Finding Little Fiera (Littles of Rawhide Ranch #32)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

If you'd told Mason “Mace” Cody these were the people who'd get his ranch, he'd have shot you in the leg. Life was funny that way, only he wasn’t laughing.

“Right on, man. Thanks for the beauteous vibrations. You have totally rocked our world.” Phoenix Lotus delivered the words with a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded. He nodded, like he was agreeing with the cosmos itself. Twinkle Moonbeam, the woman standing beside him, nodded, too.

“Totally,” she said. It seemed to be her go-to word.

He stared at Phoenix and Twinkle, trying to think of something to say that would cross the language barrier. Finally, he settled on, “Right. So, if you run into anything I didn't cover, you have my number.”

Please, God, don't let them need my number.

Phoenix wrapped his arm around Twinkle’s waist. “Mucho grassy-ass, dude. Later.”

“Totally,” Twinkle Moonbeam said.

And that about summed it up. “You, too. Well, I reckon I'll see ya when I see ya. You two take care now.”

With that, Mace strode to his truck. He’d already packed it with everything he wanted to keep. His horse, Giddy, was in his trailer, so there was nothing left to do. Clenching his jaw to keep from screaming, he pulled away from the only home he’d ever known.

Looking in the rearview mirror, he tried not to feel like a complete failure as his family ranch disappeared in the cloud of dust his truck kicked up. The Seven-C Ranch had been in his family for over a hundred years, but not anymore. Now it was the “Merry Noise Farm.” All because of him.

To be fair, the rainbow stripes the new owners had painted on what used to be his home would probably make someone merry.

It just wouldn’t be Mace. The seventy-two—yes, he’d counted them—windchimes now covering the front porch made enough noise to raise both his pop and his granddad from their eternal resting place in the family cemetery.

The “noise” part of the new name certainly fit.

What really galled him was the “farm” part of the new name.

The commune of hippies that had come in with the highest bid at the auction for Mace’s ranch intended to grow vegetables and raise miniature fainting goats.

Mace’s best guess, based on the strong aroma and overall demeanor of the commune’s members, was that “vegetables” was another name for marijuana.

Speaking of which, his first stop was Oliver’s All-in-One Carwash to get the smell of pot off his horse.

The smell had annoyed the hell out of him, but both the horses he’d sold with the ranch as well as his own Giddy seemed to really like it.

He could have sworn one of them had a goofy smile, something you don’t normally see on horses.

The carwash would be the last thing he saw before leaving the ranch for good.

He’d never come back. Besides, he couldn’t afford to be late.

He had two days to make it to the rodeo gig he’d booked.

Not busting broncos or racing around barrels.

At thirty-six, those days were long gone.

No, he was heading all the way up to Montana to run a Little rodeo at a place called Rawhide Ranch.

Good thing he had his former rodeo career to fall back on in a pinch.

He didn’t have all the details yet. Hopefully, he wouldn’t end up in a clown suit, wearing a big red nose that honked when you squeezed it.

The way life was constantly tossing him into the dirt these days, nothing would surprise him. He forced himself to stare at the road ahead, waiting for the next blow. It was only a matter of time.

First, the pandemic had hit, and his meat sales dropped.

It’s hard to sell premium bison when no one can leave their home to shop for groceries.

The lack of sales made it hard to repay the loan he’d taken out the year before the world shut down.

When sales started to rise after the quarantine ended, he thought he’d be able to get back on his feet.

But life had other plans. Mother Nature intervened, sending a drought that killed the grain he’d planted to feed his stock. After that, it was only a matter of time before he defaulted on his loan, and the ranch went bankrupt.

Now, a ranch that was once a family legacy was the Merry Noise Farm, a hippie commune extraordinaire, complete with tiny, fainting goats and recreational vegetables for the masses.

Mace grabbed the windchime Twinkle Moonbeam had insisted he take with him to bring good karma to his next home and chucked it out the window.

The outskirts of Colorado Springs offered a jagged, beautiful skyline.

Mace barely noticed. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the asphalt.

The ghost of those damn rainbow stripes and the phantom ping of seventy-two windchimes was like a noisy ghost keeping him company every long mile of his journey.

He was still wondering how those stupid fainting goats would survive their first encounter with a mountain lion when his phone buzzed in the center console.

He glanced at the screen, intending to let it go to voicemail.

The last thing he needed right now was sympathy from his friends or more paperwork from the bank.

But the area code stopped him—406. That was Montana.

What fresh hell was next? Swiping the screen, he tapped the speakerphone. “Cody here.”

“Mason, this is Derek Hawkins from Rawhide Ranch. I figured you’d be somewhere north of the border by now. How’s the road treating you?”

The voice was deep and gravelly, blissfully devoid of the hippies’ “beauteous vibrations”. Mace’s shoulders relaxed. Hawkins was the kind of man who knew how to fix a fence without getting the cosmos involved.

“It’s Mace to my friends, and yeah, I’m just below Colorado Springs.

” Hearing the man’s voice made him feel more grounded than he’d felt in weeks.

“Everything’s going well. Giddy hasn’t complained yet, at least not too much.

I was worried I’d be dealing with a hungover horse, but so far he seems fine. ”

“A hungover horse? Something you want to tell me? I mean, we all like horses, but…” Derek played along. Nice to know the man had a sense of humor in there somewhere. He’d been all business when they’d discussed Mace coming up to run the rodeo festival for him.

Then again, if you’d asked Mace whether he could still laugh, he’d have told you no, but at Derek’s comeback, he did just that. “That’s another story,” he informed him. “But it will have to wait until I get there. It’s quite a tale.”

