My fucking god, this property was gorgeous. I leaned toward my passenger window to stare at the sprawling pastures as my truck slowly rolled down the paved road to the huge rustic-style home sitting proudly at the end. Getting this job had felt like hitting the fucking lottery, but I hadn’t expected the place to look like the family who owned it were the ones bankrolling the lotto.
A circular roundabout was in front of the house that screamed wealthy upper class. Normal people didn’t have circular driveways. Shit, where I’d come from, people barely even had a driveway. Most just had some tire tracks over the grass that indicated where they regularly pulled in beside their double-wide. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel nervously as I came to a stop behind an older-looking F-150 in front of the mini ranch mansion. I suppose if they were sporting something this swanky out front, the bunkhouse in the back had to be nice, too, huh? Then again… It could be an absolute shithole since all the money went to keeping up appearances.
No sooner had my gear shift been thrown into park than the largewooden doors to the house swung open, like some clichéd cinematic moment. And out walked the leading man of my dreams.
Tall and broad, like someone who worked day in and day out for every muscle he had. A thick, full beard made up of dark strands. The ends of his hair curled around his ears, most of it hidden under the Stetson he wore. My mouth dried up with the intensity of his gaze, locked on me through the window of my truck. His strides were long and confident, and a visible plume of steam rose from his mouth, slowly dissipating into the cold early morning air. He buried his powerful, wide hands deep into the pockets of his tan Dickies jacket as he approached.
It wasn’t until he was basically just outside my window that I realized I should be getting out to meet him. Scrambling to turn off my truck and get out without looking a fool, I rounded the front of my pickup just in time to take the hand of the star of my future shower fantasies as he offered it.
“Jackson, I’m presuming? I’m Tucker Legare.”
Gruff-sounding like every Western heartthrob with the thick Southern accent to match. Two intense eyes stared into my soul, the color of whiskey, and just as dangerous. But then his name finally registered. This man was the foreman for Juniper Grove Farms, a member of the family that owned the property. And also my fucking boss.
“Tucker, good to meet you in person. I really appreciate the opportunity to work for you,” I responded, giving his calloused hand a hard squeeze.
“We’re certainly happy to have you. I won’t sugarcoat things; foaling is going to be crazy this year. We have fifteen mares in foal, and four of them are first timers. They’re all due staggered from March to the end of April, but as we all know, Mother Nature doesn’t give a shit when they’re supposed to be born—they’re coming whenever they want.”
I nodded my head, letting my own words lilt with my accent. “You know what they say, you make plans, and God laughs.”
Tucker’s eyebrows pulled together before he lifted his chin toward my truck. “Let’s get your things dropped off at the bunkhouse, and then I’ll show you around the facilities.”
Huh. Not a religious man, or did he not care for small talk?
“Sounds good.”
Tucker pulled some keys from his jacket pocket, motioning toward the F-150 in front of me. “You can follow me out there. We’ll take my truck to tour the grounds, so you’re not having to walk out in this ball-busting cold.”
I huffed out a laugh. “’Preciate that.”
We both got back into our respective vehicles, and I followed behind him as he led me down a paved offshoot from the circular drive. It was probably a five-minute drive, the road at one point turning to dirt around halfway through. When we pulled up to a sleek-looking building, painted black with a tin roof and a wide front porch, I whistled low under my breath. Not skimping on the farmhand accommodations, then.
There were several sturdy rocking chairs positioned around the porch, one of them being occupied by someone bundled in a thick jacket, his hat propped precariously on his head as he slouched back in the rocker. He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette, barely even acknowledging either of us as Tucker and I exited our trucks.
“Dudd, get off your lazy ass and come help me get the new guy’s things,” Tucker called without looking at the man in question.
“’S my day off.” Dudd grunted as he rose from the rocker. With his hat moved out of the way, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes became visible. His hair was more salt than pepper, but I was sure he’d been a real looker when he was younger.
Dudd meandered his way over to us while Tucker pulled one of my duffels out of the back of my truck. He fingered the end of his cigarette between his lips, taking one of the offered bags and extending his other toward me.
“Jackson Arness.” I gave him a wide smile, trying to crack through his steely exterior with a strong handshake.
Dudd’s gray eyes traveled over me, assessing me for something before he gave a grunt. “Duddson. Go by Dudd.”
“No last name? What, are ya famous?” I joked.
“Maybe for being an asshole.” Tucker sighed, hefting the last of my luggage out of the backseat and shutting the door. Dudd took the sound as his dismissal and turned back toward the bunkhouse.
“Don’t mind him. He’s got a prickly outside, but he really isn’t that bad. I can promise you can go to him for any questions you have.”
Something warm simmered in my chest. Dudd reminded me of every man I’d grown up with. Rough around the edges, sun-worn, and a silent nurturer. Somehow, it already made me feel at home.
Tucker and I made our way up the few porch steps before moving into the warm interior. The front door opened into a large, bright room with a row of doors along one wall. Light-stained wood covered everything from floor to ceiling, making the space feel inviting and airy.
I was led to the door furthest from the front, where my singular duffel had been left. Dudd was nowhere to be found, but I didn’t have long to wonder where he’d run off to before Tucker was presenting me with a key.
“This is for your room. All the men on the farm are good guys, but it’s better to have peace of mind. You’ll be sharing this room with Weston Turner. He’s out on fencing duty, but I’m sure you’ll meet him at dinner.”
“I’ll be sure to introduce myself,” I commented.
