Chapter 2 Mud, Sweat, and Pride
Not Quitting
The first thing I learned about ranch life was that six in the morning should be illegal.
The second thing I learned was that ranches didn't care about my opinion.
The alarm on my phone exploded beside my head while the sky outside the bunkhouse window was still completely dark. For several confused seconds, I forgot where I was.
Then reality hit.
Blackthorn Ranch.
Three months.
Ryder Cole.
I groaned into my pillow.
Every muscle in my body already hurt from unloading luggage, sleeping on a mattress that felt older than I was, and spending half the night listening to unfamiliar sounds outside.
Wind.
Crickets.
Horses.
Everything felt different here.
Nothing felt comfortable.
I stared at the ceiling and seriously considered pretending to be dead.
Unfortunately, I doubted Ryder would accept that as a valid excuse.
The thought alone dragged me out of bed.
Forty minutes later, after a rushed shower and an unsuccessful battle with my hair, I found myself walking toward the main house.
The morning air felt cool against my skin.
The ranch looked completely different at sunrise.
Golden light stretched across the fields.
The barns cast long shadows over the dirt.
A few horses wandered quietly through nearby paddocks.
For a moment, the view was beautiful enough to make me stop walking.
Then someone behind me shouted, "You planning on standing there all morning, college boy?"
The spell broke immediately.
I jumped and turned around.
A large ranch hand carrying feed buckets grinned at me before continuing toward one of the barns.
Apparently the entire ranch had already decided I was entertainment.
Wonderful.
Breakfast took place inside a large dining room filled with workers.
The smell of coffee and bacon nearly made me emotional.
I grabbed a seat at the end of the table and tried not to attract attention.
That plan failed instantly.
Everyone looked at me.
Not in a cruel way.
Just curious.
Like they were observing a strange animal that had somehow wandered onto the property.
I concentrated on my plate.
A moment later another presence entered the room.
Without looking up, I knew exactly who it was.
Ryder.
The atmosphere shifted.
The conversations quieted slightly.
Boots crossed the wooden floor.
For some reason my stomach tightened.
When I finally glanced up, Ryder was pouring coffee into a mug.
He looked unfairly awake.
His black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
Dark tattoos disappeared beneath short sleeves.
His jaw was covered by rough stubble.
The man looked like he'd been awake for hours.
Meanwhile I was still struggling to remember my own name.
His eyes briefly found mine.
A simple glance.
Nothing more.
Then he looked away.
For some reason that annoyed me.
Breakfast ended quickly.
Apparently ranch workers believed in eating food, not discussing it.
The second everyone finished, people immediately started moving.
Ryder stood.
"Let's go."
I scrambled to my feet.
My first day had officially begun.
Unfortunately, things went downhill almost immediately.
Actually, downhill was generous.
What happened was more like falling off a cliff.
The first task involved feeding livestock.
That sounded simple.
It wasn't.
Within ten minutes I managed to spill feed, drop a bucket, and nearly get knocked over by an impatient cow.
The cow seemed personally offended by my existence.
I couldn't entirely blame her.
The next task involved cleaning stalls.
Again, simple in theory.
Less simple in reality.
Nobody had warned me exactly how much manure one horse could produce.
The answer, apparently, was enough to fill an entire small country.
Sweat soaked through my shirt.
Dust stuck to my skin.
My back ached.
And it wasn't even nine o'clock.
By midmorning, I was convinced time had stopped moving.
The sun climbed higher.
The temperature increased.
My energy disappeared.
Meanwhile everyone else continued working like machines.
I watched ranch hands lift hay bales that looked heavier than I was.
They repaired fences.
Moved equipment.
Handled horses.
Everything appeared effortless.
I couldn't even push a wheelbarrow correctly.
At one point I attempted to move a load of manure across the yard.
The wheel caught a rut.
The entire thing tipped over.
Its contents landed directly on my boots.
I stared down in disbelief.
For several seconds I considered walking into the nearest field and letting nature reclaim me.
Laughter erupted nearby.
Not cruel laughter.
Just honest amusement.
Unfortunately, that somehow made it worse.
My face burned.
I cleaned the mess and kept working.
Around noon, Ryder assigned me to help in one of the horse barns.
That sounded promising.
I liked horses.
At least I thought I did.
The horses apparently had not reached the same conclusion about me.
A chestnut gelding stepped on my foot.
A gray mare refused to cooperate with anything I asked.
One horse stole a brush from my hand and dropped it into a water bucket.
