I almost hope she’ll say no, but there’s no one else who would be walking around the ranch in heels and be damn-near-fainting at the sight of a birth. Even if she is two weeks early, for some godforsaken reason.
“Mary Bryce.” She introduces herself. “From Branded.”
She hesitates when I hold my hand out, and I almost want to grin when I see the look of disgust be replaced with stark determination. Her hand is small in mine, and soft, but that’s to be expected. I wonder how many times little miss city girl will wash her hands to get the nonexistent cattle cooties off her skin.
I may be no stranger to filth, but even I know better than to not wear gloves during calving season. I’m often willing to risk my own health, but keeping my animals in good shape is a non-negotiable. They’re the only things keeping the ranch from going under entirely.
“It’s lovely to meet you,”she says.
I snort out a laugh as I lean against the side of the barn and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t thinklovelyis quite the word either of us would choose, but it’s kind of cute to see her struggle for her manners. Her eyes keep flicking back behind me, where I assume Katie and her assistant for the day are dealing with the placenta and tagging the calf, and she looks like she’s caught between disgust and horrified intrigue.
“Sure,” I say. “Everett Riggs. Jenny’s not here.”
She properly falters at that, long lashes fluttering over pale blue eyes, and her smile goes from confident to confused.
“Jenny?” she asks, politely uncertain.
“My daughter’s handling all this,” I tell her bluntly.
I don’t exactly want to be rude about all this, but Jennifer is supposed to be handling everything. While grunting at her until she goes away might work if I try hard enough, it’s probably going to be easier to actually use my words for once and send her right back to the city.
She may be the sort of pretty that I don’t see often out here—all clean and prissy and sweet-smelling—but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to sit through some pitch about pulling the weeds and wearing monogrammed uniform shirts to turn the image of the ranch around. It was Jennifer’s idea, and it can be Jennifer’s problem.
“We had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon,” she says after a long, uncomfortable pause. “My manager has been corresponding with you via email, Mr. Riggs.”
“With my daughter,” I correct her, sighing in frustration. “She just uses my email. She’s out of town for the next two weeks or so.”
Part of me thinks that Jennifer may have done this on purpose to try to force me into actually putting effort into this scheme of hers, but I dismiss the idea quickly. She’s too dead-set on this actually working to let me mess it up, and we stopped needling at each other years ago.
The marketing woman takes a breath, hesitates, then reaches into the pocket of her fancy little purse to pull out her phone.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Riggs. Could you excuse me for a moment?” she asks politely. “I just need to call my office.”
I shrug, turning my back on her before she even makes the call. With any luck, her office will realize the mistake and reschedule her to come out here when Jennifer’s back, and it’ll be no skin off mine. Maybe she’ll wear something that isn’t dry clean only.
“Everything good with this one?” I ask as I crouch down next to Katie.
“A healthy little girl,” she says, shifting her stethoscope over one more spot before leaning back. “Got a name in mind?”
I reach out to finger the tag on the calf’s ear, rubbing my finger across her new ID.
“BSR207 rolls off the tongue pretty nice, don’t you think?” I ask with a grin.
Katie shoots me an unamused glare, but the way her nose crinkles when she bites back a laugh gives her away. I don’t often bother with jokes, and when I do, they’re lazy, but the attempt seems to be enough to keep her and the rest of my ranch hands from worrying about me too much.
“Thanks so much for your input,” she says drily. “I’ll come up with something myself.”
I’m saved from having to come up with something else witty when Mary’s voice calls out to me. She’s standing at the edge of the concrete, not taking a step into the dirtied hay with those expensive shoes. I sigh through my nose and make my way over to her, slipping my hands into my pockets when I stop in front of her.
“I apologize for the miscommunication, Mr. Riggs,” she starts. “Some of the dates got a little messed up in scheduling, so it looks like I’ll be working with you instead of your daughter.”
The thousand-watt smile she sends me is almost enough to distract me from what she’s just said, but by the time I manage to focus past the certainty in her eyes, all I can do is laugh.
There’s no way she can be serious.
EVERETT
She’s got to be joking.
