Chapter 2 #2
A smile that made his stomach drop.
"Good?"
"Good, because that person is not here. And if they were going to be here, do you honestly think that some sleazy tabloid would know about it?”
Nash didn't want to point out that the guest on the couch was reading said tabloid, so he just shook his head and shrugged. "I don't read tabloids." Which was true until he got his hands on the one Grandma C gave him.
"So you're honestly here out of the kindness of your little old heart?" Fern persisted.
"Why yes, ma'am, I am."
She scrutinized him. If this was the facility’s idea of a front desk manager, he'd hate to see their security team.
"Then I have one last question. What would drive a man like you to have a heart for people in this facility?"
Nash didn't have to give that any thought.
"I used to come here with my ma and pops and help with Riding Free.
But when I was 11 years old, my folks were killed in a car crash.
My aunt and uncle took us in and raised me and my brother like their own.
I guess you could say I'm grateful for their kindness, and I’m looking for a way to pay it forward.
This seemed like the best place to start. "
Nash vowed there and then not to complain about his volunteer hours even if Ellie never showed. He was a schmuck for using his past as a reason for this venture. In fairness, that was his motivation for volunteering at the shelter during the holidays each year, but that was three hours once a year.
The woman slid a hand underneath the counter. A buzzer sounded.
"Yes?" came a man's perturbed-sounding voice.
"The horse help is here."
“And?” the man came again.
“You were right. He’s the one who lost his folks.”
Nash furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“I told you I don’t forget a name.” Pride coated the man’s tone. “Send him on back.”
Nash couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
He bid the ladies farewell and hurried back to the truck in a cloud of guilt.
Someone there knew his parents; the mere idea sparked an odd dose of longing.
Connecting with people who knew his folks was bittersweet.
It was nice to hear new memories from different perspectives, but it always left him aching for more.
When a loved one is no longer there to make memories, you cherish the old ones and stash them close to your heart.
Nash did just that, but it still didn’t fill the void.
Red-blooded male that he was, though, a fresh thought pushed past his emotions and moved to the forefront: He’d done it!
He’d broken through all the red tape, taken all the painstaking measures, and now, he might actually come face-to-face with Ellie Blaire.
Sure, Fern had said the rumor about Ellie was false, but that only convinced Nash that it was true.
The man who met Nash at the ranch entrance looked straight off the set of an old Western. With the subtle tip of his hat, he indicated the spot where Nash should park the trailer. As he climbed out of his truck, the cowboy walked around back to meet him.
"Name’s Tucker,” he said, shaking Nash's hand.
“Hi there.”
"I knew your Pops. He was a mighty fine horse trainer, that one. It's a darn shame what happened to him and your Ma, son."
Nash unlatched the lock and slid out the ramp for Copper. "Thank you." If given the chance, Nash would see if he couldn't glean any new tidbits about his folks, but now didn’t feel like the time since he hadn’t yet wiped the guilt off his face.
It remained quiet as they got Copper acquainted with the corral, but once that was underway, Tucker motioned toward a cabin nearby.
"Why don't you step on inside for a drink? Fern sent some paperwork for you to finish up before we go any further."
More paperwork, was he serious? What now—sign away my firstborn?
Nash followed Tucker inside and took a seat at the bar while the man grabbed a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. He poured out two glasses before sauntering into a room off the kitchen. A moment later, he came back with a stapled stack of papers.
Nash gulped down half of his iced tea as Tucker slid the stack toward him and handed over a pen.
The words at the top of the page made Nash's heart skip with excitement.
A Nondisclosure Agreement, commonly known as an NDA.
This exact document was often used in celebrity interactions to protect private details, including a person's whereabouts.
Nash couldn't help but predict what this particular document might mean.
"I don't imagine you'll read the whole thing from beginning to end," Tucker said, “but in this case, I suggest you comprehend what you’re signing. Breaching a contract like this could result in dire consequences.”
Nash glanced up from the document to catch a stern expression on the man’s weathered face.
“If you take nothing else from the paperwork, remember one important thing.
" His eyes went dark, the lines above his brow growing more severe.
"Do not talk about the people you encounter here at this ranch.
Their business is none of your business, but it sure as heck-fire ain't anybody else's business outside of this ranch. You hear?"
For the third time that day, Nash felt caught. He wondered if Fern, the woman in boots, and the man before him now had seen right past his pretenses and into that fan-crushing soul of his.
Nash gulped and cleared his throat. "Absolutely.” He nodded some more. “I understand." With that, he quickly skimmed over the contract, then signed on the dotted line.
"Very good. The bottom copy is yours to keep. I suggest you read over that on occasion so you don't step out of line during your time here."
Another gulp. "Will do."
"Okay then," Tucker said, extending his arm for a handshake that—for a man like Tucker—probably meant more than the paper contract.
"Well then, son, welcome to Wild Buck Ranch." The firmness in his grip said he planned to hold Nash to his word.
Nash's discomfort quickly gave way to that ever-present thrill. He’d just signed an NDA, and he was pretty sure why. Soon, he’d be horseback riding with a woman he’d dreamed about since he was old enough to dream about girls.
He sucked in a satisfied breath and covered a grin.
Looks like things are going to go my way.