Page 6 of Wild and Wanted

Her mom. So, that was the older woman who had interrupted their little eyes-across-a-dusty-ring moment yesterday.

‘They want her to be able to ride a horse – authentically. And look comfortable in dusty jeans and muddy boots. That kind of thing. They’re shooting a film clip to her next song in a few months and they want her to look like she knows what she’s doing.’

Clay almost rolled his eyes. Some record label executives thought a month of trail rides, line-dancing sessions and cookouts would make Stephanie Everhart into a cowgirl? And because of that harebrained notion, he had to handhold the city girl.

The city girl he sure as fuck wanted to do some riding with – just not in any way her record label or her helicopter mama, he suspected, envisaged.

‘If we play our cards right, they might even use the ranch as the location for the video, which would be an amazing opportunity.’

‘What kind of opportunity?’

‘Being able to showcase the ranch as a location potential for film and TV,’ Mags supplied with enthusiasm. ‘Could be another solid stream of income.’

Solid income stream? What the hell?

He blinked at his mother and Mags, who were looking at him like it was he who wasn’t getting it, not them. Firstly, he hated that his sister seemed to know more about the internal workings and financial status of the ranch than he did. That was his own fault but it still rankled. Mostly, though, he really hated the idea of the ranch as a potential movie set.

Clay’s gaze cut to his father, who was also heartily enjoying his breakfast. Surely John Calhoun wouldn’t be on board with turning the ranch into a fucking circus? He’d been resistant to the dude ranch initially all those years ago; surely he could see this development would be even more disruptive.

Because it would be.

His folks had no idea how invasive a camera crew could be, but Clay did. He’d seen enough TV action on the circuit – from post-ride interviews for ESPN to appearing on sports shows to being involved in a couple of rodeo documentaries – to know how the myopic production of it all sucked up every atom of oxygen.

‘Okay.’ Clay placed his mug on the table. ‘You guys have got to level with me… is the ranch in some kind of financial trouble again?’

This was his fault. He’d been home for over a year now, cranky and surly because the pain had been the pits and his career was over so why would his parents confide in him? Put an extra burden on his plate when he’d been coping with a lot already?

But Mags was clearly in the know around here, treated like a partner in the family business, and it was about time he was too. He just needed to pull his head out of his ass. Yes, he’d been through a lot but he’d worked hard at both his physical therapy and on the ranch and he was fighting fit again, so he didn’t want to be kept in the dark any longer.

‘Honey, no.’ His mom reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. ‘The ranch is in really good shape.’

‘Then…’ Clay’s brow crinkled. ‘Why the need for extra income?’

‘Come on, son.’ His father’s voice was gentle despite the impatience on his face. ‘You think almost going bankrupt a decade ago hasn’t re-shaped our thinking? We need the ranch to be sustainable and to do that it’s only smart to diversify our income streams. That way if the beef market tanks, we have something else to rely on. If another pandemic hits, we have another avenue that doesn’t rely solely on visitors being able to travel.’

His father didn’t say and you’d know that if you’d been here at the coal face with us while we brought the ranch back from the brink but Clay plucked out the subtext as if it had been hewn from his own guilt.

‘So, could you just do the damn one-on-one already?’

His parents had been tippy-toeing around him for a while now, being as understanding and supportive as they’d always been. They’d never made him feel guilty about going his own way – in fact they’d encouraged it. And they’d travelled to as many of his events as possible, hollering the loudest. Always. And when he’d been laid up in hospital and at the rehab facility, his mom had been by his side every step of the way.

Convalescing on the ranch was never a request he’d had to voice.

But clearly his father was done with the softly, softly. John Calhoun wasn’t asking much and Clay owed them. He knew his parents didn’t see it that way, that parental love wasn’t transactional for them, but it didn’t make it any less true.

It was about time he returned some of their support even if he didn’t like what was being asked of him.

Clay nodded curtly as Mags grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him. She hadn’t cut him any slack. In fact she’d been badgering him for months now about going into business together to breed stock horses for the circuit.

Throwing back the last of his coffee, he stood, grabbing his hat from the chair beside him before bidding everyone a brusque goodbye.

As he reached the door his mother’s quiet ‘Clay?’ pulled him to a stop.

Without turning to acknowledge her, he huffed out a breath. ‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘Be nice,’ before cramming on his hat and striding out the door.

That was the problem though. The ways he could be nice to Stephanie Everhart were lining up like ducks in a row and he was pretty sure that was not the nice his mama meant.

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