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Chase and Nash laughed.
Shep smiled, taking off his worn cowboy hat to run a hand through his damp hair. “Other than that, she’s got a rope burn on her wrist, and a few nasty bruises, but otherwise, seems fine.”
“She’s damn lucky,” said Chase.
Nash agreed with a nod. “Might have ended differently if we weren’t moving the cattle that mile west.”
Shep didn’t even want to consider what would have happened if he hadn’t found her. He returned his hat to his head. He vividly remembered every second of when he’d seen her behind the horse. Emma had looked so fragile, precious even, and that damn horse treated her like she was unbreakable. “That’s the first and last time I ever want to see anything like that again.”
“Now all you gotta do is not fuck up being her knight in shining armor.” Nash grinned.
Shep ignored the comment, glancing at Chase, ready to move this conversation along so he could get to spending more time with Emma. “You said on the phone earlier that you had something to discuss.”
Chase frowned. “That, I’m afraid, isn’t as interesting as your pretty little woman in there.”
Shep took a deeper look at his brothers now, reading the tension in the firm set of their mouths, and the stress he saw mirrored what weighed on his chest too. “Do I even want to know?” he muttered.
Chase placed the truck into park and turned off the ignition. The rumble of the engine silenced. “Lee Schultz called today. He wants to meet.”
The reminder of all that had happened recently slammed into Shep like a barbell being thrown at his chest. Two weeks ago, a heart attack claimed his father’s life. Shep had begun the nitty-gritty part of dealing with his father’s estate, but he’d been avoiding his father’s longtime accountant. “Did he say when he wants to meet?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Nash reported. “It’s not negotiable. He says the estate needs to move ahead.”
A wave of responsibility crashed into Shep, nearly drowning him. Blackshaw Cattle was the largest cattle company in Colorado. With the butchery shop in downtown River Rock on Main Street, and the thirty thousand acres of prime Colorado land for their large herd, Shep couldn’t put this off any longer. Steps needed to be taken to ensure the company survived.
Chase seemed to understand the weight of such a task. “Would you like us to go with you?” he asked.
Shep shook his head and reached for the grocery bag. “I’ll handle Schultz, and whatever else comes along with it.” His father’s death had been sudden and shocking, and Shep wasn’t sure anyone had recovered from the loss, least of all his mother, Jenny. “Besides, he’s right—we need to figure out how to move forward and what that will look like.”
The biggest problem of all: No one in the Blackshaw family wanted to be the face of Blackshaw Cattle, least of all Shep. His company was thriving with the new government contract. Chase worked the cattle, along with the other Blackshaw cowboys, but he did so to save the funds to start his long-awaited construction company. As far as Shep knew, Chase estimated he’d launch his company in six months’ time. And as for Nash, he lacked the drive for business and preferred getting his hands dirty. His father had hoped someone would follow in his footsteps but that was Rick Blackshaw’s dream, not theirs.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Chase said, breaking the silence. “We can give controlling interest to Colin and let him run the show.” Colin Hadgart was a longtime friend of their father’s and a top-notch businessman. When their father stepped down as the CEO of Blackshaw Cattle, Colin took over running the company, though all major decisions had remained with their father. Colin mainly handled the day-to-day business.
Shep agreed with a nod. “That might make the most sense, as long as Colin’s on board.”
Nash nodded, and so did Chase.
Shep understood their agreement. No one wanted the hassle of the company. His father had been a savvy businessman in his time and had built Blackshaw Cattle into a force to be reckoned with. The only farm that could possibly compete with Blackshaw Cattle was Irish Creek Ranch, which was owned by the Harrison family, and even they couldn’t touch what his father had created with the land passed down through generations of Blackshaw men.
“You’ll let us know how the meeting goes?” Chase asked.
Shep nodded, slapping his hand down against the open window. “Of course.”
He took a step back from the truck, and as Chase turned on the ignition, Nash said, “So, this Emma . . .” He grinned. “You never did answer me. Do we get to meet her?”
Shep frowned, wondering over his brother’s intentions. Nash could be a real pain in his ass. Shep wanted—no, needed—to learn more about the woman who shot him down then melted beneath his touch in front of an audience, and without any distractions. “Another time,” he finally answered. “She needs rest.”
“Yeah, right,” Nash said with a snort. “Letting her rest is totally what’s on your mind now, brother.”
Chase smirked. “Even I have a hard time believing that one.”
So did Shep.
* * *
From the bathroom window, Emma caught a flash of a black truck leaving her driveway with BLACKSHAW CATTLE CO. written on the gate, but her attention swiftly focused onto the horse. He paced the fence, unsettled, and her heart twisted. Back and forth, he didn’t stop, not for a second. She sympathized with his unrest, feeling a little like that herself. Not quite sure what steps to take forward or where to go exactly. Her life had been planned from high school. She knew she’d live in New York City with her parents. She knew she would go into marketing. Those were facts, dreams she set out. Now those dreams seemed to belong to someone else. Who was she if she wasn’t Emma Monroe, Executive Creative Director? She moved to the mirror above the bathroom sink, staring at someone she didn’t even know anymore. She now had a farm of abused animals. One of which might possibly kill her.
Where did she go so wrong?
