Jesse
Itried to pretend that what happened with Lucas had been a mistake I could file away and ignore.
Wanting more was the real problem, and I didn’t have room for that kind of weakness.
Avoiding Lucas became a job in itself, which mostly meant I holed up in my office and buried myself in work.
If he thought letting me fuck him was going to change my mind about the ranch, he was dead wrong.
Jake knocked once and came in without waiting.
“Quick question,” he said, easy, casual. “You want the north pasture pumps throttled back today, or are we still holding steady until the water rights call comes back?”
I didn’t look up. My pen snapped between my fingers.
“For fuck’s sake, Jake, how many times do I have to say it? If you don’t hear otherwise, you don’t touch the pumps.”
Silence.
Then, “Okay, boss,” Jake drawled. “So that’s a no on touching the pumps.”
I shoved back from the desk. “You know that!”
“Yep, I do.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes sharp now. “But I needed to check if you were spiraling, snapping at people, or about to take your head off on a spreadsheet.”
“I’m busy,” I said.
“I’m checking on you, Jesse.”
“Well, you don’t need to.”
“Is it your dad?”
That was the last thing I needed to be asked. For once, my dad was only part of my problems—and not all of them.
“Leave it, Jake,” I said.
Jake watched me for a second, then pushed off the doorframe and stepped fully inside. He reached back and closed the door, as if he didn’t want what we talked about carried down the hall.
“We’re all talking,” he said. “About you owning a quarter of the ranch, Lucas being here, him writing down assets on the ranch, and the others are getting the feeling he’s looking to sell—”
“I’m not selling,” I snapped, and Jake’s eyebrows went up. “He can’t sell any of it without me,” I added, colder now. “Not his share. Not any of it. This ranch isn’t going anywhere.”
“You want I should spread that around?”
I stared at him, and something ugly twisted in my gut. It was on me to reassure the people working with me. I was the boss, and I sighed heavily. “Shit, Jake. It shouldn’t be you doing that. It’s on me. I should’ve reassured them before it ever got to this.”
His mouth tilted, not quite a smile. “Yeah. That part’s true.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “Snow Creek is safe and staying.”
“So, you’re gonna say it out loud? To them. Not just to me.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll handle it.”
“I know you will,” he said. Then, he waited as if I was going now, and he was right.
So bundled up, I headed away from paperwork and onto the land I loved, to reassure everyone that nothing was changing.
Lucas could get in the way, use his share to make life difficult for the ranch, but at the end of the day, he’d go back to the city, rake in his share of profits, and we’d never see him again.
I just had to hold out until his six months were up, and then, we’d be done.
No more sex.
No more sinking into his tight body and hearing the sounds he made when he came.
Nope.
No more.
Even so, over the next few weeks, as the snow pulled back in dirty sheets and the first thin signs of spring showed through the mud, every single one of the ranch hands found a reason to track me down. Every conversation circled back to Lucas Barrett.
Questions, mostly. Too many of them.
What was he doing over by the south fence line? Why was he taking photos of the old pump house? Had I told him it was okay to wander through the calving sheds during feeding? Was he meant to be measuring things, or was that just how he stood—staring, hands in his pockets?
No one ever said he was in the way. No one complained outright. But I heard it anyway, in the pauses, in the careful phrasing, in the way every conversation ended with a glance over their shoulder, as if they were checking he wasn’t lurking behind them.
Too close. Watching. Getting underfoot.
Not a single one asked outright if he wanted to sell his stake, but he wasn’t exactly integrating, and Gunner had told me, horrified, he didn’t even want to ride a horse.
He took photos of things that didn’t make sense. Fence posts. Rooflines. Tracks in the snow that would be gone by morning. He asked Miguel to pick up deliveries in town when he was there—boxes from all kinds of places.
Even Jake was restless, and Jake was the calmest man I knew. If Jake was pacing, something was off.
I was finding it hard to stay angry until Gunner caught me by the tack room late afternoon, with dust and leather thick in the air, Boone shifting in his stall behind us.
“Boss,” he said, voice low. “We got a Lucas issue.”
I frowned. “Huh?”
Gunner shook his head. “He’s up a quarter mile behind Redstone Ridge. Ranch truck. Engine running, sitting there with binoculars,” Gunner added.
I stared at him. “Binoculars.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Didn’t look like he was birdwatching.”