“Good to hear. We’re looking forward to having you,” Derek said.

“I’m calling to check your ETA and see if there’s anything you need on my end for the rodeo setup.

Jagger, our former stable master, is bringing the horses you asked for on Friday morning.

He and Travis, our current stable master, want to know if you need him to bring in specific rigging or feed before you arrive.

Thorin and Wylde are old hands at the rodeo, ex bull riders and are ready to help as well.

Anything you need, now’s the time to tell me. ”

“I should be there before lunch tomorrow if the weather holds,” Mace said. “As for the setup, I’ll need to see the area and what’s been done before I call for any changes. I like to know what kind of dirt I’m working with.”

Derek grunted. “Glad to know you think things through and don’t mind saying so. I like that.”

Mace nodded, appreciating the no-nonsense approach. So far, Derek sounded like a man who said what he meant and expected the same from others. He respected that.

The conversation paused. Mace was about to sign off when Derek said, “Before you get here, Mace, I want to make sure we’re on the same page.

” Derek’s tone shifted to something more serious.

“You’ve seen the website and you know the kind of guests Rawhide caters to.

I know the DDlg dynamic isn’t everyone's cup of tea.”

Mace shifted in his seat. Where was Derek going with this?

He looked around to see if life was waiting to hit him with a cream pie or a water balloon.

Then his gaze drifted to the vast mountain-framed horizon.

He couldn’t be anything but honest. “I’m more than familiar with it.

I’ve been in the lifestyle for years. I’m surprised Rowan didn’t tell you. ”

“He might have, but I didn’t ask. I like going straight to the source.”

Mace paused, trying to decide how much he wanted to share. “To be honest, it’s something I’ve explored in the past, but I’ve never quite made the pieces fit. Not in a way that lasted, anyway. Is it a requirement for me to run your rodeo?”

“Not at all,” Derek answered immediately and firmly.

“I’m not asking you to participate. That said, my guests come here because they feel safe.

I’m incredibly protective of the people on this Ranch, staff and guests alike.

So long as you understand your job is to run a professional show and treat everyone with the respect they’re paying for, we won't have a problem. I expect you to take care of my people, Mace. Period.”

“You have my word,” Mace said. Thank fuck. It felt more like comfort than a burden. He understood protection. He understood duty.

“Good. I think our guests will enjoy the rodeo. Since it’s the last summer camp of the season, I wanted to go all out.”

“I look forward to making it the best Little rodeo you’ve ever seen,” Mace answered.

“Good,” Derek said. Confirming Mace’s arrival time once more, the call ended.

Derek’s mention of the DDlg lifestyle dredged up old memories.

Mace didn’t think about Naomi Frost often.

Not to avoid the memories. It just wasn’t practical to spend time in the past. The matter had been resolved.

Some things didn’t need revisiting to remain understood.

She’d made her choice. He’d learned his lesson and moved on.

She had left two years ago on a Wednesday, which seemed appropriate now that he thought about it.

Everything bad seemed to happen on a Wednesday. Naomi left him on a Wednesday. The auction that lost him his ranch was on a Wednesday. Now he found himself rolling toward Colorado Springs in the dark… on a Wednesday. What would Wednesday bring next?

Naomi’s departure hadn’t been dramatic, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. After all, she sure as hell hadn’t tried to soften the blow.

He’d come in from checking fence lines and found her sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug whose contents had long gone cold. She hadn’t been crying. Of course, she hadn’t. Why cry when the decision had already been made?

The finality of that decision rang clear in the way she said his name.

“Mace.” Then she took a breath that sounded practiced. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He’d nodded. Not in agreement, just to signal he was listening.

She talked for a while after that. About how he came on too strong, was too controlling. How he anticipated her needs and took care of them before she even asked. How nothing ever spun out of control, nothing ever got messy enough to feel real. Like she was a puppet and he pulled all the strings.

“You’re not a Daddy. You’re a control freak. And a bully,” she’d said, watching him carefully, as if she expected an argument. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re definitely not a Daddy.”

He’d waited, letting the silence stretch long enough that she had to keep going or stop.

One thing about Naomi, she always filled the silence when she was nervous.

Right on time, she continued, “You’re too rigid.

Too strict. Maybe you don’t mean to be, but it’s suffocating.

You don’t leave room for fun. Or for things to just… happen.”

He’d thought about telling her that nothing “just happened”. It happened because someone paid attention. Someone held the line when it would’ve been easier not to. But explanations were a waste of time when the other person had already decided the outcome of the discussion.

Naomi had made up her mind. He’d figured out early on that she wasn’t the Little she’d claimed to be when they’d first gotten together.

He hadn’t argued. He hadn’t defended himself or offered his perspective or asked what version of him she would’ve preferred. Or what having a Daddy meant to her. There was no point.

Ultimately, it had been his responsibility to meet her needs, and he’d failed. What he saw as protective and caring, in her eyes, was controlling and rigid. Apparently, “steady” felt like “suffocating” if you didn’t want to stay.

She’d watched him closely. When he didn’t push back, confusion flickered across her face. Had she thought he would beg her to stay? If she had, she didn’t know him at all. Instead, he’d simply asked if she needed help loading her car.

Naomi hadn’t been wrong. They just hadn’t been a good fit.

She wanted spontaneity. He believed in structure.

She wanted to feel swept up in excitement and adventure, and he didn’t mind those things from time to time.

Hell, that was what drew him to the rodeo.

But he also believed in sure and steady, day-to-day loving and living. What she called boring, he called life.

Those things might be small, but they were foundational differences. They could change the direction of everything. Mace let out a sigh. He really hated Wednesdays.