Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
TUCKER
Breakfast most mornings at the Juniper Grove farmhouse were almost always nearly silent aside from the clinks of utensils on plates and the sips of coffee as everyone acclimated to being awake.
Even when you were used to waking before the sun was up, it didn’t make the weariness that lingered behind your eyes any easier.
Especially when you worked as hard as we did day in and day out, the exhaustion you felt when you hit your pillow at night never was truly quenched by the brief respite of sleep my men were afforded. It was why I never faulted them for being a bit groggy or grumpy at the breakfast table.
Even Granger was normally more preoccupied with shoveling food into his mouth than to talk—though that was more likely conditioned learning than a lack of energy on his part.
He had been wrangled into submission over the years with enough pointed glares over our eggs and bacon to know talking came after the dishes were in the sink.
Raleigh had once told me that Granger had always been this way—even as a kid.
Full of life from the moment his eyes were open and ready to take on his day.
Like every hour counted, and he couldn’t waste any of it being idle in bed when he could be out in the world.
Raleigh had been an early riser too, but like most others at our operation, he’d been reliant on a strong cup of coffee to get his brain going properly.
But it’d never been hard to coax him into five more minutes wrapped up around each other under the covers on those slow mornings.
It was one of the things I loved about him—he always took time for the smaller moments, even if it meant a scolding here or there.
Like maybe he’d known somewhere deep down that his time on this Earth was limited, and he needed to spend every second he had with intention.
The sound of a throaty laugh to my right brought me back from warm skin and tangled limbs under thick quilts.
Granger was currently recounting this ridiculous dream he’d had last night in agonizing detail to a nearly doubled-over Jackson.
As he went to wipe away near tears from his eyes, I couldn’t help but think back to the bleary-eyed version of him I’d stumbled in on in the kitchen only an hour before.
Did he just need time for his morning brew to kick in or had Granger finally found a kindred spirit?
He needed to make sure he was getting enough sleep either way because eventually the coffee wouldn’t be enough.
I knew that better than anyone. At some point, the quick thinking that was so critical when working around thousand-pound animals would go out the window when you were sleep deprived.
Truthfully, it was nothing short of a miracle that something horrible hadn’t already happened on my watch. But I was lucky.
My eyes tracked over to Granger again. Thing was, there were people in my corner that had my back through it all.
People who would step in if it was obvious the lights were on, but no one was home.
They looked out for me just as much as I looked out for them.
But Jackson? Who did he have here to look out for him?
It wasn’t that I didn’t think the other hands wouldn’t step in if necessary, but he was new here.
Those connections and understanding hadn’t been forged yet, and he needed someone who would be able to read the signs of fatigue that weren’t as obvious as discoloration under his gorgeous eyes.
Movement beside me snagged my attention, and I lifted my gaze to watch Jackson rise from his seat, plate in hand.
“I can’t tell if you’re still eating or just playing with it,” he teased, looking down on me with a smile that could have rivaled the rising sun. But it was too early for something so blinding.
I tore my eyes away from his radiant grin with a grunt, wholly expecting to glance around the table to find that Jackson had somehow inhaled his meal between laughs, only to realize it was nearly empty.
“When you’ve finished farting around with your food, I’ll be in the kitchen getting another cup of coffee. Let me know when you’re ready to get this day started,” he called over his shoulder, and I gaped at his back until he passed through the door.
At the head of the table, my father let out a loud huff of laughter. “He’s going to keep you on your toes, that one.”
“Probably in the worst way.” I sniffed, lazily stabbing at my eggs.
“Don’t keep him waiting,” he responded, rising to deliver his own plate to the kitchen.
I mumbled an affirmative, but I knew I wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.
A heat lingered beside me, somehow soaking the very air around Raleigh’s chair.
It felt blazing, though I wondered if that was because I’d grown accustomed to the chilled atmosphere that now lived there since its occupant was no longer here.
For a moment, I closed my eyes, pretending the warmth came from a wide shouldered, curly haired cowboy with bright blue eyes.
But all I saw was a dazzling sunrise in the form of a smile and that damn dimple.
When I opened them, I stared at the ceiling.
I should be unsettled. And maybe I was, but it wasn’t for the right thing.
The thought of someone sitting in Raleigh’s seat before had been like walking over broken glass with bare feet; the shards burned as they pierced tender flesh, and it was hard to remove them when they sank in too deep.
Each step was painful and only forced the pieces in further, so I chose to stand still.
But Jackson was forcing me to move forward.
I’d expected the ache and burn, because it was inevitable, but something else fluttered in my chest; like the sensation you get when you hang out over a high cliff.
You know you could fall, but your own grip on the railing prevented you from plummeting down, and that was exhilarating.
The thing was, I knew I’d pick the ache every time because it was where Raleigh was.
Over the next few days, I put Jackson through his paces, testing out his critical thinking skills and reflexes to make sure he would be ready to be alone on the property.
He was a quick learner, and I saw early on why he’d been given his nickname because he never needed to be asked to complete a task.
Jackson was always looking for something to do, and he would jump in to help wherever he could.
Plus his instincts around the horses were top notch.
He was blending in perfectly with everyone else on the farm, but he and Weston really seemed to have hit it off, despite how badly the redhead snored.
I’d taken Jackson into town that first day after we finished turning out some of the broodmares and their companions to pasture that afternoon.
He’d picked up some ear plugs from the local drugstore, and I’d overheard him telling Granger the next morning that they had helped block out most of Weston snores.
