Page 12 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

They both questioned my decisions. Yet we were thriving because I’d pushed and pushed and pushed to do things differently.

Neither of them had cared if the barn was clean. Granddad was right, he hadn’t had staff to tidy up because both he and Dad had run with a skeleton crew for so damn long that we’d gotten the reputation for burning out ranch hands faster than we could hire their replacements.

According to Granddad, I’d overstaffed the ranch. But I liked to keep my guys for longer than one season. And I liked to have a clean barn, clean horses and clean equipment.

The tractor he’d been tinkering with had lasted seven years longer than any he’d had in his day. Maybe it was because he was a good mechanic. Or maybe it was because I had insisted on both servicing it before it broke down and keeping it inside, out of the elements.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking over his shoulder to the John Deere.

“I’m checking the hydraulics on the tractor. If that’s all right with you.”

“Fine,” I gritted out, turned and walked away.

I loved my grandfather, but damn it, working with the man was exhausting.

I couldn’t assign him work. I couldn’t hold him responsible for doing something on a regular basis because he was retired. And because Jake Greer Sr. reported to no one but his wife.

The problem was Granddad didn’t want to be retired. He’d pop in and take over jobs while I was in the middle of them. He’d take work from one of my hands without letting me know. He’d give orders to my staff, sending them in the wrong direction, all because he was bored—something he’d never admit.

Like the hydraulics. I’d already planned on checking them this afternoon. He knew I was going to do it myself because I’d told him yesterday. But did he ask if there was something else I could use his help on? No.

I walked out of the barn and stalked to the stables, my sanctuary. It was twice as big as the barn, and everyone, even Granddad, knew this was my domain. The floors were swept out regularly and every horse’s stall was mucked daily. We kept this place spotless, not only for the animals and my mental state, but because unlike the barn, guests roamed in here often.

As I made my way down the long center aisle, I counted the empty stalls. Most of the animals were out on guest excursions except for three young mares that had been left behind. They didn’t spare me so much as a glance, too busy munching on the grain they’d been given this morning.

Above me, the lofts were full of bales and the florescent lights were shining bright. It smelled like all stables should in my opinion, of horses, hay and hard work.

My gelding Jigsaw popped his head out of his stall the moment he heard my boots on the cement floor. I walked to him, putting my hand on his cheek. “How do you feel about doing some work today?”

He nuzzled my shoulder, anxious to get outside.

Jigsaw had been my horse since I was eleven. He stood nearly sixteen hands and was a beast of an animal. He was fast and not afraid to work. He’d gotten his name from the puzzle-piece-shaped spot on his right shoulder. Besides that white mark, he was as black as the midnight sky.

I could always count on Jigsaw. He’d never let me down. He never meddled with my schedule. He never talked back.

He never disappeared, only to return out of the blue eleven years later.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” I asked my horse.

He flicked up his nose, butting against my head.

“Yeah, we’ll get going soon.” I stroked the bridge of his nose and left him to get myself ready.

My office was located in the stables, beside the tack room. Dad had suggested I use the corner office in the lodge, the one opposite Katherine’s, because more and more, I found myself behind a desk.

It would make things more efficient if I was sitting inside where I could talk to Katherine in person rather than call her twelve times a day. But I liked my cramped office in the stables. I liked that I could watch the trainers and the hands interact with the horses and the guests. I could witness who had the patience to take groups out on trail rides and who would be better suited for ranch maintenance.

And I liked working with the smell of horses and leather and dirt in the air.

But it meant when I needed to talk to Katherine, I had to call. When she didn’t answer, I’d trek to the lodge for a cup of coffee and pop by her office.

Running into Gemma Lane had nearly knocked me on my ass.

I swiped my phone from my desk and shoved it into a jeans pocket. Then I grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the top of a file cabinet and took my Stetson off the set of deer antlers I used as a hat hook. I needed to get out of here and get some air. Think this over.

“Hey, boss.” Rory appeared in the doorway, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Hey.” I put the hat on my head. “What’s up?”