“Very reassuring.”
“I’m serious. And Lucas?”
“Yeah?”
“Give them a minute. You don’t have to win them over this fast.”
I huffed. “I’m not trying to win anyone over.”
“Sure, you’re not. Call me later,” he said. “Tell me if the cowboy gets less terrifying.”
“He’s not terrifying.”
“Hot, though.”
I ended the call on that, because I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction, but the tightness in my chest had eased justenough to breathe around it, and when I clipped the radio more securely to my jacket this time, I didn’t hate it quite as much.
Chapter 8
Jesse
The end of winter had a rhythm all its own on the ranch. Slow, relentless—feed, water, checks, repairs. Things that couldn’t wait just because the season was turning. I had a list in my head before I reached the door, and Boone was first. I needed to lay hands on him, run a brush over his coat, tack him up properly. Then, I’d ride out to check the calves from last night, see for myself how they’d settled once the cold eased.
I’d managed to avoid Lucas as much as possible since the radio incident, even a week later, but sometimes I couldn’t avoid him, and every damn time we crossed paths, something sparked inside me. Anger, frustration, and, worst of all, attraction. He was everywhere I needed to be, and it was messing with my routines. Hell, he’d even taken to going to the barn with the horses and taking photos of the cats.
Who even did that?
I didn’t trust him.
But at least with the radio thing, and the hands lookingout for the cute idiot, I trusted myself to keep him safe while he was here.
I found him asking Jake questions a few days ago, but, like me, Jake was a man of few words, and now, he, too, was avoiding Lucas.
Not so much everyone else, because they didn’t know he was here to sell the place from under them.
Today at breakfast had been yet another day when Lucas was trying to talk to my hands, and I had no real way of stepping in. Lucas had taken his tray and deliberately dropped onto the bench beside Miguel, close enough that he had to shift his boots back under the table, and right in front of me. He smiled as if he belonged there, and that was the problem.
It looks real, and I don’t want him to belong if it means I’ll have to let him go.
What? Where had that come from?
“Jesse,” he said and inclined his head. “And you’re Miguel, right?”
He glanced at me; the nervous young man who’d started working here a few years ago—Walter’s final hire—was clearly uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“Stop messing with the team,” I warned Lucas, who raised a single eyebrow and ignored me.
“So, Miguel,” Lucas said, easy as anything, elbows on the table. “How long have you been working here?”
Miguel glanced at me again, then back at Lucas. “Uh. Five years.”
“That long?” Lucas whistled. “Guess you’ve seen everything, then.”
“I guess.” He shuffled along the bench a little, buthe was hemmed in, and I was giving this exactly thirty seconds before I yanked Lucas out of the way. Miguel didn’t need to be questioned.
Lucas laughed, warm and quick, and leaned a little closer, all friendly smiles. He had a nice smile that reached his eyes, but all I could see was him using manipulation to get information on things I refused to explain, like the cattle, the acreage, and the technical side of running a ranch. “Okay, important question.”
Miguel stiffened. “About cattle?”
