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I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck as we set off walking toward the main stables. “Alright, fine, I doubt I’ll show up. Just got so much to do around here. It never ends.”
“Yeah and the work’ll still be there. You can take an afternoon off to eat a burger and drink a beer with your friends.”
“I know. I know you’re right.”
“I surely am.”
“Speaking of beer. Where's Walker?”
“Probably nursing a hangover,” Mason replied with a smirk. “Or chasing some girl's bootcuts.”
“Damn fool,” I said, more fondly than I intended, but annoyed nonetheless. “He needs to get his act together if he's serious about taking on more responsibility here.”
Mason’s head bobbed in a slow nod. “He knows that.”
We walked along the fence line, the rhythmic crunch of our boots on the gravel setting a pace for the day. The staff nodded as we passed, sensing the usual storm brewing under my calm exterior. I barked orders while surveying the operations, my gaze lingering on the details that often went overlooked—a loose nail here, a gate left ajar there.
“Water troughs need refilling,” I snapped, pointing at one half-empty trough near the outdoor training ring. “And check the feed levels. We can't afford any mistakes, not with the way costs are climbing.”
“Already on it,” Walker chimed in, sauntering over with that easy grin that seemed permanently plastered on his face. “You might try smiling once in a while, Gray. It ain't poison.”
I guess he wasn't late after all. The fact impressed me, which in turn, annoyed me. It shouldn't be such a big deal to get to work on time, but leave it to my baby brother to make me think it was.
“Smiles don't keep this place running,” I shot back, fixing him with a glare that had little effect. “You want more responsibility? Start by proving you can handle the small stuff.”
“Fair enough, brother,” Walker conceded, tipping his hat mockingly before heading off to tackle the tasks at hand.
“Gray, you ever think you're too hard on him?” Mason asked, after Walker was out of earshot.
“Hard on him?” I scoffed. “If anything, I'm not hard enough. This place doesn't run on charm and good intentions.”
“Maybe not,” Mason agreed, “but it doesn't hurt to have them either. Clients love him.”
“Let's just get through the day,” I said, deflecting. “There's work to be done.” And with that, I strode off, leaving Mason shaking his head in my wake. Like usual, I ignored it.
* * *
I slapped the ledger shut, a dust cloud puffing into the air and scattering the sunlight streaming through the office window. The numbers weren't adding up right, or maybe they were, and that was the problem. I scowled at the papers, resenting every second they kept me from the open skies and the smell of earth and horse.
“Those papers look like they're about to burst into flames the way you're staring them down,” Mason said, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.
“Feels like everything's about to burst into flames.” My voice was rough, tired. “Between feed costs climbing and the fencing repairs . . . it's like bleeding money.”
“Ranching ain't for the faint-hearted,” he replied, scratching his chin.
“Never thought it was.” I stood, stretching out the kinks in my back. “But if we can expand, bring in more stock and up our farming capacity. . . it could turn around.”
“Expansion? That means buying the Culver plot, right?” Mason's eyebrows knitted together with concern.
“Exactly.” I paced in front of the desk, my boots thudding on the wooden floor. “More land, more opportunity. It's a good move.”
“Or a risky one,” Mason countered, pushing off from the doorway and stepping closer. “We're already stretched thin as it is. That plot's, what? Couple hundred acres? It's a lot of expense for something that'll barely make a dent.”
“You don't know that. It's all cropland. Already set up right next door.”
Mason nodded, looking like he was thinking hard about what he wanted to say next. Which meant I wasn't gonna like it.
“I don't think expanding our crop output is a good place to put our resources. That’s one of our smallest income streams.”
