Lucas
Today was the day I planned to cross another item off my list. I’d already sketched out a rough plan of the ranch buildings, including measurements, condition notes, and what needed attention now versus later—and today’s job was to go back and take photos of the guest cabins to see if anything could be saved.
I was pleased to be so close to making it out of the door without seeing Jesse.
Not that I was avoiding him—more that he had a way of appearing exactly when I didn’t need the extra friction.
I’d been here long enough to know that around me, he was perpetually grumpy, always scowling, and acting as though my presence on the ranch was a personal inconvenience.
Which I guess it was. He didn’t hide it.
And for reasons I refused to examine too closely, I found it irritating as hell and distracting. Which was new. And unwelcome.
The man radiated a particular kind of rough authority, all clipped words and narrowed eyes, plaid and boots and zero patience.
The kind of cowboy people wrote porn about.
Not that I’d gone looking for grumpy cowboy porn.
Much. The problem was that being anywhere near him had started to scramble my focus, my thoughts sliding sideways when they should’ve stayed put.
That alone annoyed me. I did not like losing control of my own head—especially not because of one frustrating, sharp-edged rancher.
I was so close to getting out when he appeared like some angry John Wayne, one thumb through his belt loop, the other at his side, holding something that I recognized immediately.
“You didn’t take your radio with you to the cabins,” he snapped. No preamble. No please. And why was his growly voice so hot?
“Wait, have you been in my room?”
“You take it every time you leave the house, City.”
City? Jesus, I hated that stupid nickname he’d given me.
What was he, five? I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again because I had more than a shred of sense, and some parts of the ranch were deep in snow, and where I intended to go today could be swallowed by it.
I had meant to take the radio, but I’d forgotten, and hell, I made it back alright.
“Okay.”
“Do you know what could happen out there?? You could fall, and we wouldn’t find you until it thaws.”
“Dramatic much?” I deadpanned. “I said okay, Cowboy.” I could be a reasonable adult. I could be agreeable… although, hell, that was pushing it.
He held out the radio, and it occurred to me that I needed to put it somewhere, and I patted the pockets of my close-fitting jeans. “In these pants?” I joked.
Jesse’s gaze dropped before he could stop it. Not lingering—just an automatic flick.
His eyes widened.
The air shifted.
I realized what I’d done about half a second too late.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Heat climbed my neck. I hadn’t meant to say that shit.
Not consciously. It had just… come out of me, easy and stupid and entirely inappropriate.
Wanting him meant losing ground, and I couldn’t afford to give an inch—not here, not now.
I opened my mouth to backpedal, to say something normal and non-sexual and ranch-appropriate—
But Jesse had already straightened.
“Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, City,” he said. Flat. Controlled. “You take the radio.”
“I’m checking out the guest cabins again today,” I explained to his back. “Y’know, if you need to be sure where I am.”
“Noted.”
Guess that was all I was getting, although I couldn’t fail to notice the way his shoulders stiffened, and he seemed tense. I didn’t understand how I made him act like that—they were cabins, I was checking them, no big deal. This was just another part of me building a picture of the ranch.
Asshole.
I walked to the guest cabins the long way round, boots crunching over old snow and ice, the wind bracing enough to keep my head clear as I reached them. They sat there like a bad idea no one had quite finished with—solid enough to have cost money, empty enough to feel like waste.
I went into the middle cabin, the one that looked furthest along.
It smelled of old wood and freezing air.
I took photos as I moved methodically until I reached what was meant to be the bedroom.
Built-in bookshelves filled one corner, beautifully done, fitted to the walls, the wood sanded smooth as silk.
Real craftsmanship. On one shelf sat a Broncos mug, abandoned so long it had probably grown its own ecosystem, though when I peered inside, I couldn’t see any mold.
Was it too cold out here for mold to grow?
Who did the mug belong to? It was the only sign anyone had ever really been here at all—maybe the person who’d made the shelves had stepped back to admire their work and set the mug down before leaving for good.
The thought caught me sideways. It was kind of sad. And for reasons I didn’t understand, it hit harder than it should have.
What the hell was wrong with me that these cabins made me feel so weird?
No one was staying here or had stayed in them as far as I could ascertain, and I wasn’t asking Jesse who was pricklier than a cactus.
The cabins would have to come down eventually; that was reality.
I ran a finger along the edge of the shelving, smooth and warm despite the cold, then nudged the mug farther back so it wouldn’t fall.
Yes, I was aware I was being an idiot.
I crossed to the window and stopped. The view punched the breath out of me—gaps through the trees opening onto land that went on and on, pristine white laid open under the sky.
I stood there longer than I meant to, lungs easing, shoulders loosening, realizing I could breathe out here in a way I hadn’t in years, not even when I was at the charity working with Rebecca and the guests there.
