“Naw. The new hands arrived last night, and Bishop’s been keeping them busy with orientation while I’ve been shaking hands and kissing ass all morning.”
Bishop Bryant was Dad’s right-hand man. He’d showed up one day as nothing more than a scraggly seventeen-year-old kid severely needing a guiding hand. My dad had been too happy to take him in and show him the ropes.
Ever since, he’d become an honorary part of our family.
“If anyone can keep them in line, it’s Bishop,” I said, turning onto the familiar country road ahead. It’d still take me fifteen minutes to hit the looming white gate I loved and another ten until I reached the big house on the hill.
“Yeah,” Dad agreed. “But now I need you to get your ass here so that you can keep me in line. Your mother keeps me sane, but she won’t be home until next week.”
“Ah, now that I can do,” I laughed. “I’ll be there shortly, Dad. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that, sugar.” He paused, then cursed under his breath. “Alright, I’ve got to go. People are starting to show up.”
With that, he hung up. Music began playing through the speakers of my truck as I reached for my coffee in the console. But the moment the drink was in my hand, I hit a giant pothole—one I’d been on the city’s ass to fix for nearly a month.
Scalding hot liquid sloshed onto my hand, and I dropped the drink on the floorboard without thinking.
“Fuck,” I yelled, pulling over the best I could on the small, two-lane road. I was halfway in the ditch, but it’d have to do. I reached for my glove compartment, popping it open to grab the roll of thick napkins I kept on hand for things like this.
I was late, my coffee was gone, and I wanted to cry.
Other than the turn of bad luck I was experiencing this morning, the past year of my life had gone exceedingly well. Dad had settled me into a role at the ranch as his and Bishop’s assistant, which sounded worse than it really was. The ranch’s schedule was hectic, and neither of them was good at communicating, so I’d stepped in to be the go-between.
It meant that Dad could focus on hosting his training seminars without worrying if it would interfere with Bishop transporting cattle to the auction—which had happened on more than one occasion in the past few years.
And then there was Ellis.
Ellis Martin and I had gone to the same school since kindergarten. His dad was my dad’s accountant, and we’d always gotten along growing up. He was primed to take over his father’s business and had been given some high profile clients—including myfather and Black Springs Ranch. Dad didn’t much care for change, so he’d delegated a lot of meetings to me.
Ellis and I had spent months together, sorting through old files and financial records over late night dinners and weekend coffee runs. So, when he’d asked me out on an actual date three months ago, I’d said yes. The only excuse I could make was one I was trying desperately to forget.
The only fault I could find in Ellis was his absolute disdain for energy drinks and bacon.
Cleaning up the mess, I pulled back onto the road and continued toward the ranch. I said a prayer for my sanity, knowing I’d need it for a day filled with kissing asses and shaking hands.
Today marked the beginning of Dad’s summer training clinic. The program ran for two months but was segmented into eight two-week sessions. People from all over the country came to stay and learn from the best. This year, there’d been so much interest that Dad hired a few more helping hands and one more trainer, so it wasn’t all on his shoulders.
Try as he might to deny it, Dad couldn’t keep this up forever. His health had taken a turn in the past year, his days filled with trips to the doctor instead of long rides in the saddle. Between my mom, my sisters, and me, we’d all had to sit him down and talk about the future of his career and these clinics.
He’d asked for one more summer, and that’s what we’d agreed on.
As I cleared the cattle guard to my parent’s house, I pulled my truck into the spot next to my older sister, Cleo’s, car. I shook my head as I saw Lennox’s big ass truck was crookedly parked off to the side. She and I had always been the closest, only a year apart. I knew I could turn to her for anything and it wouldn’t be met with an ounce of judgment.
After all, I’d had to pull her from plenty of mishaps when we were younger. I wasn’t sure what it was about barrel racers, buttrouble always seemed to follow them. Lennox was no exception. It was almost fun watching people push her buttons, not realizing she was the scrapper of the family, but I also didn’t need to be bailing her out of jail.
Cleo stood on the porch with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked too much like Dad, especially with that scowl across her face.
“You’re late,” she said, echoing Dad’s words from earlier as I hopped out of my truck.
“Good morning, sunshine. I’m so glad to see you, too.”
Her face broke into a smile as I ran toward her. She wrapped me in a tight hug the way she always had when I was a kid, surrounding me with a sharp cinnamon scent that reminded me of the coffee I’d spilled.
“Please tell me you have caffeine hidden somewhere,” I groaned.
She pulled back. “I thought you stopped and got coffee?”
“And I spilled it,” I said, grimacing as I remembered the liquid gold splashed across my floorboard. “That damn pothole still isn’t fixed, and I wasn’t paying attention.”
