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“You can’t be serious,” he finally said.
“Oh, I am. As serious as a bull in springtime, my boy. You treat her well, or I’ll hear about it.”
“This isn’t just some woman from the city setting up shop, Mom. This is Maggie Newman. We’ve got history; it isn’t that simple.”
Grace stood, her plate cleaned and wineglass empty. “You need to talk that through? Then talk it through over dinner and drinks and leave business out of it. The girl deserves that, at least.”
Bennett didn’t disagree. At one point, he’d had a mind to give Maggie the world, knowing she deserved it and more. But that time was sitting square under heartache and wouldn’t budge.
“And if it works and she decides not to sell?”
“Then you have a sweet neighbor to show for it.”
As worst-case scenarios came, it wasn’t horrible. Career altering, yes. But not the end of the world. He’d wanted the canyon to graze and water his cows during breeding and calving season. While the valley was dry and brittle and unforgiving, the canyon was lush and teeming with life that would help his herd bulk up before auction. If Maggie kept her land and he didn’t mess things up with her, maybe she’d let him share the canyon.
“Fine. Since you seem so invested in me not screwing this up, you got any ideas where to start?”
“Bring her flowers. I’m sure you recall her favorites. And don’t skimp. Throw in that bottle of wine you brought since I won’t be using it.”
With that, Grace walked back inside, Gander at her heels in the hopes he’d benefit from some scraps. Jax just laughed, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
At least someone was happy with how dinner had gone.
The meal was over, and Bennett hadn’t eaten more than two bites. Not that it mattered. His appetite was somewhere south of his feelings, tucked away for the time being. Until he worked out how to help Jax and keep the family part of his business intact, or how he felt about Maggie, it looked like his desire for food and anything else was going to be scarce.
Alright, Mom. I hope you know what you’re up to.
Because he’d survived Maggie walking away from him once and wasn’t sure his heart would withstand a second beating like that.
*
Maggie used her dad’s worn red-and-white bandana to wipe the sweat from her eyes. The past two mornings, she’d bundled up in her father’s sweater and Carhartt jacket only to end up in a tank top and jeans she’d purchased at Harvey’s.
She sat back on the heels of her new Alvie boots and assessed the eastern fence. It’d been flagged by the Department of Fish and Game for good reason. The razor wire was down on three panels. Texas might be a fence-out state, but Austin County had a stock law that her dad had violated when his property lines failed to keep his cattle from meandering down the highway.
According to one of the citations, there’d even been an auto accident involving one of his steers. No one had been hurt, but it wasn’t worth the risk.
Maggie sighed out two days’ worth of frustration. The fence needed to be fixed before she could take back the cattle tomorrow, but she needed ranch hands to fix the fence. And those were still two days out, according to Mitch.
If it wasn’t one thing…
The sound of truck tires on a gravel drive distracted her from the loop of negative thinking. She glanced up and frowned.
“I’ve got too much to do, Bennett, without you coming to waste my time,” she muttered as he parked his big ole fancy truck beside her less-than-new version. He’s worth more than ten times your dad’s land even if there was oil. The staggering realization hadn’t set in yet. He’d accomplished what he set out to do, and then some.
But the joy had disappeared from his eyes when he talked shop.
“Howdy, Maggie.”
Howdy? Were they starring in a sitcom Maggie wasn’t aware of?
“Hey, Bennett.” She took a long pull from her canteen and then dumped what was left on her head, using the bandana to wipe away at least some of the dirt and grime from her cheeks and forehead. Damn the man for riding up in a clean truck with a fresh T-shirt and jeans while she looked like the worst end of a bull after a rodeo.
Likely smelled like one, too.
“I brought you these,” he said. She shielded her eyes from the fading sunlight that backlit Bennett in a hazy yellow glow. In one hand, he brandished a hand-picked bouquet of wild daisies and in the other a staple gun. “My mom suggested flowers, and I remembered these used to do the trick.”
“They’re beautiful. Thanks. Maybe put them in the bed of my truck? I’m a little busy.”
