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Poppy shrugs. “They outvoted me. I wanted to do face painting.”
I stand from the sofa, holding my bowl and waiting for her to continue.
“We need volunteers for the dunk tank,” she blurts.
“No,” I say, turning and walking into the kitchen.
I can feel Poppy close on my heels. Turning the faucet on, I wash my dirty bowl as my sister settles beside me, resting her hip against the counter.
“Wayne already said yes,” she says in a pleading tone. “The girls in town love you, Linc. You’d bring in even more money than him.”
Resting the clean bowl on the drying rack, I turn and look at her. “Do you realize how creepy that sounds?”
“It’s just water.”
“And a bunch of moms—most of them married—lining up to see my clothes plastered to my body.” I slump back until my ass hits the edge of the counter, and then I close my eyes. All I want to do is take a hot shower and go to bed and not think about anything else.
“It’s for a good cause,” my sister reminds me.
Sighing heavily, I glare at her. “Fine.”
She claps her hands and wraps me in a quick hug. “Thank you!” When she pulls back, she smiles up at me, but her smile falls. “You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She pushes my arm. “You know we’ll be okay if you slow down, right? We’d like to see you more. Butch would, too.” Poppy smiles softly.
I heave a sigh that’s so deep I swear I feel my heart rattle. “I know. I just don’t know how to make time for it. Hank has helped us out so much, and I don’t want to let him down.”
Hank’s operation continues to grow, but Hank, Otto, and I make up the entire team. Otto is busy doing all the veterinary and foaling side of things. Hank takes care of the actual breeding process and communication with buyers.
And I do…everything else.
“Have you talked to Hank again about hiring someone?” Poppy asks.
I shrug. “No. I haven’t mentioned it again.”
If Hank had someone to run the website and communications part of the job—which he hates doing, anyway—then he’d be able to help more with the daily care of the ranch and horses. But I don’t see things changing soon.
“Maybe it’s time to bring it up again,” she says gently. “You’re only twenty-eight, Linc. You deserve to have a life outside of work.”
“You’re right.” I worry my bottom lip, thinking of how to have that conversation. Hank has stepped up for us so many times in the past two years since losing our parents. He’s helped me repair things on the house, given me a raise, and even planned most of the funeral while we were reeling from the aftermath.
Asking to work fewer hours feels disloyal somehow, like I’m not willing to do for him what he’s done for us. But Poppy is right. If I’ve realized anything the last few years, it’s that life is short. And I want to live mine fully.
When’s the last time I read a book, had drinks with the guys, or spent the night with a woman? Hell, I can’t even remember.
CHAPTER 8
Hattie
“Hey Good Lookin’” plays softly inside the cab of Hank’s pickup as we make the drive down bumpy dirt roads into Honey Badger Creek.
We ride in companionable silence for a few minutes before Hank glances over at me, clearing his throat. “So, tell me about yourself.”
I turn in my seat to look at his profile. I’ve told him the basics—what I do, where I live. “What do you want to know?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Everything.” Hank’s voice is a quiet rasp.
