10. Beck
Beck
I think the universe is punishing me.
There’s no other way to explain why I’ve come downstairs to find Lyla talking to my dad over coffee and pancakes.
He made her pancakes with fresh berries and cinnamon sugar. I can’t remember a day when my dad ever made me breakfast, let alone something with special toppings to boot. I have to stuff down the snide comment on the tip of my tongue.
As soon as I see her sitting there, bright eyed, bare faced, with those pink pouty lips, I realize the universe isn’t just punishing me, it’s fucking torturing me. It’s like a cougar, toying with its prey before killing it. All I can do is submit.
I’m not a submissive kind of guy. I don’t back down, I don’t give in. I’m stubborn and tenacious and I get what I want. But for her? For her I’d get on my knees and beg.
“Look who decided to get up,” my dad jokes, but it doesn’t land the way I think he hoped it would.
I grunt as I walk over to the coffee pot to pour myself a mug. Lyla cradles hers in both hands and takes a long drawn out sip, eyeing me over the rim.
“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” she teases, and I want to be annoyed. I really do. It would be so much easier if I was annoyed, if I didn’t enjoy her needling. But it’s another sign of the Lyla I once knew, and I want more. I want everything that I can’t have.
Her eyes heat my back as I pour my coffee, the weight of her gaze a brand on my skin. I don’t have to turn around and look at her to know that her dark brown irises are sparkling with mischief.
“I woke up just fine,” I mutter, turning to face the pair of them. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Lyla and I were discussing the work that needs to be done.” My dad changes the subject, and I’m grateful for it. I can’t take any more teasing from Lyla. I like it too much.
“And?”
“And we decided that I would spend the day with you.” Lyla’s smile is bright, that sparkle in her eye is still there. She’s smiling because she knows I already hate the suggestion. The only thing she doesn’t know is why.
“How will that help?” I cross my arms, resting my mug on my opposite forearm. Starting my morning with Lyla in my kitchen is enough torture for one day. Spending all day with her trying to pretend I don’t want to kiss her? That’s a humanitarian crime.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near a cattle ranch,” she explains.
That’s putting it lightly. Eighteen-year-old Lyla declared to anyone who listened that she was leaving Sage Valley for good, and wanted nothing to do with the town that raised her.
I’m still skeptical about her ability to bring the ranch back from the brink of bankruptcy, but I pretend to consider her proposal as I squint my eyes and nod slowly.
“Look Beck, I’m just like any one of your other employees,” she says, when she can tell that she hasn’t won me over with the suggestion alone. “Think of today like my orientation.”
The problem is, Lyla isn’t like any of my other employees.
For one, my other employees sleep in the bunkhouse, not one of the guest houses.
They’re always sweaty, they smell a lot worse than Lyla does with her perfume that’s like a fucking dessert in a bottle, and I don’t think about how their lips would feel all the damn time.
“Austin does all the new hire orientations,” I point out, grabbing a pancake from the plate on the counter next to me and shoving half of it in my mouth dry.
“I think it would be good for you to show Lyla around,” Wade fires back in that way he does when he thinks he knows what’s best. “She might be able to give you some good suggestions.”
Lyla is nodding along as he presents his argument.
“It’s an important part of the process. I like to get a feel for a business before I start throwing out ideas of what to change.
I like to understand the daily operations, and the heart of the business, what it is that draws customers in, what it is that keeps it going even if it’s struggling.
Those are the areas we can capitalize on. ”
“We don’t have traditional customers. And what keeps the ranch going is sheer necessity and force of will.”
“It’s also good for me to know what not to change.” Lyla’s eyes search my face to see how her comment landed.
And fuck if it didn’t hit home. Because I don’t want the ranch to change. Of course I know that improvements need to be made, we can’t keep going like this forever. But high on my list of priorities is preserving the traditions that tie my family to this place, this land, this lifestyle.
Today could be a prime opportunity to show Lyla what it means to me. To bring her back down to earth, to reality, that her idealistic way of looking at life isn’t going to fly on the ranch. It’s not going to fly with me.
“Fine,” I say, swallowing my bite and setting down my coffee. I stride toward the door and Lyla’s eyes follow me. “Let’s go, then.”
