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“I don’t even know her a little bit, Dad.” Zeke sent him a glum look. “She’s not like my friend or anything.”
“You know Jace.”
Zeke scrubbed a toe into the dirt.
“And you met Justine last year.”
Zeke didn’t look impressed. “I was little then. I don’t even remember her and she might not know what I like to do.”
“Can we tell her?” Lizzie directed the question straight to Zeke. “Can we tell her all your favorite things to do and eat and where you like to explore?”
“I can explore?” His brows lifted high. “For real?”
Lizzie stood and nodded. “Every little kid should explore things. Right?”
“Except every little kid isn’t on a working ranch with animals and heavy equipment moving from dawn to dark, and sometimes after. So exploring is kept to a minimum unless you’re with a grown-up.”
Zeke didn’t hear his father’s warning. Or he chose to ignore it. “I can’t wait to tell her we can go exploring! I’m gonna tell Miss Corrie and Cookie!” He raced into the house, leaving them alone on the graveled yard.
“His enthusiasm is contagious.” Lizzie smiled after him.
“But unbridled enthusiasm can get him into trouble. And around here, trouble can mean danger, so please don’t encourage him to test his boundaries. Usually he’s tucked at Rosie and Harve’s house with a little fenced yard and safe borders. Being here during a busy season will open up way too many temptations for him. Keeping him safe is my number one priority, Liz. He’s all I’ve got.”
She didn’t raise her gaze to his. She kept it averted, then firmed her jaw. Swallowed. And only then did she look up, and when she did, it was to change the subject. “They’ll be delivering Red by the end of the week. We might need help unloading. It’s a long ride for a horse that’s been a ranch cornerstone for six years with mares being brought to him. Not the other way around.”
Images of rogue stallions running amok in the movies took control of his brain because when it came to Zeke and safety, worst-case scenarios always seemed to prevail. “Is that why they’re selling him? We don’t need a horse with behavior problems on the ranch, and why else would an established setup sell off a moneymaker like him?”
“Because too many of their horses are related to him now.”
Of course. He didn’t run into that problem with sheep because they were market animals. Animals bred for longevity and breeding operated on a whole different cycle.
“And,” she went on, “they liked Uncle Sean. Everett Yost called him one of the good guys, and we’re far enough north that we’re no threat to their sales numbers. He made it clear that they liked the idea of a solid Quarter Horse operation up here.”
Three good reasons. Just then, the dinner bell sounded. She turned toward the house and he went with her. “The rest of the horses look all right?”
It was a lame question. He knew they looked all right because he’d been doing double duty the past six weeks. “They’ll be fine once they’re back on a regular grooming schedule. Stable help is in short supply, I guess. Brad’s a nice guy, but he’s uneasy in the stable. And that’s not good,” she answered.
He flushed. “Help is scarce across the board right now. It will get better once full operations are down here in the valley, but having two bands of sheep in the hills cuts us down by six men. I thought hard about sending them off.” He paused on the middle step and she did, too. “But we’d paid for this year’s rights, we weren’t prepped for that amount of hay or pasture and it ended up really being no choice.”
“Then don’t second-guess it.”
She’d nailed it completely because that’s exactly what he’d been doing.
“We can limp along for a few weeks, can’t we?”
Lambing, hay production, decreased help and a shallow pool of available people as the local population moved away in search of jobs that no longer existed in Shepherd’s Crossing since Boise and Sun Valley had mushroomed in size and popularity. “Don’t have much choice.”
“Then that’s what we do. Is that steak I smell?” She breathed deep, and there was no missing the appreciation in her eyes.
“We send the shepherds off with a steak dinner and welcome them back the same way. Tradition.”
“Well, that’s a tradition I can get behind,” she said. “I haven’t had a wood-fired steak in a long time.”
“Too busy to cook?” He followed her up the steps and tried not to notice how nicely she moved. The natural grace and curves he remembered so well. Too well.
