“I’ll help if they really need me.” I looked up at her.
She was right, I didn’t want to work on the ranch. I didn’t want to own a huge percentage of it. I had five percent, and that was enough to eventually build a house on. I had no plans to ask for more, no plans to turn this into my entire life. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I’d been home for weeks, and I had managed to stay away from ranch chores, but my family had begun to get more ruthless, especially since I had only proven to them that I wasn’t going back to work anytime soon—not by choice.
“I could put you on payroll at the stables? I could always use an extra hand, and you can get a check. I could get that set up now if you wanted?” She suggested scratching her hairline before running her fingers through her braid. Her engagement ring flashed in the light, reminding me my baby sis—even if it was just by three minutes—was getting married. My older brother, Rhett, was married with a kid. I was the only Hartwell with no future plans to settle down. And I was okay with that. When I didn’t answer, she filled the void, “Maybe you should call Hawkins?”
Hawkins, a fellow rodeo announcer and friend, had been my only contact with the rodeo world since I managed to mess up my career. He’d been the one who kept me in the loop andtried to get me into jobs again, even putting my name in a few committees—but no such luck. Our texts and calls had fizzled once the prospect of my getting a job became low.
“What’s Hawkins gonna do?” I asked, pushing myself up straight.
She shrugged her shoulder. “Get you a job, maybe?”
“He’s trying,” I grumbled, knowing he wasn’t.
“Think he can try a little harder?” she urged, her eyes scrunching as she clenched her teeth.
My gaze met hers as I slouched. She was trying to be serious and get my ass in gear to get another job. Me? Serious? Nah. Plus, I really wanted the conversation to end. I raised a brow and grinned.
“What? You don’t like me here? Sick of me already.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Oh, come on, Abi. I’m playing.” I stood, grabbing my plate and empty mug. “I’ll call him, but I doubt he’ll have anything new. Most committees won’t even consider my name.”
Abi scoffed in annoyance. “I don’t get it. The guy is fine.”
“Well, when you knock out the head of one of the largest rodeo committees and everyone hears about it, no one wants you to announce at their rodeos. My name is no longer gonna help me.”
We’d been over this. Again and again. I was so tired of talking about it. Hunching my shoulder, I raked my hand down my face.
“You’re a good announcer. You have a finesse to you that no one really—”
“You think I don’t know that?” I dropped my arm, frustration seeping out of me. Abi raised her eyebrows, biting her bottom lip.
Wellfuck.
When I came home, basically a puppy with my tail between my legs, Abi was the only one I wanted to talk to. And I just struck a nerve.
“Sorry,” I said softly, taking a step towards her to wrap my arm around her. She rested her head on my shoulder and let out a long exhale. “I’ll be productive today.”
Raising her chin, she met my gaze. “And what about Melanie?”
Melanie, was that her name?
Letting go of my sister, I returned to my seat. “I’ll call her.” I lied. I wasn’t going to call her. I didn’t even get her number.
She raised a single brow and dipped her chin. “Really?”
“Come on, Abi, you know with everything else, that’s the only thing that hasn’t changed,” I muttered under my breath.
Just because rodeos weren’t calling didn’t mean my phone was silent. I still had the charm and charisma that seemed to attract the bunnies. At least that didn’t fade with the hope I’d ever announce again.
I turned to Abi, leaning against the counter. She stood with her hip cocked, one eyebrow raised, and her arms folded. She had the mom thing down; even I was nervous for what she was going to say next.
“She’s local, you know. She’s going to expect more.”
“No one ever expects more from me.”
“That’s not true.”