Where the hell did he even get binoculars? Had they come in with one of those deliveries?
“Just thinking he might go closer to the edge, and I’m probably worrying over nothing, but…”
Redstone Ridge wasn’t somewhere you loitered. Not with the thaw starting. Not with the history up there. I turned and grabbed the radio from the hook by the door.
“Lucas,” I said into it, keeping my voice even. “Come back.”
Static answered me.
I tried again, switching channels. “Lucas Barrett, you copy?”
Nothing.
I pulled my phone out next, thumb jabbing the screen harder than necessary as I dialed. It rang. And rang. Then went to nothing. Out of range, I told myself. I bet he hadn’t taken a radio with him. Or worse—he had one and was ignoring me.
I lifted the radio again, grip tight.
“Lucas,” I said, sharper this time. “We’ve had a landslip near where you are. It’s signposted, but you hear me. Don’t move off the road. Stay put.”
The words vanished into static.
I stood there for a second too long, the unease settling heavy in my chest.
Goddamn it.
If he’d gone wandering up there on his own—if he’d gotten out and stepped off the road because he wanted a better look, a better angle, a clearer photo—
I clipped the radio back onto my belt and turned toward the yard.
“You want me to head up there?” Gunner asked, but I shook my head.
“I’ve got it.”
I saddled Boone and headed out that way to find out what the hell he thought he was doing.
It wasn’t hard to spot him. The idiot had moved past the sign and parked front and center on the bluff.
He’d moved on from where Gunner said he was and was now less than ten feet from the edge, as if he trusted the bluff to hold without ever looking down.
If he were seeing it from my angle, he’d have known to move the truck back to the road.
The rule of thumb up here was double the distance you thought was safe—we’d learned that when we’d had to rescue Colt after he’d gotten caught in a slide five years back.
We’d already had two rock falls up there—did Lucas not even see the sign?
The damned idiot was gonna get himself killed.
“Shit,” I muttered as I nudged Boone forward. He responded, lengthening his stride as we ate up the distance between us.
I slowed Boone well before the bluff, ground-tied him, and approached on foot the rest of the way. The snow wasn’t as deep up here, sheltered by trees, but the melt from above was forming streams running on either side of where Lucas was parked, eroding the soil as I stood there.
I reached the truck and yanked the door open so hard it was close to slamming shut again on the rebound.
Lucas gasped. The binoculars smashed back into his face as he jumped about a mile, a sharp cry tearing out of him. Thank fuck the brake was on. I did not think that through—and the flash of guilt hit hard when I realized I’d nearly caused a second accident.
Heat swept through me. “Get the truck back from the edge, you idiot.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed, blood already streaming down his nose from where the binoculars had caught him.
“What?” he said, blinking hard. “I can’t see the edge.”
That did it. I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of the cab. He weighed nothing, all angles and surprise, and I shoved him toward Boone.
“Stay here,” I snapped. Then I was back in the truck, slamming it into reverse and easing it away from the bluff until all four tires were back on solid ground.
I killed the engine and climbed back out, slamming the door harder than necessary.
My hands were shaking now, adrenaline finally catching up, fear and fury tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I snapped, rounding on him. “This entire ridge is unstable. You think you’re immortal, that you can ignore the sign?”
Lucas straightened, blood still running down his face, eyes bright with shock and something defensive snapping into place.
“No,” he shot back, and coughed. “I didn’t ignore a sign.
I didn’t even see a sign.” He coughed again, his voice sounding nasal, and he pressed between his eyes as if that might help.
“Is that another thing you haven’t bothered fixing around here? ”
That hit harder than it should have.
I grabbed his jacket and yanked him around, forcing him to face the trees instead of the bluff. “Look,” I bit out.
The sign stood there plain as day. Some of it was buried under snow, sure, the bottom edge half lost to drift and melt, but the big red letters were front and center.
DANGER. DO NOT PASS.
Lucas went still. His breath hitched, and for the first time since I’d reached him, the fight drained out of his posture.
“Next time,” I said, shaking despite myself, “you don’t get lucky, and the ridge crumbles and you drop a hundred feet to your death.”
He blinked at me.
“I—what?” His voice cracked, shock finally breaking through. Then, he shivered, a full-body tremor as though his system had just caught up.
I swore under my breath and pulled the radio from my belt, thumb jabbing the button harder than necessary. “Anyone up near the ridge, copy?”