“I don’t know. I kind of blacked out after that.”
Rusty takes his hat off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“It’s not going anywhere. I can handle one woman from the city.”
“You sure about that?” Topper asks, not looking at me as hejots numbers down on the order form in front of him. “You know what I think is going on here?”
“Do tell,” I say.
“I think you’re so blown away because no woman has actually let you have it before. Most women chase you until the heels of their boots wear out. Roxanne knows you’re a jackass.”
The corner of my mouth tugs up. “You might be onto something there.”
“And now you’ve got that look,” Topper says.
“What look?”
“The same look you get when you’re about to devour some of Thatcher’s famous ribs.”
“I do not.”
Topper squints at me. “You like Roxanne, don’t you?”
“I do not. I find her … intriguing.”
“Intriguing?”
“I …” I stand up and start pacing. My boots scuff the porch boards as I walk a short line and back again.
“Use your words, Faraday,” Rusty says.
“Fine. She really does look like a movie star. How does she do that? She seems so closed off, and yet the animals love her day two? How? The turtlenecks and long sleeves in the middle of summer? How can that be comfortable? Isn’t she hot?”
Topper hangs his head. “Oh, Lord. I have a feelin’ she’s going to be an itch you can’t scratch. Better go dunk your head in the horse trough one more time.”
“You better get cleaned up, boy. We have to sign them NDAs in an hour.” Rusty glances up from his order form. “One hour. That’s when all this officially begins. No more of your shenanigans.”
I smile and cup my hand over his. “Understood. I’m going to do some shade and shelter checks, and I’ll see you back at the lodge.”
“This contest is a good thing,” Rusty insists.
“You don’t have to tell me more than fifty times. I’m getting the picture.”
I’mthe last to arrive to the conference room, where Rusty and Topper sit next to Roxanne, Allie, and Leo, all of them already buried in paperwork.
Allie slides a thick stack across the table toward me. I blink down at the color-coded tabs and personalized name labels, the works.
“You’re joking,” I say.
“I know, right? So much paper,” she says brightly. “But that’s your packet. NDA, waiver, consent to film, emergency contact forms, plus the media interview agreement. I know it seems like a lot, but I promise we’ll make this as painless as possible.”
My mouth forms a half smile as I flip through it like I might still find a way out of this. Every page feels heavier than it should. This is it—the official opening Firebird Ranch to the outside world, putting our people and our mission under a spotlight.
I settle into my chair and pick up a pen then try to read the fine print. There’s no choice now, though, so I might as well lock it all in. Forty-seven minutes later, almost all the papers are signed.
The only thing left is the interview consent form. Everyone who agrees to be interviewed has to fill one out. Topper and Rusty get theirs done right away. I glance at mine, then slide it into my back pocket instead. Not sure I want her uncovering what I’ve worked so hard to forget.
As everyone rises from the table and collects their assorted documents, Roxanne turns to Rusty.
