Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mace liked a horse that listened without needing to be convinced.
Giddy did exactly that. Steady beneath him as he trotted through the outer pastures at Rawhide Ranch, his horse might flick an ear now and then, but his body remained calm.
The gelding took the winding fence line like he’d memorized it in the two hours since they’d arrived.
Mace kept his hands light on the reins, posture relaxed, eyes alert.
Just in case Giddy had missed a gopher hole or old barbed wire hidden in the brush and grass.
Scanning the area, he had to admit he liked what he saw. Years of ranching had taught him the best way to take in a new place was to let it show itself to you. Today, it was doing a damn fine job.
Derek rode a few lengths ahead on Bolt, the horse’s stride confident and unhurried, much like the man astride him.
Derek filled a space without effort. Mace respected that.
Hawkins was the kind of man who’d been born already knowing where north was.
His voice boomed when he spoke, carrying easily across the pasture, but Mace noticed how it softened whenever they passed a guest or when he spoke about his wife and Little girl, Sadie. Mace respected that, too.
To Mace’s left, Travis, the Rawhide Ranch Stable Master, rode Magic, a tall black horse with white stockings that looked almost theatrical against the green grass.
Magic moved with precise grace, every step measured.
Travis sat straight-backed, quiet and watchful.
He had the presence of a man who noticed details most people missed and filed them away for later use.
His eyes were kind but watchful. There was nothing soft about him.
Derek turned slightly in his saddle. “Camp starts Friday morning. We’ll sound the wake-up bell at seven sharp to go over the camp rules with the guests.
Breakfast is in the dining hall at eight o’clock.
This is one of the few mandatory meetings during camp, no exceptions.
We have found this helps get everyone off on the right foot.
It’s also a great opportunity to remind Littles who aren’t on time that choices have consequences. ”
Travis spoke up with his report. “I’ve been working with Wren and Arlo on the stable assignments.
I’ll have them posted by dawn on Friday.
We’ll have all the horses double-checked by then.
As always, we’ll keep the tack room locked for the weekend.
No one gets in unless they’re cleared. Mace, I’ll make sure you’re on that list.”
Mace nodded, absorbing it all. The longer he interacted with Hawkins and his people, the more he liked it.
There were no wasted words or drama. The Ranch ran like clockwork with respect and structure.
“Anything else I need to know as one of the staff?” Mace asked, mostly to confirm what he’d already read and discussed.
Derek grinned beneath his beard. “Wear your yellow staff T-shirt the first day so you’re easy to spot, just in case a Little decides to wander where they shouldn’t.
Obviously, most of your time will be spent on rodeo activities, but the rule of thumb is that if you see something that needs doing, you do it.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s your usual job or not.
For three days… Friday, Saturday, Sunday…
we all pitch in. Everyone helps with cleanup, supervision, and even midnight hot-chocolate duty if that’s where you’re needed. ”
“Midnight hot-chocolate duty? In August?” Mace repeated dryly.
Travis’s mouth twitched. “It’s a thing. Hot chocolate is not tied to a season or temperature on the Little calendar. And don’t underestimate it. Sugar-fueled Littles at midnight are a force of nature.”
Derek laughed, the sound rolling out across the pasture. “Travis once tracked a runaway Little by the trail of marshmallows she left behind.”
“Mini marshmallows,” Travis corrected. “Pink ones. If I remember correctly, she favored the pink ones.”
Mace snorted before he could stop himself.
He liked these men already. They were good at their jobs, serious when it counted, yet kept a sense of humor.
In Mace’s eyes, there was always a need to see the humor in a situation, if possible.
Especially when dealing with Littles bent on mischief.
He’d learned that by experiencing Little chaos up close and living to tell the story.
As they rode the perimeter of the main pasture, Derek explained sightlines, safe zones, and how the oversized playgrounds were designed for adult weight but scaled for Little joy.
Mace listened, asking a few questions but mostly taking it in.
He liked the way Derek spoke of discipline not only as a punishment but also as a way to bring clarity.
Rules ensured no one had to guess where the boundaries were.
And consequences existed so that safety could, too.
By the time they turned back toward the stables, something settled into place for Mace.
He’d still had a few concerns about working here, but not anymore.
