8. Toby
CHAPTER 8
Toby
“F uck off,” I snap, swatting at Owen wildly without opening my eyes.
To my utter shock, my hand contacts a much smaller arm, and a woman’s yelp pops my eyes open. I stare in horror at a pair of bemused and vaguely disturbed green irises behind a pair of glasses.
Stunned and apologetic, I sit upright in my bed and fumble for my beer, but it’s not in arm’s reach.
“Are you looking for your beer?” she asks.
Humiliated, I nod slowly, my eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Did you drink it?”
She guffaws and shakes her head. “I think your brother took it.” Emerson backs toward the door as I stare at her, trying to get my bearings. “Something about how you need to be clear-headed for your meeting today?”
“Oh fuck, right. Why are you here?” I demand, throwing the comforter aside to stand.
Her gaze drops toward my morning wood, and I grin lazily.
She abruptly turns away. “Brock told me to come and get you for the town council meeting.”
“Right.”
I stretch, and again, I see her eying me through the full-length mirror, catching the ripple of my abs as my back cracks. “How much time do we have?”
“About an hour,” she says. “I’ll wait outside.”
“No,” I tell her quickly. “Put on some coffee. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Nodding without turning, she hurries out of my bedroom and leaves me to shower. The hot water cascades down, warming my tight muscles, and I can’t help but stroke myself a bit at the thought of her as I lather up my body with soap. But I don’t go too far.
Fuck, she’s sexy in that librarian kind of way. I bet she’s a demon in bed, beneath that cool facade.
The smell of coffee lures me into the kitchen, and I find Emerson poring over her phone at the kitchen island, pretending not to notice as I enter. A steaming mug sits in front of her.
“All set?” she asks, standing as if she’s ready to go. Her voice reminds me of someone, and I find myself staring at her for a minute, tilting my head.
“Let me get caffeinated first, darlin’,” I reply, pivoting toward the coffee maker. “You want me to make a good presentation, don’t you?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Or is Brock making you present my idea to the town council?” I ask sarcastically.
Her brow furrows, and she adjusts her glasses, setting her phone down on the counter to look at me. “Why would I make the presentation? I don’t even know what this is about exactly,” she replies. “And this is my third day. How could I possibly present anything?”
I snort and pull open the fridge to yank out the creamer, dumping it in a slosh before slamming the stainless steel door. The condiments rattle.
“Yet you’re still tagging along, aren’t you?” I tease, trying to keep my voice light and moderately flirty.
Truth is, I’m irritated about being supervised, despite my obvious attraction to her.
At the same time, I can’t do a damn thing about how my body reacts to her, because Brock is right about scaring her off. We need her here. The whole situation is irritating.
I join her at the counter and flop onto the stool unceremoniously, taking a long sip of coffee. The bitterness scorches my throat, but it does wonders for my clarity.
Her frown deepens. “I’m trying to learn about everything on the ranch, Toby,” she reminds me gently. “I don’t think of it as tagging along per se. I think of it as you teaching me about what you do here.”
The response disarms me, and I grin, leaning in on my forearm. “Oh, I can teach you a thing or two.”
The side door opens, and Owen ambles through. Clearing my throat, I sit upright as my brother gives me a look that tells me to watch myself
“Morning,” he greets us.
“Good morning,” Emerson says, but her attention is on me, and I appreciate her for that. “So? What is today about?”
“I’m trying to get a rehabilitation program for wild horses going,” I say. “A lot of them are still running rampant in these parts, and with the unpredictable weather patterns, a lot of them are at risk. I’m looking to rehome them in the local ranches.”
Her expression softens. “That’s… wonderful, Toby. What will today accomplish?”
“Likely nothing,” Owen interjects, eying me meaningfully. “And it’s good to remember that. Bureaucratic red tape is a real thing, but you have to go through the process to get anything accomplished.”
I roll my eyes skyward. “Stop acting like I’m an explosive four-year-old. I got us this far, didn’t I? I’ll get us the funding we need.”
Owen looks at Emerson. “He will,” he agrees slowly. “But maybe not today.”
Grunting, I stand and search around the kitchen for my keys. “Come on.” I look at Emerson. “Are we going or what?”
Begrudgingly, Emerson rises to follow me, but I see the look she gives Owen on the way out, and I’m pissed.
Operation Babysit Toby is underway. Let the games begin.
* * *
True to her word, Emerson sits quietly in a chair near the front of the stage and watches the proceedings without interruptions, her tablet in hand.
But I’m disappointed with the turnout for my cause. If I’m being honest, I hadn’t dedicated as much effort as I should have toward rallying the neighbors on this. I’d mentioned the idea in passing to some of the clients and friends and told my brothers to do the same, but there hadn’t been much in the way of advertising the date and time for the council event.
And it shows today, especially with the mayor’s reschedule.
I wiggle my leg anxiously as I wait for my name to be called, the mayor taking her sweet time at the podium as she discusses other unimportant business, or at least the other business seems that way to me.
“Are you nervous?” Emerson whispers to me, noting my twitching leg.
My head whips toward her. “What?”
She smiles reassuringly. “I hate public speaking. I was just wondering if you were nervous.”
I grin and wink as the mayor calls out my name. “No, darlin’. I thrive at it.”
