A truck engine rumbles somewhere behind the barn. Then Tucker Brant comes around the corner on an ATV, two dogs running alongside, hat low over his eyes. He's changed his shirt since I arrived. Clean henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows. Forearms thick, tanned. Dirt still under his nails.
He pulls up near the water trough and swings off without looking at me. Knows I'm here, though. The set of his shoulders says he's aware of exactly where I am in relation to him at all times.
Dolly trots over to sniff my ankles. Hank is already rolling onto his back near my feet.
"Hey, pretty girl." Crouching down, I scratch Dolly behind both ears until her tail starts going. "At least someone's happy to see me."
"She's not happy." Tucker's voice carries from the trough where he's checking something. "She's assessing you."
"Sure. That's why she's leaning into my hand."
He grunts. The man communicates in grunts. I've known him for three hours.
Standing, I brush dog hair off my sundress. "Can we talk about the project? I want to start shooting tomorrow morning."
"Nothing to talk about."
"Tucker." Closing the distance, I stop about six feet from where he's crouched by the trough, checking a valve. "Josie hired me. She's paying me. The contract is signed. Whether you participate or not, I'm here for two weeks, so we might as well make it productive."
He stands. Slowly. Unfolding all six feet of himself until I'm craning my neck to look at his face. Hazel eyes in the last of the light, crow's feet deep at the corners. The trimmed beard is more brown than blond up close. His hat throws shadow across his jaw.
"What exactly do you need from me?"
Everything. Every angle, every hour of the day, every task he does on this ranch. But saying that right now would send him back into the house.
"One morning. Ride with me while you do your regular work. Pretend I'm not here."
"Hard to pretend you're not here."
My stomach flips. Because the way he says it, low and quiet, looking at me like I'm a problem he can't solve, doesn't sound like an insult. He drops his gaze to my mouth for half a second. Then snaps it back to the mountains.
"Six a.m. sharp," he says. "I'm not waiting for you."
"I'll be ready at five thirty."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not even close. But something cracks in the granite, and I feel unreasonably victorious.
"Wear real shoes," he says, already walking toward the house. "And don't get in the way of the horses."
"I know how to behave around animals."
He glances over his shoulder. "I wasn't talking about behavior. I was talking about those." His eyes drop to my sneakers. "One of my mares will step on your foot and you'll be done for the week."
Fair point. "Boots. Got it."
He nods once. Disappears inside with both dogs.
Standing alone in the darkening yard, I let out a breath. One morning. It's a start.
Back in the cabin, I call my mother. She picks up on the second ring because Carmen Cordero has never let a phone ring three times in her life.
"Mija, how's the ranch?"
"Beautiful. The rancher wants to murder me."
"Is he handsome?"
"Mama."
