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Breath escaped, loud in his ears.
He rolled to his side, thoughts churning through his brain. His conversation with his brothers. They’d been relieved when he’d told them Bob hadn’t proved the goldmine Jackson had imagined he might be. He got the impression that Cooper’s old cynicism was hard at work. Cooper wouldn’t trust any realtor to give them a price worth the years of memories, let alone Bob. Maybe he should contact Liam Darcy again. But he was in Africa, out of reach. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see if the man might be interested in the piece of land down near the Darcy solar farm. Even if his brothers were adamant he should never carve up the land Reillys had ranched for generations.
“God, what else can I do?” His muttered prayer filled the empty space.
His brothers certainly had a lot of opinions. After telling him exactly what they thought about his efforts with the land, they’d started on Mom. At least that had been a better result. For his concerns about Mom had eased—she seemed happier and more settled, even if her nurse made him feel the opposite. Well, not unhappy exactly—how could he be unhappy when Mom was being cared for, and the house was looking cleaner?—but maybe just a little anxious. When his brothers had asked about Mom’s nurse, he’d lied again, saying Lexi meant nothing to him. But tell them the truth and suffer through the inevitable teasing? No thanks. A man had enough to live down and didn’t need to go courting more. He groaned.
And she’d heard it. Judging from that last comment, she’d been unimpressed by his lie. Which obviously was a lie based on the way he’d nearly kissed her, the way he now dreamed of her, imagining what her lips would taste like …
He rolled to the other side, pulling out the sleeping bag so it fit more comfortably. How many years had it been since he’d slept in such a thing? He was grateful that at least the space wasn’t as uncomfortable as he might’ve first supposed. Not that he’d ever thought the bunkhouses uncomfortable—their workers had always expressed their appreciation at the standard, which was apparently higher than comparable ranches—but it wasn’t exactly his bedroom back in the main ranch building. The rooms were fairly spacious and had ensuite bathrooms, so people didn’t have to brave the cold and snow in mid-winter treks. His grandfather had known what he was doing when he’d upgraded things back in the early nineties. Still, it wouldn’t take much to upgrade the room to the standard of a basic motel. Assuming people wanted to experience a taste of ranch life. Something someone once said hovered around the recesses of his mind, and he closed his eyes trying to chase it down, but his brain was as settled as a black-tailed jackrabbit, too busy with thoughts of the ranch, finances, Brutus, Mom. Lexi.
The plaintive “aaarooom” of a distant cow startled him to greater wakefulness. This was dumb. Maybe he’d be better off doing something. Even if it was a big day tomorrow—today—completing chores he’d prefer not to leave for Sunday.
He shucked off the sleeping bag, threw on a light sweater and long sweats, shoved his feet into boots—fashion statement, not—and moved out to the barn, his phone’s torch lighting the way. Not that he really needed it as he could walk this route in his sleep, but nobody needed to be stepping into a pile of Fido’s mess, especially at this hour of the morning.
At the barn he drew open the door, moving quietly inside to where Brutus was penned. “Hey, boy.”
The animal snuffled at his hand, and Jackson rubbed his head, the coarse hair springy to his touch. “I’m sorry you’re still stuck in here. I bet you’d rather be with your lady friends, huh?”
Talk like that was likely to take his mind places it shouldn’t, so he did what he’d started doing a week or so ago. “Dear Lord, please heal Brutus, make him whole again. Amen.”
They needed a miracle, and God was the ultimate miracle-giver.
“Ahem.”
Jackson yelped and spun around, squinting against the glare of a torch. “Denny?”
“I saw a light, boss. Didn’t think it’d be you.”
“Who did you think it’d be if not me?”
Denny shrugged as he drew closer. “Dunno. Sometimes Miguel reckons he sees things, and I’m not sure if he’s had too many beans or if he really is.”
“Are you telling me we’ve had trespassers? Why didn’t I know about this? Where? When?”
“Boss, it’s Miguel. I’m not sure if the man is on drugs half the time but he’s not always seeing what’s really there, if you know what I mean.”
“Whoa. Did you just say Miguel is on drugs? You know we have a drug-free policy here. I can’t believe—”
“Boss, come on. How long have I been working here? Longer than you.”
Jackson rubbed the back of his head. Denny had taken on the role a year or so after his father had left. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful. But we’ve always been cautious about who we employ.”
“Miguel is not on drugs. Once upon a time, probably. And that’s likely the reason he gets hallucinations.”
“We’ve got hallucinations going on now?”
“No. Not all the time. Not at all. Except for the times he thinks he’s seen some man.”
“And do you think it’s true?”
“It’s Miguel. He thinks every sage bush is a coyote.”
“Then why do we employ him?”
“Because he’s cheap, and he’s good with the horses.”
But was that enough for him to stay? Jackson was all about second chances—and fourth and fifth chances—but there was something unsettling about learning this about an employee. And to learn his foreman had kept such news from him, and it had taken a midnight barn visit for the truth to come out.
