The Banker and the Blue Collar Man (Snow Creek Ranch #7)

1. Jake

Jake

The breeze coming down off Snow Creek wrapped around my neck like a soft scarf. I focused on that rather than on Lucas Barrett, the new co-owner of Snow Creek Ranch. And what he was saying to me.

He meant well with all his changes, and every bit of him was in earnest, like a young preacher attempting to turn his flock toward baptism.

But I’d already been baptized, a long time since: on the first day I arrived at the ranch, twelve years ago last winter.

When Walter Barrett, Lucas’ grandfather (now sadly passed), had taken me in.

I didn’t need the changes Lucas was offering. I didn’t want them. I just wanted things to be the way they were. The way they had been.

But life, my life at least, had a way of tripping me up when I wasn’t paying attention.

“I was planning to check the fence lines today,” I told him when he paused for breath. “Not babysit.”

“I need your help with this, Jake,” Lucas said. “He’s one of my best friends, and he’s doing me a favor by driving some kids to the ranch. They’re arriving a few days early, is all. Everyone else has pitched in. So, can you do this for me?”

The new arrivals were LGBTQ kids, older teenagers from the description, who had signed up at the Center in Denver for Lucas’ ranch program.

Their driver, Dalton Gayle, was a guy who’d worked with Lucas when Lucas had been a city man.

A financier in a cubicle in a tall office building in the big city.

A world so far away from the one I lived in—had lived in—I couldn’t even picture it.

Unmentioned was the promise Walter had made to me all those years ago: that I had a home at Snow Creek Ranch for as long as I wanted it. A promise that ended my lackluster life and gave me a new one. A better one, complete with something to hope for. To live for.

It wasn’t just the three hot meals a day and a room of my own; it was the acceptance. The sense of permanence. That meant everything to me.

Lucas hadn’t brought all that up as if to say You owe us, of course. This wasn’t about guilt. It was about doing what was right, supporting Lucas and his idea of helping LGBTQ kids the way the Center had helped him.

I wanted to support him. But I didn’t like the changes. They felt dangerous to me, a shifting beneath my feet, like the earth itself was moving.

“Give me a couple of days, Jake,” Lucas said. “We’ll figure out the schedule, and then somebody else can take over working with them.”

Looking out at the bluffs and the escarpment of gray flint and dark stone that, I knew from my own experience, provided an expansive view of the valley where Snow Creek Ranch nestled along Snow Creek, I wasn’t intentionally making him wait for my answer.

But I needed a minute to temper my feelings, so the response would come out like it ought.

Measured and polite. That was and had always been, my first line of defense.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. And I would, because I’d said I would. I might not be all excited about a working ranch turning into something else, but it was still my home, and I wanted to stay there. “What will they need?”

“Boots and hats, that should do it. Go to the Mercantile.” Lucas reached into his wallet and pulled out a card I knew was for nonprofit purchases only.

I took it from him and thumbed over its surface, smooth and silky.

“They’ll be sharing bunkhouse four, because all the rest are full,” he said. “The key code is one-two-three-four, but they can change it to anything they want. Then take them to get kitted up and bring them to dinner. Maybe take them on a trail ride after. How about that?”

He asked it as if I had any choice, though I could have objected if I had felt strongly enough about it. But right then, the last thing I wanted to do was discuss what was turning my life upside down.

I was going to march through the task because I owed the ranch. The only thing was, digging postholes for fence lines or hitching up a sump pump to drain an irrigation ditch clogged with muck was easy compared to helping to make changes at Snow Creek.

I didn’t like being a part of it, but I was going to do it anyway. It was just that it felt a little bit like the rope I was holding onto, the rope I’d tied that kept everything in place, was slipping through my hands.

This sensation wound around me, tightening snakelike, as I took out my own wallet and slipped the credit card in, then put the wallet back. The order of the actions, their ordinariness, settled me, at least a little.

“And, Jake,” Lucas said, “be nice to my friend. Right?”

I twitched. I hadn’t planned to be anything but nice.

“He’s had a rough time of it since I left the firm for good.”

“Oh?” I asked, just to be polite.

“His family is a piece of work—” He put his hands up like he meant to stop a runaway horse. “When I asked him to bring some kids out, he jumped on it. Asked for a couple days of PTO right away.”

I listened as his words sped up. I had no idea what PTO was.

