Chapter One #2
Worst-case scenario, he and Wade would push through, but he wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep.
The repair projects he wanted to complete before he headed back to his job would have to wait and he had no idea when he’d be able to break free again.
He’d burned through his vacation and PTO during his first four weeks on the Tree Fork and was now on approved unpaid leave for another four weeks—a fact he hadn’t shared with Wade, who would have had thoughts.
Thankfully, Jordan had the ability to work remotely once he completed his part of his company’s current project sinking a shaft for a new mine in Idaho.
He’d take the reins at the end of the month, when Trev was due back at his desk in Missoula.
Fuck but he hated his desk in Missoula.
“I’ll talk to Bailey.” Hayes’s fiancée. “See what we can work out.”
“No.”
A flash of sunlight on a windshield caught Trev’s eye and he squinted toward the spot where the road emerged from the aspen grove. The vehicle was still half a mile away, but he could make out the color and the make. Did he know anyone who drove a dark blue Ford?
“Got a visitor,” he said to Hayes.
“Hire them.”
“I will. Talk to you later. Don’t cut class.”
Trev put his phone in his pocket, studying the truck as it approached and wondering where he’d be directing the driver to. When the truck got close enough to read the Montana plate, he could see that a woman was driving with a smallish dog bouncing on the seat beside her.
The truck lurched when it crossed the cattleguard, as if its suspension was shot, then continued across the wide gravel yard that separated the houses from the barns and outbuildings, pulling to a stop a few yards away from where Trev stood.
She turned off the engine and started to open the door, only to stop abruptly when he pushed his hat back, giving her a good look at his face.
He might have been mistaken but it looked like she’d silently mouthed a curse word.
Trev’s first thought was that she was nervous, being miles from the public road and quite possibly lost. His second thought, when she once again raised her chin, was no fucking way.
Maclyn Kane.
He felt like rubbing his eyes to see if she disappeared when he opened them again. What was she doing here? And why was she driving a truck that looked like the front quarter panel would fall off if someone breathed too heavily on it?
They faced off through the gravel-pitted windshield for a few more seconds, then Maclyn squared her shoulders and pushed the truck door all the way open, telling the little dog to stay.
The door remained ajar after she’d stepped to the ground, making it easier to jump back inside, he figured.
The dog danced on the edge of the seat but followed orders and stayed put.
So, again, why was Maclyn Kane on his ranch?
She appeared to be wondering the same thing as she stopped a few feet away from him, perhaps waiting for him to make the first move. That wasn’t going to happen.
A breeze came up and caught hold of her dark hair, which was about a foot shorter than during their rodeo days, falling to her shoulders instead of to her waist, and her clothes were remarkably utilitarian.
The loose-fitting jeans bore signs of wear that were not part of the manufacturing process, and her scuffed boots spoke of actual ranch work.
No glitz. No bling. No visible jewelry. If he’d passed her on the street, it would have taken him a few seconds to recognize her.
That said, she still had that air about her, as if she were royalty masquerading as a cowgirl.
Or she’s nervous as hell.
She had reason to be.
“Long time,” Maclyn finally said, hooking a thumb in her pocket.
“Six years,” he acknowledged.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Five and a half since you tanked my job chances with Buckley Livestock, but who’s counting?”
Yeah. That. Not his fault. He’d been asked his opinion of Maclyn Kane as a potential employee and had explained his personal experience with her, every word of which was true.
He had not sought out the hiring manager of Buckley as she seemed to imply, and was about to correct her, when he thought better of it.
Nothing good came of arguing the past, and beyond that, there was something about the way Maclyn held herself, as if about to wade into battle, that stopped him.
“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.
“I’m here about the job you posted in the feed store on the highway.”
Trev tried to hold back the laugh. Failed. Mac’s expression shifted from defensive to pure ice at the choked sound.
“Sorry to have wasted your time.” She turned toward the truck and jerked the partially open door until it bounced on the hinges. The little dog scrambled into the passenger seat.
“Wait.”
Mac turned her head, Sam Elliott style, to wordlessly meet his gaze as he took a few steps forward, making him wonder if he’d imagined the crack in her voice.
“For?” she asked.
He shifted his weight, buying time as he tried to find a place of mental equilibrium. This was fucking weird. “You’re here about the job.”
Her jaw shifted sideways. “I was.”
“Why?” It made no sense.
“I didn’t know that you’d be here.”
She climbed into the truck then and pulled the door handle. Trev caught the frame before the door closed, dropping his hand as she shot him a WTF look. Right. What was he thinking?
He was thinking that he wanted answers. “Mac.”
She abandoned the battle for the door, letting her head drop back against the split vinyl of the headrest. “Yes?”
“What’s going on?”
She closed her eyes as if shutting out a bad memory. It took her a long moment to say, “I need something temporary. A few days even.”
“Why?”
Her eyes came open. “I’m in a spot.”
“What kind of spot?”
“The kind I didn’t expect.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She shifted her gaze to the windshield. “I got fired from my job. I have two horses and a dog to feed.”
He waited for more, but she reached for the ignition instead of explaining. Trev wasn’t ready to let her go. Not just yet.
“Mac.”
She kept her hand on the key as she once again glanced his way. “I don’t expect you to believe me, given our history.”
She gave the word history a nasty twist, which in turn caused something to shift uncomfortably in Trev’s brain. She had been so adamant when he’d confronted her about paying for the damage to his truck. Damage she’d caused, yet refused to take responsibility for.
“Won’t your parents help you out of the spot?
” The parents everyone assumed bankrolled her back in the day.
Someone had paid for that flashy truck and trailer and one of the best barrel horses on the circuit.
Since Maclyn had been barely into her twenties at the time, the assumption was that it wasn’t her writing the checks.