He flipped me off.
Then, he turned and trudged left, limping a little, shoulders squared, heading for the dining hall as best he could manage.
I stood there longer than I should have, coffee cooling in my hand.
Then, it hit me.
What the fuck was I doing standingherewhen breakfast was overthere?
I made it to the bunkhouse a minute or two after him, stamping snow off my boots and shoving the door open with my shoulder. Heat hit first, then noise. The place smelled like coffee, grease, and bacon.
“Morning,” Ruth called out without looking up.
She ran the bunkhouse kitchen and about a dozen other things besides. Cooking, supplies, laundry when someone screwed it up bad enough, and was half the emotional glue that kept this place from flying apart. She’d been here thirty years now. Long enough to have raised her kids in a small house on the edge of the ranch, long enough to have watched them grow up and leave. She didn’t take shit from anyone, including me. Especially not me. She mattered to this place, and she mattered to me. She had a spatula in one hand and a clipboard on the counter, hair scraped back, sleeves rolled, already irritated with the world.
Miguel was the only other hand in here, sitting at the farend of the room, not at all looking as if he’d been awake all night—I wish I had half his youthful energy. He gave me a nod and went back to his plate.
Lucas sat at a table on the far left, nursing another coffee. A plate in front of him with scrambled eggs that were the closest thing to an omelet Ruth was ever going to produce for the man who threatened her home, because yeah, when the first letter arrived and it was obvious our new majority owner wanted to sell, I told her and Jake; then, Ruth’s grief at losing Walter had turned to anger that his grandson wanted to destroy his legacy.
She glanced at me, then fixed Lucas with a long, unimpressed look that could curdle milk, before flicking her eyes back to me in a way that made it very clearexactlywhose side she was on. He looked out-of-place and stubborn at the same time; curls still damp at the edges.
I took it all in and felt my jaw tighten.
Of course, he’d made himself comfortable. Sitting there as if he belonged. I bet he didn’t care that no one wanted him here. Probably never even crossed his mind.
“What did you do to his eggs?” I asked quietly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone likes salt, right?”
I took my plate—bacon, eggs cooked perfectly as per usual with Ruth’s skills—and headed for the table where Miguel was parked. “You okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. All good. Tired,” he added, mouth quirking as he shoveled food in, “but the second calf’s a fighter. Loud already. Big lungs,” he added, a note of pride slipping in. “Both calves up and nursing inside an hour. Jake’s doing me a solid and keeping an eye on the secondcow just in case she throws a fever or won’t settle.” Jake was our horse guy, but he pinch-hit for us when it was calf season. “I’m back out there in ten.”
“Good.” I ate a mouthful, then nodded toward the door. “Jake been pushing it?”
Miguel snorted. “Always. Says he’ll rest when the horses are done and not before.”
“Tell him to sit his ass down anyway,” I said. “I’ll cover if he won’t.”
“He won’t,” Miguel said, but there was a flicker of appreciation there. “I’ll make him drink some water at least.”
“Do that,” I said. “And if that second cow so much as looks sideways, you call me.”
Miguel tied back his loose hair and smiled. “Yes, boss.”
Then he left with a lazy wave, and I was alone again, the sound of Lucas retching somewhere behind me catching my attention. I had a dozen things queued up in my head, and an ugly, smug flicker of satisfaction that he was uncomfortable. That didn’t last. Guilt crept in just as fast. Ruth shot me a look and a smirk, and for a second, I almost smiled back, like making him sick might be enough to drive him off.
But I knew better. This wasn’t a short-term standoff where we pushed until he packed up and left. He was supposed to be here six months, and deep down I knew for sure that he was stubborn enough to see every one of them through.
Fuck.
Chapter 7
Lucas
I’d only made it about twenty feet from the house before I fell over, and it was worse because I could feel Sexy McCowboy watching my every step, probably waiting for me to fall. I should have tested the ground with my boot before committing my weight. Slipping wasn’t an option. Falling even less so, and I was about done with pain right now.
So much for cutting down on the meds—maybe today wasn’t the day to be brave. Brushing myself off, I’d thrown the middle finger as if that didn’t hurt like hell, then found the staff building easily enough and followed the smell of coffee into the dining room.
