minutes.
My heart did that stupid thing it did whenever her name appeared on my screen. I typed back:
We're out at the north pasture. Had some fence trouble. Meet you at the barn.
Caitlin: Everything okay?
I hesitated. I didn't want to worry her, but I also didn't want to lie.
Someone cut the fence. We fixed it. Long story.
Caitlin: Cut it? Deliberately?
Looks that way. I'll fill you in when you get here.
A pause. Then:
Caitlin: Be careful, Blaine.
A caring message. Simple and honest. Just like her.
Always , I typed back.
But as I pocketed my phone and climbed into the truck, I couldn't shake the feeling that "careful" might not be enough.
Caitlin was already at the barn when we got back, examining Starlight with gentle hands.
I watched her for a moment before she noticed me—the way she moved, the way she spoke softly to the horse, the way her whole body seemed to radiate calm competence. She was in her element here, completely at ease. It was beautiful to watch.
"She's doing great," she said as I approached. "No signs of recurring distress. Whatever caused the colic seems to have resolved."
"That's good news."
"The only good news, from what I hear." She straightened up, brushing hay from her jeans. Her eyes searched my face. "Cut fence?"
"Three sections. Hector thinks it might be the neighbor—Vernon Cole. Apparently he's been trying to buy this place for years."
"Cole." Her expression darkened in a way I hadn't seen before. "I've heard things about him. Not good things."
"Like what?"
"Like he's been buying up ranches all over the valley. Usually after the owners have a run of 'bad luck.'" She made air quotes. "Equipment failures. Sick animals. Accidents."
The cold feeling was back. "You think he's done this before?"
"I think it's a pattern. Doc Peterson mentioned it once—said Cole had a way of getting what he wanted.
Said some ranchers sold to him just to make the problems stop.
" She met my eyes, and there was real concern there.
"Be careful, Blaine. If he's behind this, he's not going to stop just because you fixed a fence. "
"I'm not going to let him drive me off my family's land."
"I know." She smiled, but there was worry in it. "That's what scares me."
We stood there for a moment, Starlight munching hay contentedly beside us, the morning's tension still humming in the air.
I wanted to reach out and take her hand.
Wanted to tell her that her concern meant more to me than she could possibly know.
Wanted to close the distance between us and see if she'd let me.
But she wasn't mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
So instead, I said: "Have dinner with me."
The words came out before I could stop them.
"Blaine—" She gave me a look. "I was just here Monday."
"I know. But this is different. You can fill me in on what you know about Cole. Strategic planning." I tried for a smile. "Jake's making chicken parmesan tonight. He's on an Italian kick."
"Strategic planning," she repeated, skeptical.
"Very strategic. Extremely professional. There might be a PowerPoint."
That got a laugh out of her. "There better not be a PowerPoint."
"No promises."
She should say no. I could see her thinking it, weighing the risks, the complications, the lines we were dancing around. The boyfriend back east who didn't deserve her. The professional relationship we were supposed to be maintaining.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"But only because I actually do know things about Cole that might help." She almost smiled. "And I do like chicken parmesan."
"It's settled then. Six-thirty?"
"Six-thirty."
She headed for her truck, and I watched her go—again—wondering how long I could keep pretending this was just professional. Just strategic. Just dinner.
Cisco nickered from his paddock, and I walked over to him, pulling a carrot from my pocket.
"I know," I said, feeding him. "I'm in trouble."
He nudged my shoulder, as if to say, Yes. Yes, you are.
But as I walked back toward the house, I couldn't bring myself to care. Cole was a problem. The ranch was a problem. The boyfriend was a problem.
But she'd said yes. Again. And right now, that was enough.