Lucas
I’d only made it about twenty feet from the house before I fell over, and it was worse because I could feel Sexy McCowboy watching my every step, probably waiting for me to fall.
I should have tested the ground with my boot before committing my weight.
Slipping wasn’t an option. Falling even less so, and I was about done with pain right now.
So much for cutting down on the meds—maybe today wasn’t the day to be brave. Brushing myself off, I’d thrown the middle finger as if that didn’t hurt like hell, then found the staff building easily enough and followed the smell of coffee into the dining room.
I’d asked the cook—I knew her name was Ruth—for an egg white omelet.
She hadn’t laughed me out of the place; she’d told me to sit.
But what she’d brought me later wasn’t by any stretch a perfect, or even rustic, omelet, but overcooked scrambled eggs that I’d stubbornly eaten a couple of mouthfuls of as I checked out the room.
I couldn’t swallow tablets without food, so I had to have something.
The only other person in here was the young man from yesterday—Miguel—sitting alone at another table, quiet. I’d waited for him to look up. I even had a smile ready, but he hadn’t looked at me once.
And now here was Jesse, speaking easily to the cook while she rolled her eyes in my direction. I’d realized, sitting there with eggshell between my teeth, where I stood in the hierarchy—and how far outside it I was.
Not that I cared. I hadn’t come here to make friends or win anyone over. I was here to assess the land and the assets, figure out what existed on paper versus reality, and then get through six months before I could inherit. After that, I was done.
Done.
Jesse’s gaze flicked my way. It shouldn’t have mattered. It lasted barely a second, no expression I could pin down, just a quick assessment before he turned back to Ruth.
Jesse shifted closer to the counter, shrugging out of his coat. Snow slid free and hit the floor, darkening into wet patches around his boots. He rolled his shoulders once, as if he was loosening a knot, and I found myself tracking the movement before I could stop myself.
I stared back down at my plate, jaw set.
They were all variables on the ranch, all names I knew from accounts, complications to be managed, and Jesse… well, he was not whatever my body had briefly tried to make of him with all his sexy growliness.
Unfocused, I took another bite of the eggs and regretted it.
Jesse grabbed a mug from the counter, filled it without asking, and crossed the room. Of course, he didn’t sit with me, and instead, with his back to me, he dropped into the chair opposite the young man.
“Morning,” Jesse said to him.
The young man glanced up. His expression relaxed. “Morning, boss.”
They sat easily together. Jesse said something low that made the other man huff a quiet laugh, eyes dropping to his mug.
I didn’t mean to watch. I definitely didn’t mean to notice how Jesse angled his body in, and how his voice stayed pitched just for him to hear.
It shouldn’t have mattered he was telling me in no uncertain terms that he had a good relationship with people on the ranch, as if he were underscoring that I didn’t.
Something in my chest tightened, and I pushed my plate away before I could force myself to eat another bite. I wasn’t there to be liked.
Six months, I reminded myself. Assess. Report. Sell. Leave.
Don’t think about the community here. Or the names.
I didn’t look at Jesse again. Not once.
Well, apart from the few glances to check where he was sitting and that he wasn’t looking at me.
That was all.
Ruth appeared at my elbow without warning and lifted the plate before I could object. She eyed the sad remains, one eyebrow ticking up.
“Not liking your food, then?”
I straightened. “I loved it, Ruth,” I said, too quickly, and her eyes narrowed, probably because I knew her name and used it. “Just—you know. Not hungry.”
Her mouth twitched as though she didn’t believe a word of it. She stacked the plate on her arm and moved off without another comment.
I sat there for a second longer, stomach empty, pride bruised, already mentally inventorying the candy stashed in my luggage. Chocolate bars, emergency sugar, the kind of snacks I packed when I didn’t trust life to take care of me.
If this was how things were going to be, candy would have to count as lunch, too.
The young man drained the last of his coffee and stood, chair legs scraping across the floor.
He nodded once at Jesse, quick and familiar, then glanced my way.
Just a flicker of focus, curious more than anything else, before he pulled his jacket on and headed out of the door.
I didn’t even have time to throw him that smile I’d been practicing in my head.
Cold rushed in after him, cutting through the warm air of the room, and it was time for me to leave as well—I had a car to dig out and empty.
I stood a beat slower than anyone else might, waiting for my leg to agree with me, counting back from ten.
