I stared at him for a long second, then turned back toward the barn aisle. “I’ve got Boone to check and tack up,” I said. “Calves from last night to ride out and look over. Fences to walk. Water lines to check and clean before the temperature drops again. And before the sun goes, I need eyes on the north pasture. We’re likely to have at least one more calf dropping.” I paused. “Then, there’s the probability of coyotesor mountain lions messing with the herd.” Lucas’s eyes widened, and he glanced left as if expecting said animals to appear. “If the calf comes late, that takes me into the night.”
“But—”
“List assets on your own, because it sure as shit doesn’t mean anything, given I won’t ever agree to sell.”
Lucas held my gaze a beat too long. Then, he nodded once, slowly. “I get it. You don’t have to agree with what needs to happen,” he added. “Not today.”
“Needsto happen?”
“No, whatwillhappen?” he said and confronted me, in his cute-as-shit small-ass way.
“Are you threatening me?” I stepped closer without thinking, crowding his space, taller, solid, the way men learned to be on a ranch when words stopped working.
He took a step back before he could stop himself, boots scraping as his shoulder bumped the stall beside Boone’s. Boone shifted, ears flicking, a low warning sound rumbling in his chest.
Lucas’s jaw tensed. “No,” he said, voice steady, then his chin lifted, eyes cold now. “You can’t intimidate me. I own more of this place than you do.”
Something ugly and hot unfurled in my gut, and I leaned in just enough to make the line clear, “But I own enough to block you from doing a single thing to my home. So, back off.”
For a second, it seemed as if he might push again. Instead, his shoulders were rigid. “Fine,” he said, clipped. “I’ll do my own land audit then.”
“You do that.”
I turned my back on him as he kept talking, asking me about acreage, outbuildings, and whether horses counted as assets or liabilities.
I didn’t answer. Boone needed finishing, and I wasn’t wasting another second. I tightened the cinch and checked the straps by feel, muscle memory taking over where patience ran out. Boone stood solid and calm, as he always did, trusting me to know what I was doing.
I finished tacking up Boone, led him out of the stall, and swung the barn doors open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean. Boone walked with me, steady and willing.
Lucas’s voice finally trailed off. Silence followed. When I glanced back, he was standing in the barn, frowning and staring at the hay.
He could do as many fucking audits as he wanted. I wasn’t signing a single thing that meant this place was done.
I settled into the saddle and let Boone have his head as we headed for the south pasture. He knew the route better than I did, picking his way over compacted snow and ruts without being asked. Last night’s snow might have been the last real one if we were lucky. Days were warming to soften the surface, only for it to lock up again overnight into slick, unforgiving ice. That was late winter on the ranch, the season arguing with itself. Spring was coming, you could feel it in the lengthening light and the way the animals shifted, restless. I loved winter for what it demanded, the grit of beating it back day after day, but spring was my favorite. It meant we’d survived winter. No city guy was ever going to understand that or turn it into numbers on a page.
“Idiot,” I muttered to Boone.
I found Gunner and Jake already there on first check, both leaning on the fence next to the ATV, cups of coffee steaming as the calves bawled and the morning went on.
Compared to Lucas, the calves should have been simple.
Late winter drop. Three new ones on the south pasture, all standing, all breathing, all loud enough to tell the world they were alive. Steam rose from their backs in the cold morning air while the cows shifted and snorted, heavy and watchful.
“Hooves, eyes, bellies,” Gunner reported his checks as I dismounted. “Everything’s good, and the kid’s in there.”
Miguel crouched a few feet away, murmuring in Spanish to one of the cows. Miguel was our youngest hand, so he’d always be known as “kid.” Poor bastard. I’d been called that for the longest time until he arrived, so it was good to pass it on.
“What do you see, kid?” I asked.
Miguel straightened from his crouch, shoulders back, face serious now. He didn’t rush it, didn’t pad it. Just facts.
“Three calves,” he said. “All standing. All nursing. Good suck reflex. No scours. Eyes clear. Bellies are full.” He glanced toward the cows. “The mothers are calm. Protective, but not agitated.”
I nodded once.
“There’s one thing,” he added, after a beat. “Small thing. One cow is favoring her left hind. Not lame, but stiff. Might just be the cold. Might need watching.”
“Good catch,” I said. “Wanna show me?”
