Chapter Seven
The fence in the east pasture might well be the death of him.
Zero had successfully led campaigns against enemy insurgents in some of the worst geographies in the world.
He’d carried umpteen pounds of gear through the Afghanistan desert while the heat tried its best to roast him and his platoon alive.
He’d survived the loss of more than he thought he could bear some days… surely he could best a fence.
But despite two days of trying to beat the thing into submission, it was clear he and Tag would need a miracle or a better YouTube video or a good scorched-earth campaign that would make all of this go away as it went up in flames.
“It shouldn’t be so hard to get a piece of wood that fits this,” Tag grunted as he levered the split-wood length away from the opening for the eighth time and dropped it to the ground.
“Yeah. You’ve mentioned that a time or two,” he reminded him. “Too bad complaining about it doesn’t magically make it fit.”
“Only the grace of God seems like a solution at this point,” his friend agreed with a grimace. “What if we knock it all down and string barbed wire instead?”
Zero scowled. “With what money? Barbed wire isn’t free, and all of my capital is earmarked for livestock.”
Sliding to the ground, Tag wiped off his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. “Tell me again why you didn’t like my suggestion to turn the Pig into a pumpkin farm?”
“Pumpkins, Ryland? Really?” he shot back with far less sarcasm than the comment deserved. “Which part of me says pumpkin farmer?”
“The part that has mercy for your oldest friend.”
Yeah, no. “You’re a paid employee at the moment, friend.”
Which came across crappy, no two ways about it, but Tag took it on the chin with a nod, obviously used to Zero’s tendency to get grumpy when off his stride. Which was always, lately.
Zero scrubbed at his face. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. We’re partners, and I need you, so ignore the part where I acted like a jerk.”
“Been doin’ that most of my life, so no biggie.” Tag snorted with a grain of mirth. “I got nowhere else I’d rather be. This is my land, too. Not in the ownership sense, but I grew up here, don’t forget.”
No reminders were required that he’d inherited Tag along with the ranch.
Zero’s grandparents had unofficially adopted Tag, whose old man had been a drunk and mean with it.
Most days he’d never bothered to realize his son hadn’t come home, and eventually it was just understood Tag lived at the Flying Pig.
Grandpa had gone out of his way to specify, but Zero hadn’t needed it spelled out in the will to know Tag had become his responsibility, same as the dogs and the house and everything else.
Tag’s paycheck could never be described as large, but he stayed in the bunkhouse for free and raided the kitchen at the main house at his leisure, so it was a pretty good deal for both of them.
“You’d think someone who grew up here might know how to fix a fence, then,” Zero said, only half joking. “Not much point in checking out MacGregor’s livestock if we don’t have a pasture to put them in after purchasing.”
“Eh. Them cows can’t step this high anyway.
” Tag nodded to the section of the fence missing the top rail, which had broken during a spring storm a few months ago.
“But you need to keep other stuff out, like humans. Maybe we buy one length of barbed wire and wrap it around these two posts, then call it a day. It doesn’t have to match. ”
The idea had a lot of merit. Zero tamped back his tendency to do things right, according to the book, and visualized the patch job Tag had just described. It wouldn’t be pretty, but at this point, he needed something functional. And to stop beating his head against this project.
“Done.” He dusted his hands off. “Can you handle that? I need to stop by and see Delilah’s progress.”
Her smile popped into his mind’s eye without too much prompting. What was with the sudden hitch in his lungs? The heat was getting to him.
Tag waggled his brows and shifted his hat back on his head. “Sure wish I had a pretty dog trainer I needed to check on.”
“Shut up. It’s not like that.”
Wasn’t it, though? He’d been pointedly ignoring the barn and who it contained since he’d run into her earlier, a feat and a half, since the red siding stood out against the backdrop of sky and green pastures like a giant stop sign.
His thoughts had wandered away from the job of measuring the wood several times, which in retrospect might have caused some of the problems.
Not that he’d admit that to Tag. Or himself.
“Sure it’s not.” Tag heaved himself to his feet, resetting his hat again, a motion he made a hundred times a day that sometimes became his own kind of language. “We don’t even have any of the livestock yet. You could have told her to start next week.”