I headed back towards the ranch, not seeing a single person.
Ranch life must be so damn lonely.
Drawn by the sound of a horse whinnying somewhere to my left, I changed direction and headed for the barn. For a moment, I let myself hope there might be an actual person in there—someone to exchange a few words with, something human—but no. Just horses.
I didn’t see Boone, Jesse’s horse, but there was a big gray horse at the back. I approached slowly, hand out where he could see it. “Hey,” I said.
He snorted, ears flicking, then stepped closer like we were already old friends.
“That’s confidence,” I murmured, scratching the spot between his eyes. “You do this to everyone, or am I special?”
The horse nudged my jacket pocket with his nose.
“Oh, no,” I said. “Don’t get ideas. I don’t have treats. This is a no-treats environment.”
He nudged me again, harder this time, clearly unimpressed with my management style.
“Wow. Okay. Aggressive negotiations. I respect it.” I scratched his neck instead, and he leaned onto it with a satisfied huff.
That was when I noticed movement on the partition bordering Boone’s stall. A black-and-white cat sat there, balanced and judging me with narrowed eyes as all cats do.
“Well, hello, Mr. Cat,” I said. “You look like you run this place.”
The cat blinked slowly.
“I like cats,” I added, because apparently I was narrating my life now. I reached out and gave him a cautious scritch under the chin. He accepted it as if it were his due.
“Yeah,” I said, scratching him again. “King of the stable, eh? You’re definitely in charge.”
The cat flicked his tail once, then hopped down and disappeared into Boone’s space. I gave the big horse one last pat, and stepped back, letting him have his peace.
Heading for the house, I was happy something in me had shifted. The quiet didn’t press in quite so hard anymore. I’d talked to a horse and a cat, and that counted as social interaction now. Animal time, it turned out, went a long way toward making a place feel less isolating.
Back in the bedroom, I did what I always did when my head was too full—I built order.
Laptop open on the desk, I pulled up the spreadsheets I’d started the first night here and added new tabs, new columns.
Acreage. Structures. Condition. Potential.
I pinned the ranch map sent by the lawyer managing my grandfather’s estate to the wall above my desk, smoothing it out and marking cabins, fences, and access tracks with careful, precise dots.
It helped. Numbers behaved. Maps stayed where you put them.
My phone buzzed while I was mid-formula, the investment firm’s number flashing on the screen. I answered it with my eyes still on the spreadsheet.
“Lucas Barrett,” I said.
“Mr. Barrett, hello. This is Zachary Haines at Lowstat-Meyer,” came the familiar voice. “Thanks for taking the call. I wanted to touch base and let you know we’ve had some movement on the Snow Creek numbers.”
I turned in my chair, looking up at the map pinned to the wall. “Movement how?”
“It’s good news that we have a very interested partner, but there is also some bad news.”
Shit. “Bad news, how?”
“A shift,” Zachary said quickly. “We’ve got a client who’s interested in the land as a conservation holding. Possibly also as an on-books investment—long-term, tax-efficient, very light-touch.”
“So… no development,” I said. Would that make it an easier sell to Jesse—he’d probably love that no one would be building on the land, and he’d be rich after selling it.
“Minimal,” he agreed. “Think preservation, easements, limited access. It does lower the price per acre, I won’t pretend otherwise—but it simplifies the sale. Clean money. Ethical. And defensible if anyone ever asks questions later.”
I pushed back from the desk and stood, staring at the sweep of white trees and buildings on the map. “They’d basically own it and leave it alone.”
“That’s the idea,” Zachary said. “For what it’s worth, it’s the first offer we’ve had that aligns with the land as it exists now, not what someone wants to turn it into.”
I was quiet for a beat, letting that settle. “Can you send me the revised figures?”
“I already have,” he said.
I ended the call still looking at the map, at the ranch I was only just beginning to understand and realized this was the first option that didn’t feel like a betrayal of what I’d inherited.
It made me feel… good. I didn’t question why Jesse’s voice was in my head while I stared. I told myself it was a coincidence.
And that feeling somehow lasted for a few days, despite Ruth giving me more gray eggs, no one talking to me, and one angry-as-fuck cowboy going out of his way to avoid me.
Maybe Jesse and I could be friends and work this out?
“What the fuck!” Jesse bellowed from the kitchen and startled the hell out of me as I reached for my coat. Today was all about checking out the staff cabins. Not going into them, of course, but taking some discreet photos and making notes. “LUCAS!”
Oh shit, it was too late to head out. I was in jeans and my shirt, nothing even on my feet.
He came barreling out of the kitchen, thrusting an envelope at me.
“What the actual fuck!” he snarled.
This wasn’t good.