Then, I pulled my coat on and contemplated talking to Jesse, maybe ingratiating myself, apologizing for the fire, but that wasn’t me, I didn’t do making friends.
I’d never had them when I had a home, I didn’t when I was homeless, and I’d learned very quickly that surviving my life was on me, not anyone else.
Of course, I had Dalton and Rebecca, but they had forced their friendship on me so aggressively I had no choice but to give in.
The obstinate cowboy didn’t even turn to watch me leave.
Fine. Let him be stubborn. I had work to do, and I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of watching me wobble.
The cold hit me full in the face the moment I stepped outside.
I might have been used to the elevation in Denver, but this place sat another thousand feet higher, and my lungs knew it.
The air punched hard, stole my breath, burned on the inhale, as snow skittered across the yard, driven sideways by a biting wind that pierced straight through wool and skin, sinking deep.
Discomfort didn’t mean danger, but the path was treacherous, and I regretted wearing the wrong boots.
I paused on the step, then forced myself to move because this was day one, and I had numbers to run and land to evaluate.
I made myself look around properly—yard, outbuildings, tracks, where the wind was coming from.
If I was going to survive this place, I needed information.
The cold followed me all the way across the yard to my car.
Snow had drifted hard against one side, packed tight up to the doors.
I brushed at it for a second, then gave up and went around to the other side instead, dragging out everything I needed and piling it in the snow.
Then bit by bit, I took it into the house and collected it together.
I will not be broken. Not by the cold, and not by Jesse Knox.
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I placed a box in the hall. I ignored it at first, fingers numb, breath fogging, then gave in and checked the screen.
DALTON: Are you still alive?
I snorted quietly and typed back with my thumb.
LUCAS: Barely. Snow, ice, hostile eggs. But the land looks promising. Better than expected.
That part was true. Or true enough. The reply came almost immediately.
DALTON: WTF is a hostile egg?
LUCAS: Long story
DALTON: Bet I can beat it, cos it’s messed up here.
LUCAS: What?
There was a delay this time. Long enough for the wind to cut through my coat and remind me I was standing with the front door open like an idiot. I went and shut it, shivering.
DALTON: We lost the Madden account.
What? That account was everything to Hadley & Maine and probably accounted for half of the staff’s hourly work. It didn’t bother me now. I was done with that place, but Dalton was still there, and I hated bad things happening to someone I called my friend.
LUCAS: Lost it how?
DALTON: They pulled it. Effective immediately. No appeal. Auditors found errors in the last two Qs. Billing inconsistencies. Logan is shitting himself. Looks like he’s in the frame.
Logan Palmers—Dalton’s boss, my ex-boss, and all-around asshole. I leaned back against the wall.
DALTON: They’re talking about layoffs. Real ones.
I closed my eyes for a second, jaw tightening.
LUCAS: It’ll be okay.
Another pause, because how lame was I sending that fake reassurance? I didn’t know it was going to be okay. When I sold the ranch, I’d have more than enough cash for the charity to hire Dalton.
DALTON: Fuck this anyway—how’s the ranch?
LUCAS: Assets. Land. Options. Enough to fund a heap of charity work
Typing dots appeared, vanished, then came back, and I could imagine Dalton wondering how to word whatever question came next.
DALTON: You’re definitely selling then?
LUCAS: Yep
DALTON: I miss your face
LUCAS: I miss you too. Tell me what happens at work
DALTON: Will do
I slid the phone back into my pocket and picked up the box again.
I’d always known Logan was an asshole, the kind who cut corners and smiled while doing it, and if he’d finally been caught out, then fine.
Good, even. But the collateral damage mattered.
Dalton mattered. The idea that Logan’s mess could cost him his job, cost people their livelihoods, sat wrong in my gut. That part was fucked-up.
And it meant I couldn’t screw this up.
This wasn’t just a project or a clean exit anymore. It wasn’t about proving I could handle Jesse or a colder-than-hell ranch. If this sale failed, the charity wouldn’t get the millions to make it bigger and better.
Six months wasn’t optional for me to then up and leave empty-handed.
This had to work.
I’d almost made it out of the door without seeing Jesse, trying to put on boots so quietly no one would ever suspect I was leaving the house, particularly not the cowboys I’d decided to avoid for the next six months.
“Wait a minute, City!” Jesse called from the kitchen.
City?