Another sneezed directly into my face.
I was beginning to suspect they held meetings about me.
The humiliation reached new heights shortly after lunch.
One of the ranch hands showed me how to operate a small utility vehicle used around the property.
The instructions seemed straightforward.
Start engine.
Drive carefully.
Don't hit anything.
Simple.
Unfortunately, my definition of simple and reality's definition appeared very different.
The vehicle jerked forward unexpectedly.
I overcorrected.
The vehicle swerved.
Several workers jumped out of the way.
I slammed on the brakes.
The vehicle stopped inches from a stack of feed bags.
Silence followed.
Absolute silence.
Then someone muttered, "Jesus Christ."
My soul briefly left my body.
I climbed out as quickly as possible.
The embarrassment was so intense I considered throwing myself into the nearest horse trough.
Instead, I endured several minutes of instruction from a very patient ranch hand who clearly regretted every decision that had brought him to this moment.
The rest of the afternoon wasn't much better.
I struggled with gates.
I struggled with tools.
I struggled with tasks everyone else completed effortlessly.
Every mistake felt larger than the last.
By four o'clock my hands hurt.
By five, my shoulders felt like concrete.
By six, I wasn't entirely sure I could physically continue existing.
The worst part wasn't the work.
The worst part was knowing people noticed.
Especially Ryder.
Several times throughout the day I'd caught him watching.
Not constantly.
Not obsessively.
Just enough.
Every time I made a mistake, he seemed to appear somewhere nearby.
Observing.
Judging.
Waiting for confirmation that his first impression had been correct.
The city boy couldn't hack it.
The city boy didn't belong.
The city boy would quit.
As the workday finally ended, I carried a stack of empty buckets toward a storage shed.
My legs felt like noodles.
My shirt was covered in dust.
My boots were stained with mud.
I looked ridiculous.
The buckets slipped.
Not all of them.
Just enough.
One crashed loudly against the ground.
The sound echoed through the yard.
I froze.
Across the property, Ryder glanced up from where he was speaking with another ranch hand.
Our eyes met.
For one terrible second I imagined exactly what he saw.
A spoiled college kid.
A complete disaster.
Someone who couldn't do a single thing right.
Heat rose into my face again.
I bent down and collected the buckets.
Then I carried them to the shed without another mistake.
Afterward I sat alone outside the bunkhouse while the sun slowly disappeared beyond the fields.
Everything hurt.
My hands were blistered.
My muscles screamed.
My pride wasn't doing much better.
Part of me wanted to call home.
Part of me wanted to tell my uncle he had been right.
I wasn't built for this.
I didn't belong here.
Maybe everyone would be happier if I left.
The thought lingered longer than I wanted.
Then another memory surfaced.
Ryder's expression when he first saw me.
That cold stare.
That obvious doubt.
The certainty that I would fail.
Something stubborn woke inside my chest.
Maybe I was terrible at ranch work.
Maybe I'd embarrassed myself all day.
Maybe I looked completely ridiculous.
But I was tired of quitting things.
Tired of running.
Tired of disappointing people.
Most of all, I was tired of disappointing myself.
I stared across the ranch as evening settled over Blackthorn.
Tomorrow would probably be another disaster.
The day after that might be worse.
I would make mistakes.
A lot of them.
But I wasn't leaving.
Not yet.
Not after one day.
Not after one difficult week.
And definitely not because Ryder Cole expected me to fail.
As the last sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, I made a promise to myself.
I would survive Blackthorn Ranch.
Even if it killed me.
And I would never give Ryder Cole the satisfaction of watching me quit.
More Stubborn Than Smart
I expected Oliver Hayes to quit before lunch.
That wasn't me being cruel.
It was experience talking.
Over the years, I'd seen plenty of people come through Blackthorn Ranch thinking ranch life sounded romantic. They liked the idea of horses and sunsets. They liked photographs of cowboys standing in golden fields.
What they didn't like were the early mornings, the aching muscles, the heat, the dirt, and the endless work.
Most of them figured that out pretty quickly.
By noon, they were looking for the nearest exit.
By the end of the week, they were gone.
Oliver looked exactly like one of those people.
The kid had arrived with a sketchbook, soft hands, and shoes that weren't built for ranch work. He looked more comfortable sitting in a coffee shop than cleaning stalls.
Which was why I fully expected complaints.
A lot of them.
Oddly enough, they never came.
Not once.
That surprised me.
The day started before sunrise.