She's sitting slightly apart from the group, chair angled toward the fire, boots stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankle. Her hat is off, which I realize is the first time I've seen that today. Her hair is down from the ponytail, falling past her shoulders, and the firelight catches the soft lines of her face in a way that's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
I look at the fire instead.
This works for approximately forty-five seconds.
She's laughing at something Remy said. It's a real laugh, unguarded and a little loud, and she tips her head back with it in a way that she doesn't seem to know she does. It's different from every other version of her I've seen today. Softer at the edges. Less defended.
I have been very careful, since arriving at Silver Mesa Ranch, not to notice things about Laney Jenkins.
I am doing an extremely poor job of it.
Remy catches my eye across the fire with an expression that tells me I have been less subtle than I intended. He says nothing, which is so uncharacteristic that it's almost more alarming than if he'd said something.
Laney turns and catches me looking.
I hold her gaze for exactly one second longer than I should before looking back at the fire.
Neither of us speaks.
The fire crackles between us. Remy starts another story. Silas grabs another beer.
I sit with the warmth of it all and think that this ranch is going to be a very complicated place to live.
More complicated than any book prepared me for.
Chapter four
City Boy Problems
Laney
There are certain things a ranch manager learns to accept as unavoidable facts of life.
Mud. Early mornings. The specific kind of exhaustion that lives in your shoulders after a long week. The fact that Remy will always, without exception, find the worst possible moment to say the funniest possible thing.
Beckett Wilder apparently falls into this category now.
I accept this the way I accept all unavoidable things. Quietly, privately, and with a great deal of internal commentary that nobody else needs to hear.
The supply run into Silver Ridge was already on the schedule for Thursday. We needed feed, fencing materials, a replacement coupling for the irrigation line, and about six other things that stack up when a ranch is running at full capacity.
I do this run every few weeks. I know where to go, exactly what to get, and how long it takes.
I didn’t account for Beckett.
He's waiting by my truck at seven-thirty with a list on his phone, a coffee from the ranch house, and the expression of a man who has prepared thoroughly for an experience he has never actually had.
He's dressed better than yesterday. Dark jeans, boots that are new but not embarrassingly so, a simple gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up. He looks less like a catalog and more like a person, which is an improvement I notice purely in the interest of objective observation.
Unfortunately, that improvement is becoming increasingly distracting.
"I thought I'd come along," he says.
"I figured."
"I want to understand the supply relationships. Vendor management is important to operational efficiency."
Nobody should sound this serious about horse feed before eight in the morning.