Yeah, well, no, he couldn’t have. She represented forward progress. Hope. Both things in short supply, plus she’d been pretty clear she needed to start right away. Not that it was his problem, but how was he supposed to ignore someone who needed his help?
“Maybe mind your own business,” he suggested with saccharine sweetness.
Instead of continuing to rib him, Tag clapped him on the shoulder, his expression serious.
“It’s cool, man. I know you want to honor your grandpa by getting the Pig operational.
It’s why I’m here standing next to you. He was a great man, and this place is going to run like clockwork under your command.
I can’t do what you do. I’m a worker, not a leader. ”
Humbled all at once, he clapped Tag back on the shoulder, his throat too dry to allow him to speak.
What would he say anyway?
He left Tag to the barbed-wire assignment and strode across the field to the barn, trying not to make a big deal out of the way his pulse picked up the closer he got.
What was with his stupid reaction to Delilah?
Not even the woman herself, but the thought of her.
He’d just seen her a couple of hours ago.
Was he fifteen again, for crying out loud?
But the moment he cleared the wide entrance on the south side and saw Delilah standing there with the broadest smile on her face, he couldn’t call it anything other than what it was—trouble.
She slammed through his senses with a physical force like he’d hit a brick wall. Sure, she was attractive, but it was more than that. There was something about her, something he couldn’t have named or predicted, but he could no sooner pretend it didn’t exist than he could fly.
“Hey, you,” she called and held up her hands as if he’d sprouted a badge and a uniform, sirens blaring as he told her she was under arrest. “Before you get crossways with me again, Hunter is here with permission.”
Hunter? A quick glance around answered that question as Zero noted the boy hulking over in the corner. Out of the way, but still in the barn. Where the dogs were. Again. “Okay. I wasn’t going to say anything.”
How could he, when his vision had been filled with Delilah and he hadn’t even noticed this kid? See: trouble. The kind he didn’t have time for.
Just as he opened his mouth to ask for a progress report, Captain Barbossa charged between his legs from behind, nearly knocking him sideways. The little menace yipped a hundred times in a row as he leaped up on Delilah, nosing around her pocket.
“Down, Captain Jack Sparrow,” she commanded and then repeated herself to no avail. The dog ignored her, same as he always had with Zero.
“You know that one’s Barbossa, right?” he called, mystified how she’d gotten this far without being able to tell the two Australian Shepherds apart. That niggle in his gut vibrated again, but he squashed it. “Not that it matters. He’s not going to listen to you regardless.”
Lips pursed, Delilah eyed him and then the dog. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.” He crossed his arms and leaned on one of the posts that held the stall door hinge. “I guess I don’t have to ask how it’s going then.”
The sentence practically pained him to say, not to mention the reality of the sentiment, which meant he couldn’t check off dogs trained on his mental to-do list.
Grudgingly, he allowed it was early in the process. What had he expected, that she’d get the job done in a couple of days? That would have been nice. But then she’d be gone, and he was strangely glad she hadn’t turned into a miracle worker-slash-dog savant.
“I swear I had them straight a few minutes ago,” she insisted.
A little line appeared between Delilah’s brows, and he tried hard not to notice how cute she was when she got frustrated.
That was the last thing he should be thinking about. Nor should he be the slightest bit glad to have evidence that the training sessions might be less effective than he’d hoped. He needed to focus on the issues here, get everything back on track, and ensure he got what he was paying for.
“Barbossa has the white spot on his head.”
“Oh.” She absorbed that for a moment. “That might explain a few things.”
“It explains nothing. The only explanation for the Captains is that they’re both possessed by the devil.”
“They’re sweet dogs,” she countered, hands on her hips as she blinked rapidly and jerked her eyes toward Hunter in a very obvious reference to the kid.
As if to indicate Zero should watch what he said around him.
“Hunter and I were just about to take Elizabeth Swann for a walk, but Captain Barbossa got loose from his stall, so we were working on that problem first.”
So the session had descended into chaos quickly. No different than when he’d tried to tame the crew. But there was still a twinge of disappointment Delilah hadn’t taken a masterful command of the situation. Zero needed something to go well. Desperately.
Hunter nodded, visibly brightening, something Zero hadn’t seen in a while. It was the boy’s Christmas face, like he’d just come downstairs to see the tree all lit up and a dozen presents underneath.