Jesse
It was a whole three days later before he came anywhere near me again. No more meeting in the kitchen, no more of me trying to intimidate him and, then, fuck myself over when just being close to him turned me on.
I needed to get laid. This was ridiculous. I didn’t even like Lucas.
But he is cute, and all that hair, and those big eyes, and I bet he’d make the sweetest sounds on my cock.
Stop it!
I heard him approaching the barn before I saw him, and I turned to see him skidding, a sharp intake of breath, as he came pinwheeling across the yard, arms windmilling when he hit a sheet of ice that I’d learned to avoid without thinking.
Despite wearing old sensible boots he’d brought with him, he slammed shoulder-first into the barn wall, cursed, then straightened with stubborn determination written all over his face.
“I need you to show me the guest cabins and the rest of the ranch,” he blurted, cheeks flushed from the cold and effort, his blue eyes wide with something like excitement. Or maybe it was just focus.
“No,” I said, not unkindly but not backing down.
I swung the barn door open and let the warmer air roll out.
He followed me inside anyway, boots clomping, taking it all in like a man already making mental notes.
He glanced around at the inside of the barn, looking small in this vast space, and his gaze turned calculating. “I need to assess what I own here.”
“What we own,” I corrected.
His eyes narrowed, irritation flashing there, then something like embarrassment crossed his face before he masked it. He cleared his throat, jaw setting. “What I own most of,” he said, clipped now. “You can show me.”
I stopped, turned, and met his gaze. “I said no.”
“Then Gunner? Miguel? Jake? I’ll take Ruth if she promises not to cook me anything.”
“We’re all busy.”
He scowled. “Well, you’re not doing anything now.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which couldn’t have been comfortable with all those layers.
I stared at him for a long second, then turned back toward the barn aisle.
“I’ve got Boone to check and tack up,” I said.
“Calves from last night to ride out and look over. Fences to walk. Water lines to check and clean before the temperature drops again. And before the sun goes, I need eyes on the north pasture. We’re likely to have at least one more calf dropping.
” I paused. “Then, there’s the probability of coyotes or mountain lions messing with the herd.
” Lucas’s eyes widened, and he glanced left as if expecting said animals to appear.
“If the calf comes late, that takes me into the night.”
“But—”
“List assets on your own, because it sure as shit doesn’t mean anything, given I won’t ever agree to sell.”
Lucas held my gaze a beat too long. Then, he nodded once, slowly. “I get it. You don’t have to agree with what needs to happen,” he added. “Not today.”
“Needs to happen?”
“No, what will happen?” he said and confronted me, in his cute-as-shit small-ass way.
“Are you threatening me?” I stepped closer without thinking, crowding his space, taller, solid, the way men learned to be on a ranch when words stopped working.
He took a step back before he could stop himself, boots scraping as his shoulder bumped the stall beside Boone’s. Boone shifted, ears flicking, a low warning sound rumbling in his chest.
Lucas’s jaw tensed. “No,” he said, voice steady, then his chin lifted, eyes cold now. “You can’t intimidate me. I own more of this place than you do.”
Something ugly and hot unfurled in my gut, and I leaned in just enough to make the line clear, “But I own enough to block you from doing a single thing to my home. So, back off.”
For a second, it seemed as if he might push again. Instead, his shoulders were rigid. “Fine,” he said, clipped. “I’ll do my own land audit then.”
“You do that.”
I turned my back on him as he kept talking, asking me about acreage, outbuildings, and whether horses counted as assets or liabilities.
I didn’t answer. Boone needed finishing, and I wasn’t wasting another second. I tightened the cinch and checked the straps by feel, muscle memory taking over where patience ran out. Boone stood solid and calm, as he always did, trusting me to know what I was doing.
I finished tacking up Boone, led him out of the stall, and swung the barn doors open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean. Boone walked with me, steady and willing.
Lucas’s voice finally trailed off. Silence followed. When I glanced back, he was standing in the barn, frowning and staring at the hay.
He could do as many fucking audits as he wanted. I wasn’t signing a single thing that meant this place was done.
I settled into the saddle and let Boone have his head as we headed for the south pasture.
He knew the route better than I did, picking his way over compacted snow and ruts without being asked.
Last night’s snow might have been the last real one if we were lucky.
Days were warming to soften the surface, only for it to lock up again overnight into slick, unforgiving ice.
That was late winter on the ranch, the season arguing with itself.