Rawhide Ranch wasn’t built for show. It had substance, providing a space where people could enjoy themselves openly.
That was something most people who lived the DDlg lifestyle had never experienced.
At the stable, Travis swung down first, already loosening Magic’s girth with practiced efficiency. “I’ve got them,” he said, taking Giddy’s reins before Mace could protest. “Go on. Derek’s got paperwork he’s dying to pretend isn’t waiting.”
Derek huffed a laugh as he tipped his hat back. “Well, I’m sorry to say that’s true. I know we talked on the phone, but we need to head over to my office to get it all in writing. Once that’s done, we can seal the deal with a glass of exceptionally fine whiskey.”
Mace dismounted, gave Giddy a final pat, and followed Derek, or Master Derek, as was his official title, down the path toward the main lodge and Derek’s office. They’d barely taken ten steps when the crunch of tires announced an arrival.
A taxi pulled up near the entrance. And then—
Chaos.
The back door flew open, and a tiny little girl practically exploded from the vehicle, momentum carrying her forward as two suitcases tumbled after her like loyal but clumsy ducklings. One tipped. Another spun. A third appeared from nowhere and joined the fray.
She wore a faded black tank top, with a teal flannel shirt tied around her narrow waist, covering dark denim shorts with frayed hems that showed legs too long for the rest of her.
She stumbled, trying to get her bearings, like a colt still figuring out where all its parts went.
Scuffed red leather cowgirl boots slapped against the gravel as she scrambled to corral her belongings, her hair doing its best to escape the messy bun perched on her head.
And then Mace saw it. A shocking white forelock, stark against her deep brown hair. It caught the sunlight, demanding attention.
Without waiting for assistance, she slung a canvas backpack over one shoulder, and Mace blinked. Was that a skunk stuffie, held to the front by a strap? There had to be a story there.
The Little—because there was no mistaking her for anything but a Little—stacked her luggage with intense focus, arranging the pieces like one of those old cube puzzles Mace had played with when he was a kid. She adjusted, stepped back, frowned, and tried again.
Derek stopped walking when he realized he was leaving Mace behind. Mace had stopped in his tracks when he saw the young woman and didn’t even remember doing it.
Following Mace’s line of sight, Derek grinned. Amusement threaded his voice as he said, “Yep. Camp has officially started.”
A young man bustled out to meet her, his gestures spoke of his offering to take in her luggage, but she seemed to be refusing, if the way she shook her head was any indication. The young man must have said the magic words because, eventually, she allowed him to take them to the base of the steps.
When she joined him, she watched the young man walk away and began rearranging her suitcases again. Mace didn’t even try to hold back his grin. She was a particular Little girl, now wasn’t she? And feisty. He had a thing for sweet, feisty Littles.
The girl stepped back at last, hands on her hips, surveying her creation with satisfaction. She looked up, caught Mace watching, and grinned. Her face was bright, unapologetic, and entirely unbothered by the commotion she’d just caused.
Mace’s chest tightened. She was chaos in the prettiest package he’d ever seen.
She stood there in the Montana sun, suitcases stacked like a dare, skunk stuffie swinging proudly, and Mace knew the next week was about to be a whole lot more interesting than he’d planned. Mace watched her gather her luggage and march inside to check in. If nothing else, the girl had grit.
Once she’d made it inside, Mace followed Derek back to his office. He tried to shake the image of the girl from the taxi from his mind. It still rode the back of his skull like a burr he couldn’t shake. Chaos in boots, Derek had said. Or maybe Mace had thought it himself. Either way, it fit.
Derek shut the French doors they’d used to enter the office from the private patio and gestured toward a pair of leather chairs on the opposite side of a massive mahogany desk. “Have a seat.”
Mace wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t the large executive office Derek led him into.
He stepped around the massive, polished mahogany desk to one of the leather chairs on the other side.
The office felt more like a lawyer’s or a business mogul’s than a rancher’s. But the order of it was evident.
Mace sat, spine straight, hands loose on his thighs. He’d learned long ago that the fastest way to gauge a man was to let him talk. Derek poured two fingers of amber liquid into thick-bottomed glasses and handed one over.
Derek raised his glass. “This is wasted on those who gulp.”