Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Brynn
Istomp across the gravel driveway, my boots crunching with every step, heading straight for the utility terrain vehicle parked under the shade of the old oak tree.
The sun is beating down on the ranch, and sweat beads on my forehead, but I don’t care.
I’m too irritated to notice much of anything except the smug man trailing behind me.
Jack. Of all people. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.
Why would my father hire him back? He lost so much money on those horses when he left unexpectedly before. This is ridiculous.
How did I not know that Joanne’s brother was the same guy as the horse whisperer? This is insanity.
“My brother left town twelve or so years ago,” Joanne told me last week.
“Our oldest brother was in a lot of gambling debt and addicted to drugs. Our nephew, Tate, had been taken by family services, and Jason and his girlfriend were trying to get clean. His girlfriend, Charlotte, got clean, and Jason didn’t.
Jack stuck around to help Charlotte and ended up meeting his wife Savannah and settling down there. ”
“Why is he coming back?”
“Tate is seventeen and has delayed entry to the Marine Corps. Savannah cheated on him with his best friend, so he needed a clean break.”
“Man, that’s awful. Hopefully, he’ll get that here. It’ll be nice for the kids that their uncle is close again,” I said.
“He’s going to be so helpful to you and your dad, Brynn. You’re going to love having him around, too.”
Anything is better than what we currently have happening, which is me handling everything.
I blow out a breath and come back to the present.
“Get in,” I snap, climbing into the driver’s seat of the UTV.
My hands grip the wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles whitening as I glance his way.
He’s standing there, arms crossed, looking as though he’s got all the time in the world.
His dark jeans and faded shirt cling to his broad frame, annoyingly perfect for someone I want to despise.
Cowboy time. He’s not in any sort of hurry for anyone but the animals on the property. It’s maddening.
“You sure about that?” he drawls, one eyebrow quirking up. “Not sure women driving these things is the best idea. Could be dangerous.”
My jaw drops, and for a split second, I’m too stunned to speak. Then the fury bubbles up, hot and unstoppable.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you want to drive? Or would you rather sit there and mansplain the proper technique for pressing the gas pedal?”
He smirks, leaning casually against the side of the UTV. “Just saying, I’d hate for you to break a nail or something. But hey, your call.”
He cannot be this much of an asshole. Is he goading me?
“Get in, or I’m leaving you here,” I snap, my temper flaring like wildfire.
Jack chuckles, low and infuriating, before sliding into the passenger seat. He’s too big for the space—his knees brush the dashboard, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he leans back, resting one arm along the side rail, looking completely at ease. “All right, Brynn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
My teeth grind together as I start the engine, the growl of the motor matching my mood. Without a word, I press the gas harder than necessary, the tires spinning briefly before we lurch forward. He doesn’t flinch, his calm demeanor only fueling my irritation.
“So, is this the grand tour?” he asks, his voice annoyingly light. “Gotta say, I’ve had better introductions.”
I ignore him, focusing on the dirt path ahead. It’s bumpy, uneven, and littered with mud puddles from where the irrigation system was leaking.
Perfect.
I steer toward the first puddle, hitting it dead-on. Mud splashes up, coating his side of the vehicle. A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips.
“Nice aim,” he says, brushing a glob of mud off his arm. “You do that on purpose?”
“What? Me? Never,” I say innocently, keeping my eyes on the trail.
He chuckles again, the sound grating on my nerves. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not working. I’ve dealt with worse than a little mud.”
“Good to know,” I bite out, swerving slightly to hit another bump. The jolt sends him shifting in his seat, and I’m tempted to apologize. But then I remember the way he looked at me when he knocked me to the ground outside City Hall. No chance.
By the time we reach the north pasture, my irritation has morphed into a slow simmer. The sight of my dad and a few of the ranch hands standing around the irrigation system doesn’t help. They’re scratching their heads, clearly stumped, and my dad’s face lights up the moment he spots Jack.
“Jack! You made it!” Dad calls out, waving him over like he’s a long-lost friend.
Jack hops out of the UTV, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “John,” he says warmly, shaking my dad’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
They fall into easy conversation, laughing and talking like no time has passed. I stay by the UTV, my arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. My dad, the man who raised me to be cautious and discerning, is acting like Jack’s some kind of hero.
“So,” Jack says, turning to look at me with that infuriating smirk. “Brynn here was under the impression you hired me by mistake.”
My dad chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t mind her. She’s just a pistol of a thing, always has been. She knew I hired you. Probably just giving you a hard time.”
“Right,” Jack says, his gaze lingering on me. “That must be it.”
He leans up against the side of the irrigation system, completely at ease, as if he’s already settled back into life at Castings Ranch. His faded jeans and T-shirt are streaked with mud from our bumpy ride out here, but somehow, he looks more polished than he has any right to.
“What seems to be the problem with the irrigation system?” he asks.
My dad looks up from where he’s crouched next to the pipes, his face lighting up like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“It’s been acting up for weeks now,” he says, gesturing to the tangle of hoses and valves.
“We can’t seem to get the water pressure right.
Either it’s too low, or it’s flooding the whole field. ”
Jack nods thoughtfully. I can feel my teeth grinding as he crouches next to my dad, inspecting the mess of pipes. The other ranch hands step back, too, giving him space like he’s some kind of irrigation expert.
“Mind if I take a look?” Jack asks.
My dad waves a hand like he’s just been waiting for Jack to swoop in and save the day. “By all means.” Dad stands up and brushes off his jeans.
Jack rolls up his sleeves, exposing tanned, muscular forearms that I pointedly do not notice.
He studies the pipes for a moment, then starts fiddling with the valves, twisting one here, tightening another there.
He checks the main line and mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite catch.
“Try it now,” he says, straightening up and stepping back.
One of the ranch hands jogs over to the control panel and flips a switch. There’s a moment of tense silence, and then—like magic—the sprinklers roar to life, spraying a perfect arc of water across the field. The pressure is steady, the coverage even. It’s… flawless.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” my dad says, a grin spreading across his face. He claps Jack on the shoulder. “You’ve got the touch, son.”
The other ranch hands join in, patting Jack on the back and offering up their admiration like he just cured world hunger. My dad’s practically beaming, and I can feel my blood pressure rising with every second.
“It’s not that complicated,” Jack says modestly, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Just needed a little adjustment.”
I’m standing there, seething, while the men practically form a fan club around him. It’s infuriating. He’s been here for all of five minutes, and he’s already the golden boy. Meanwhile, I’ve been busting my ass to keep this ranch running, and no one’s patting me on the back.
I want to scream. Or throw something. Preferably at his head. But instead, I plaster on a tight smile and say, “Well, now that you’ve saved the day, I’ll leave you boys to it. I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what?” Jack asks, his tone all innocent curiosity. “Polishing your attitude?”
“Like taking care of Olivia,” I snap, ignoring his jab.
I turn on my heel and march back to the UTV, my boots kicking up little clouds of dust with every step.
I’m halfway there when I hear my dad say, “She’ll warm up to you. Just give her time.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” Jack replies.
I climb into the UTV, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. My heart is pounding, my face is flushed, and I’m so mad I can barely see straight. Jack’s back for less than a day, and he’s already turning my world upside down.
As I drive away, leaving him and my dad behind, one thought keeps running through my mind: This is far from over.
Jack might think he can waltz in here and pick up where he left off, but he’s got another thing coming.