“Have fun kiddos,” my dad calls behind us before adding, “but not too much!”
I don’t let either of them see my eye roll. Lyla springs up and follows me out of the house, nearly jogging to keep up. My strides are about three times longer than hers, so she’s breathing heavily by the time we cross the lawn.
“You still know how to ride?” I call over my shoulder. I don’t know when the last time was that Lyla was on a horse, but I’d be willing to bet this ranch on it not being for a very long time.
“Yep,” she squeaks, and I catch the waver in her voice that gives her away. She absolutely does not remember how to ride.
When we get to the field, Lyla looks like a kid in a candy store and heads over to Willow and Bandit, already waiting for us at the fence. She goes between them, giving them equal scratches behind their ears, petting their velvety snouts.
“You can ride Willow today,” I explain. “Bandit can be unpredictable, and has a mind of his own sometimes.”
Lyla lets out a soft laugh. “You’re saying he’s kind of like Austin.”
My mouth lifts up into a smirk, because I had never really thought about it before, but she’s right.
Austin has always had a thing for unruly horses.
He loves spending time training them, and views it as an investment.
Sometimes I think he likes it because he wishes he’d had someone to do that for him. To believe in his potential.
Bandit came to Wild Sage as a wild horse that had been picked up at a meat auction. Horrible fucking places. But Tate Caldwell who owns the ranch next to mine occasionally goes to see if there are any he can buy for cheap and rehome them.
Austin likes to help him out when he gets a particularly challenging one, and that was Bandit.
“Yeah, he is,” I say. I lead Willow into the barn and start saddling her up, when I hear Lyla squeal from behind me.
I’m just about to tell her to keep it down, horses don’t exactly love loud, sudden noises.
But when I turn around, Lyla is absolutely beaming, and petting Kenny Rogers between his stumpy horns.
“Who are you, lil’ fella?” She croons at him.
“That is Kenny Rogers, and he’s an asshole,” I answer, since Kenny Rogers is unlikely to. “My dad took him in a couple years ago after he lost his leg, and he’s an ungrateful bastard. He’ll act friendly and sweet to your face, but turn around and he’ll head-butt you.”
“No… not Kenny Rogers… he would never,” she says, looking at him like he could never do any wrong.
I turn back to Willow, almost fully saddled up and ready to go. “Goats are like farm trolls, they spare no one.”
“That’s a little prejudiced, don’t you think? Has Kenny Rogers ever head-butted you?” Lyla stands up straight and then pops her hip, crossing her arms across her chest.
“No. Not me personally but–”
“Exactly. He likes you. He thinks he’s your pet,” she says with so much certainty that I almost believe her.
“He is not my pet. Goats are not pets. They’re farm animals. Dogs are pets. Cats, I don’t like ‘em but I can get on board with them as a pet. No one has a goat for a pet.”
“You do.” Lyla’s plush pink lips quirk upward, cheeky and teasing. “You have Kenny Rogers.”
“I do not.” I’m arguing like a child, and about what? This is what Lyla does to me, she eggs me on until I can’t even remember what we were teasing each other about. And I never want her to stop.
“Okay,” she replies, with a tone that says she doesn’t accept my argument, and she’s about to prove me wrong. “Let’s ask him.”
And then out of nowhere, Lyla Morgan makes a sound I would have never in a million years thought could be attractive. Lyla Morgan looks Kenny Rogers in the eye and bleats.
She bleats, and to my astonishment, Kenny Rogers bleats back. My mouth slides into a smile, and I stifle my amusement.
“See?” She turns and looks up at me, beaming with pride and satisfaction. “He says he’s your pet.”
“What are you, some animal psychic now?” I roll my eyes.
Lyla steps towards me and plucks Willow’s reins out of my hand. “No, that’s silly.” She leads Willow out the barn, her hips swaying as she walks in that hypnotizing way. “I prefer the term ‘goat whisperer’.”
All I can do is shake my head with a smile. It’s the smile of a person who knows they’re doomed, and have come to accept their fate.
I was reluctant to agree to a day spent with Lyla, because I’ve carefully curated a facade. I’ve made her–and everyone else–believe I don’t enjoy being around her.
But the longer she’s around me, she might start to realize that I don’t dislike her at all.