“I’m on it,” I cut in.
“Copy that, boss.”
I unlocked the office door and leaned back against it, breathing hard, then stilled—listening. For footsteps. For his voice. The realization hit that I was scared to step out. Was it because I couldn’t handle him? Or because I couldn’t handle anything else. I shoved off the door, furious with myself. Thiswas my space, and I stayed in it. Wanting him didn’t change that.
“You don’t get to live in my head,” I muttered. I let the feeling hit, then let it pass. Work was waiting. Wanting something I couldn’t control didn’t mean I had to mess up everywhere else. I went out the back anyway, not avoiding anything, just choosing my own direction, then headed for the barn to saddle Boone. I did it fast—faster than usual—and jumped at every sound. I felt raw—the dude ranch might have been my project, but when the money got tight, and my dad’s drinking had gotten worse, I was the one picking up everyone’s slack, and the bright, shiny idea had burned down to ash.
It wasn’t my fault.
Gunner was already there when I reached the south pasture, collar turned up, breath puffing white as he worked. The cold had teeth today—hard frost locked over yesterday’s snow, the top crust brittle enough to crunch under my boots while the ground beneath stayed soft and treacherous. Meltwater from the last day of weak sunshine had run downhill, pooled, then frozen again, and it had undercut the fence line along the creek.
One corner post had shifted enough to throw the tension off. Wire sagging. Staples pulled crooked where the soil had slumped away. Fuck Lucas, there was no neglect on this ranch—just physics, water, and freeze-thaw doing what they always did if we didn’t stay ahead of it.
I took the post maul from Gunner without a word and set my feet. Gunner was a quiet guy. Always had been. Somepeople filled the silence because they couldn’t stand it. Gunner didn’t, aside from when he hummed classic rock, which I didn’t think he was even aware he did. Out here, with a job to do, silence felt right. The steel rang in the cold as I drove the post deeper, each strike jarring up my arms. My fingers ached even through gloves, knuckles stiff, breath burning my lungs. We reset the brace, re-tensioned the wire, and cinched it tight until it sang when I snapped it with my thumb.
This was work I understood. Clear cause. Clear fix. No balance sheets. No voices in my ear. Just frozen ground, good wire, and the quiet certainty that if I didn’t do this, no one else would.
“Saw the new guy,” Gunner murmured.
“Yeah.”
“Said he was checking the cabins.”
“Yep.”
“Dangerous over there.”
“Yep.”
“He got a radio?”
“Yep.”
I carried on working—it was up to Lucas where he went and why. But, yeah, the cabins had seen better days, and what if Lucas had gone over there and gotten himself hurt, or fallen? Not that I cared, but the idea of him hurt out there—on my land—twisted something ugly in my chest.
Maybe I cared too much.
Shit.
Chapter 13
Lucas
Today was the day I planned to cross another item off my list. I’d already sketched out a rough plan of the ranch buildings, including measurements, condition notes, and what needed attention now versus later—and today’s job was to go back and take photos of the guest cabins to see if anything could be saved. I was pleased to be so close to making it out of the door without seeing Jesse. Not that I was avoiding him—more that he had a way of appearing exactly when I didn’t need the extra friction. I’d been here long enough to know that around me, he was perpetually grumpy, always scowling, and acting as though my presence on the ranch was a personal inconvenience. Which I guess it was. He didn’t hide it. And for reasons I refused to examine too closely, I found it irritating as hell and distracting. Which was new. And unwelcome.
The man radiated a particular kind of rough authority, all clipped words and narrowed eyes, plaid and boots and zero patience. The kind of cowboy people wrote porn about. Notthat I’d gone looking for grumpy cowboy porn. Much. The problem was that being anywhere near him had started to scramble my focus, my thoughts sliding sideways when they should’ve stayed put. That alone annoyed me. I did not like losing control of my own head—especially not because of one frustrating, sharp-edged rancher.
I was so close to getting out when he appeared like some angry John Wayne, one thumb through his belt loop, the other at his side, holding something that I recognized immediately.
“You didn’t take your radio with you to the cabins,” he snapped. No preamble. No please. And why was his growly voice so hot?
“Wait, have you been in my room?”
“You take it every time you leave the house, City.”
City? Jesus, I hated that stupid nickname he’d given me. What was he, five? I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again because I had more than a shred of sense, and some parts of the ranch were deep in snow, and where I intended to go today could be swallowed by it. I had meant to take the radio, but I’d forgotten, and hell, I made it back alright.
“Okay.”