“I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually,” Jackson had said around a bite of breakfast casserole. “And if not, I’m sure I’ll get too tired to care. Either way, I’ll get some sleep.”
Granger had made eye contact with me. Both of us knew big mistakes could be made long before the body shut down in need of sleep—costly mistakes.
Deadly mistakes. I gave a subtle nod, indicating I’d be keeping an eye on him during his week of training.
If he started to decline, we’d have to figure something out with his sleeping arrangements.
So far, though, the only thing I’d noticed this past week was how underdressed Jackson was for the cold weather.
I couldn’t remember if the farm he’d previously been at was in a warmer part of the state, but the jacket he’d been wearing since his first day was doing jack-all to keep out the biting cold, and I’d had enough.
I wasn’t going to be having my new hand getting sick from hypothermia while I sat around with my thumb up my ass.
I stood before my coat closet, staring at the options and trying to decide what would fit Jackson best. A badly fitting jacket would be just as useless, even if it was more insulated.
I rubbed my hand over my mouth and chin, the coarse hairs of my beard feeling overgrown, and I let out a sigh.
I’d never kept my facial hair long because the upkeep felt like more of a hassle than just shaving in the morning.
But Raleigh always thought I’d looked nice with a beard.
Not letting myself fall down the rabbit hole of my own form of recompense, I decided on the only jacket that looked remotely close enough to Jackson’s size and pulled it out without much more thought.
It lay across the seat beside me on my drive to the farmhouse like an accusation.
This wasn’t playing favorites. This wasn’t anything more than a concerned foreman wanting to ensure that his newest hand would be as successful as he could be at his new position.
You’re branding him. Putting your claim down. Just like a fucking high school crush.
I shook those thoughts away as I pulled up to the house.
He needed a better jacket and knowing he had one that could hold up to the weather out here would be one less thing for my racing brain to latch on to during my long nights.
Not that he was the one in my thoughts on my late-night walks. Not yet, at least.
But it needed to stay that way.
It was early, though nowhere near when I’d wander in on my worst nights, but the house was still silent as I made my way through the warm interior.
I passed through the dining room and into the kitchen, planning to help Tallie set the table until the man showed himself, only to find him scrambling some eggs over the stove while Tallie pulled out a tray of fluffy biscuits from the oven.
“Morning, boss!” Jackson chirped, which had Tallie glancing over and giving a quick wave over her head.
“Mornin’. Tallie, mind if I borrow Jackson for a moment?”
“Don’t need my permission. He’s your employee.”
I cast my gaze to the man in question, who pulled the pan from the burner.
“Eggs are done, Tallie,” he called over his shoulder as he followed me from the kitchen.
She made a sound of acknowledgment as we passed through the door, and I tried to slow the absurd way my heart raced inside my chest as I led him out to my truck.
It wouldn’t matter if he hated the jacket. He could buy himself something else when he got paid. What mattered was he wouldn’t be losing body heat.
When we came up to my truck on the passenger side, I gave myself no time to overthink and essentially thrust the coat into his arms the moment the door opened. He blinked down at the material, his curious smile falling away as he rubbed the lightly worn fabric between his fingers.
“A jacket?” he asked, pulling it away from himself to inspect it.
“Mmm,” I confirmed, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“I already have one.” Jackson raised those endlessly expressive hazel hues to my face.
“And you’re always freezing in it. This one is insulated. It’ll hold up better for you.” I shuffled on my feet, a feeling too close to insecurity settling in my gut.
His eyes danced over my features, searching for answers I didn’t even have myself. After a moment, he glanced back to the jacket and shook his head. “It’s real kind of you, but I can’t accept this.”
There went a piece of me, flayed open. “Why not?”
“It’s Filson. This is like a three-hundred-dollar jacket. It’s too much.”
“It’s been sitting in a closet collecting dust. At the end of the day, it’s a work jacket, even if it’s a nice one.”
“Was it Raleigh’s?”
My eyes flashed up to his from where I’d inadvertently lowered them to the ground.
The conviction I was met with made my lungs seize, and at first I was offended he believed I was capable of parting with any more of Raleigh than I already had.
But he only knew the surface level. If he knew everything, he’d know better than to ask that.
I shook my head. “It’s mine.”
That eased something in his features, and the way he went back to studying the material in his hand had a pressure weighing on my heart. He wasn’t scrutinizing me. He wouldn’t be rejecting me by refusing the jacket. It meant nothing. So then why was it so goddamn important he took it?
“I’m not keeping it,” Jackson started, sucking in a slow breath, and it felt as though he tossed my heart off a forty-story building. But then he caught it. “I’m going to give it back once the weather warms up.”
I made some grunt of agreement, a boulder lifting off my shoulders at his acceptance, while he gave me a sharp nod before jutting his hand out toward me.
For a second, I stood there, just staring at the palm of this man who was getting under my skin in more ways than I could count.
Everything inside me knew slipping my hand into his was a simple act.
It meant nothing—just like the jacket. But as our skin brushed against each other, the flurry of sensation that shot up my arm felt infectious. As if his warmth would live there now.
Jackson gave my hand a quick shake, and after what felt like a lifetime of letting his very presence metastasize through me, he let go.
“I appreciate it. I haven’t worked for someone who took such good care of his employees before.
You better keep me on, Tucker Legare. Otherwise, you’ll be ruining me for any other farm. ”
He shot me a wink, and I wondered what would be worse. Letting him ruin me or watching him walk away after six months.