Spring was coming, you could feel it in the lengthening light and the way the animals shifted, restless.
I loved winter for what it demanded, the grit of beating it back day after day, but spring was my favorite.
It meant we’d survived winter. No city guy was ever going to understand that or turn it into numbers on a page.
“Idiot,” I muttered to Boone.
I found Gunner and Jake already there on first check, both leaning on the fence next to the ATV, cups of coffee steaming as the calves bawled and the morning went on.
Compared to Lucas, the calves should have been simple.
Late winter drop. Three new ones on the south pasture, all standing, all breathing, all loud enough to tell the world they were alive. Steam rose from their backs in the cold morning air while the cows shifted and snorted, heavy and watchful.
“Hooves, eyes, bellies,” Gunner reported his checks as I dismounted. “Everything’s good, and the kid’s in there.”
Miguel crouched a few feet away, murmuring in Spanish to one of the cows. Miguel was our youngest hand, so he’d always be known as “kid.” Poor bastard. I’d been called that for the longest time until he arrived, so it was good to pass it on.
“What do you see, kid?” I asked.
Miguel straightened from his crouch, shoulders back, face serious now. He didn’t rush it, didn’t pad it. Just facts.
“Three calves,” he said. “All standing. All nursing. Good suck reflex. No scours. Eyes clear. Bellies are full.” He glanced toward the cows. “The mothers are calm. Protective, but not agitated.”
I nodded once.
“There’s one thing,” he added, after a beat. “Small thing. One cow is favoring her left hind. Not lame, but stiff. Might just be the cold. Might need watching.”
“Good catch,” I said. “Wanna show me?”
We hustled along the fence line toward the far corner of the pasture, Boone picking his way while Gunner, Jake, and Miguel cut across on foot. The cow lifted her head as we approached, ears flicking, but she didn’t spook. She shifted her weight again, favoring that left hind.
Gunner crouched first, eyes on her legs. “No swelling,” he said. “No heat.”
Miguel nodded. “Could be sore from the birthing. New momma.”
The calf bumped her udder, latched, and started feeding, tail twitching. The cow stood for it, tense but steady.
“Could be muscle strain,” Miguel said. “Hard delivery. Or she slipped in the night.”
“Retained placenta?” Jake asked.
Gunner shook his head. “Passed clean from what I saw. Appetite’s good too.”
Miguel watched the cow a second longer. “Could also be nerve pressure,” he said. “Calving can pinch it. Usually comes right on its own.”
Gunner and I exchanged a nod, and Jake grinned—Miguel had good instincts. “What do we do now then?” I asked him.
“We watch her. Twice today. If she’s worse by evening, we separate her and move her closer to the barn.”
“Yep, good call.”
Gunner went over to the ATV, and now was my chance to make sure Miguel was okay. “Lucas was out of order the other morning,” I said to reassure him.
Miguel went scarlet again, touching his hair on reflex. “I kinda liked it.”
Oh. Well, that wasn’t what I expected.
“My boyfriend doesn’t compliment me much. So yeah…”
I cleared my throat—this was where I said something about his hair, right? Although the sound of a car drawing close had all of us looking up at the same time. Tires on frozen ground, an engine pushed harder than it needed to be.
“Fuck,” Jake muttered under his breath.
“What the hell?” Gunner added.
Miguel’s posture shifted instantly. Shoulders tight, his focus snapped from the cow to the gate. The easy certainty and soft blush he’d had a moment ago drained away.
My gut dropped.
What the fuck was my dad doing out here? He shouldn’t be driving, but yet again, he’d found the keys Olivia swore she’d hidden. Fuck. Maybe secreting the keys away wasn’t enough—maybe I set fire to the rattling old truck, so he had nothing to drive.
His wheels crunched over the frozen ruts and stopped too close to the gate. He didn’t get out right away. Just sat there with the engine running, staring at us.
The instinct to brace hit me along with the panic in my chest.
He climbed out slowly, the hitch in his step more pronounced this morning, jaw already set.
His eyes went straight to the calves, then to me.
Shit—he was supposed to be with Olivia this morning?
I pulled out my cell, and yep, front and center, a message from her to say he’d walked out again that had been delivered when I was at breakfast. I hadn’t even checked my phone, and I blamed that squarely on Lucas, with him getting all up in my space.
Dad shouldn’t be here. I needed to fix this because the others had all stiffened and gone quiet. I stalked over to him.