Hopping up, I leap onto the stage and shake the mayor’s hand vigorously, nodding at the sparse crowd. Swallowing my disappointment, I begin my rehearsed speech and statistics about the endangered wild horses in central Texas and how they need our help.
Impassioned, my voice swells, carrying through the small hall, and I see my neighbors nodding in agreement, several calling out until the mayor has to cut me off.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins, but we’re out of time,” she tells me.
My mouth falls open. “But I’m not finished!”
“You have to be,” she apologizes. “We have other matters?—”
“There are no other matters,” I cut her off. “The horses need our help.”
“Yeah!” someone calls out. “Have a heart, mayor!”
Sheepishly, the mayor smiles. “I understand your passion for this subject, but?—”
“But nothing,” I insist. “Are you going to find a way to secure funding or not?”
Patiently, the mayor tries to brush me off, but I’m adamant.
“Just give me an answer!” I urge.
“Toby…”
I look down and see Emerson waving at me. My gaze darts from the mayor to the crowd and back toward the redhead warily.
“Come here,” she mouths. “Just for a second.”
“Mr. Collins, please.” The mayor is losing her good humor with me. “I don’t want to escort you out but?—”
“No need for that, Mayor,” Emerson calls out. “Toby? Just for a second?”
Her pleading coaxes me down, those big green eyes haunting and oddly familiar as I climb off the stage.
“What?” I grumble. “I could have gotten her to agree if you had given me five more minutes.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, sitting me down next to her. “Or we come back with a much bigger crowd and more voices.”
She gestures behind her. “Look,” she continues. “You obviously have the interest already. We just need to rally more people in the community. The only way to get her to listen is to get louder.”
I stare at her with renewed interest, my eyes searching her pretty face. But she’s more than just a pretty face, isn’t she? She’s got the brains to back that up.
“What are you thinking?” I ask slowly.
“Why don’t we get out of here and go make a game plan?” she suggests. “That way when we come back, she won’t be able to say no.”
* * *
I hate the days when my brothers take Emerson away from me, even though Owen and Brock insist she belongs to the entire ranch and not just my cause.
“You can’t monopolize her,” Brock warns me a week after she arrives. “She’s starting to look tired. You’re overworking her.”
I slap his hands as he reaches for the last dinner roll, and he hits me back, snatching it up off the plate. He pops it in his mouth before I can do anything about it.
I scowl. “I’m not the one who has her doing the work of ten people. You have her bookkeeping, inventory, budgeting, and scheduling!” I fire back. “How the fuck is this on me?”
“She worked through her day off,” Owen comments over the dinner table. “She wanted to invite some people over on her day off, but she didn’t do that.”
I put my fork down and stare at him. “What people? Who?”
He frowns at me. “What the hell difference does it make? The point is, she didn’t. She was in the office all day, catching up on work. Maybe we are working her too hard.”
Owen looks at Brock, and he continues to eat.
“It’s the job,” Brock says. “If it’s too much for her to handle, she has to say something. It’s still in the early stages, and she’s learning the ropes.”
He nods at me again. “Plus, this one has her jumping through hoops with this horse project.”
Sure. It’s always on me.
I throw my napkin down on the table and stand.
“Oh, now what?” Brock demands. “Sit down and finish eating. Stop being such a fucking baby all the time.”
“I’m going to talk to her,” I tell him, ignoring his jab. “If she’s working through her days off because of me, that has to stop. If you’re not going to cut back on your workload, someone has to.”
“Talk to her about it tomorrow. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be visiting her place alone after hours. That’s especially true for you, Toby,” Brock grunts, but I hear the smidgen of guilt in his voice.
Good. Fuck him.
“Fuck you both,” I mutter, storming out toward the coach house.
“Will you go with him, please?” I hear Brock tell Owen.
I could seriously punch them both sometimes.
A coyote yips in the darkness as I descend the low hill through the ravine and along the pathway toward the coach house. In the distance, bass pumps rhythmically from the bunkhouse as ranch hands unwind for the night.
One of the workers, who is also a barrel racer in his free time, rides out in the corral, the floodlights in the eastern setup glaring to illuminate the entrance.
But as I near the coach house where Emerson is living, little noise or action is happening. No lights are on, and I wonder if she is already asleep.
But that can’t be right. It’s barely nine.
Although she has been working a lot.
Damn. I feel like an asshole now. We really have been giving her too much.
I knock gently on the front door, not wanting to disturb her as Owen’s footsteps crack over the gravel behind me.
“Don’t wake her up,” he orders me. “None of the lights are on.”
“You think I can’t fucking see that?” I snap. “Go home.”
“You go home!”
Ignoring him, I knock again, and this time, the door swings open, the latch not properly secured. “Emerson?” I call out quietly. “You awake, darlin’?”
Silence greets my call, and an uneasy feeling floods my soul as I step over the threshold.
Abruptly, I turn back to my brother, and our eyes lock worriedly. “Do you have your phone on you?”
He nods and hands it to me, enabling his flashlight.
“Emerson? Are you here?”
“Something’s wrong,” Owen says, sensing it too, and he falls into step behind me.
I scan the main floor for signs of anything out of place, and my chest tightens when I see her.
“Go get the truck!” I yell, rushing toward Emerson’s unconscious body on the floor by the stairs. “And call Brock!”