“I warned him,” Lucas said, his voice dropping a notch, like he was about to tell a dramatic story.

“I said This wild country will sink its teeth right into you and never let you go.” He smiled at me, a kind smile that reminded me of his grandfather.

Genuine. Warm. Engaging. “And he said maybe he wanted that. I know he needs a change.”

Change was something I did not want or need, so I didn’t understand why anyone would.

Nor why Lucas would describe Snow Creek Ranch as wild.

It had been around for years, its roots extending deep beneath the valley floor, and was bound by Snow Creek and the ridge.

Acres and acres that had been used a good long time for cattle and horses, long enough to establish the ranch’s own rhythm.

Long enough that, upon my arrival, the valley had wrapped me in its arms and considered me its own.

“I’ll look after them,” I said. My struggles weren’t Lucas’ problem. I played it close to the vest, like I always did, and patted the pocket where I kept the keys to my truck. “As soon as they get here, I’ll show them their bunkhouse and take them into town.”

Lucas shook my hand and went back to the main building, where the dining hall and office were. I watched him go, then scanned the yard, the barn, the storage building, and the paddock. Everything was being done up, made fancy like a young girl preparing for her first school dance.

Malcolm, one of my fellow wranglers at the ranch, was a genius handyman, and that was the truth of it. He’d managed to update the buildings while keeping their look and feel. As if they’d been there always.

Rustic and real had been Lucas’ direction, and other than that, he’d let Malcolm do as he pleased. Which was the right call, because if anything needed to be fixed, Malcolm knew how to do it. All I knew was horses and carpentry, which, it seemed, kept me useful enough.

For now, there was plenty of work to be done, so I’d be around to see it through. And after summer’s end? My mental road dropped off into fog-covered nothingness. All I could do was take one day, one step, at a time.

I took lunch in the dining hall, then went out front to wait for the newcomers. I ended up pacing back and forth, my boots kicking up dust and gravel, my straw cowboy hat keeping the sun off even as it let in a cooling breeze.

By and by, the dirt road that led from the paved road into town roiled up with dust, signaling that a car was coming. Moments later, that car pulled into the open area in front of the barn, a blue sedan that looked new and well cared for.

Two teenagers piled out from the back seat, gangly youths, trim with a city air, boisterous and laughing as they tugged their worn, dark-colored backpacks onto one shoulder almost in unison with each other.

One was dark-haired and tall. He looked at me with wary eyes.

The other was slender, almost bouncing on his toes, his fair hair flopping over his forehead.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” I said somberly, like I imagined myself to be the doorman at some fancy city hotel. “I’m Jake Colter, and I’m here to show you to your bunkhouse. You can leave your backpacks there, and then I’ll take you into town to get you hats and boots.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Colter. I’m Dillon,” the dark-haired one said. “And this is Cameron.”

“Jake is fine,” I said, appreciating their polite manners that seemed at odds with their ratty sneakers and the faded hems of their t-shirts and jeans.

Before we could shake hands and proceed to the cabin, the car’s engine turned off with a sigh, and a man got out. I readied myself to greet the driver, because this was Lucas’ friend, Dalton Gayle, and I might as well start out on the right foot.

Dalton looked serious and focused, but before I could say hello, Lucas emerged from the barn and pulled Dalton into a big hug. Now flushed and smiling, Dalton hugged Lucas right back. Then he turned to look at me, and I blinked.

Dalton was golden-haired, with pink cheeks, blue eyes, and a mouth made out of raspberry candy. Angled features. A straight nose that gave him a serious air. Slender hips. Strong shoulders. He was as pretty as a sunrise on a summer morning. I’d not been looking for sunrises.

I focused on the clothes he was wearing.

Cotton trousers. Shoes with tassels on them.

A button-down shirt marked with sweat stains beneath his arms. There was a slash of grease across the small beige-on-white pattern that announced a small fracas with a pump at a gas station somewhere along the way.

He was dressed all wrong for being on a ranch, though perhaps he’d not meant to stay long. Just long enough to drop Dillon and Cameron off. Then he’d be on his way.

“How much PTO did you end up taking?” Lucas asked, pulling Dalton’s focus back to him and clapping Dalton on the shoulder before releasing him.

“A couple of days.” Dalton spoke loudly and clearly, as though he was defying the normal order of things.

I still didn’t know what PTO was.