“I… I’m tired,” I replied, though it was a pathetic excuse. “Ranchin’ is hard work.”
“You’re impossible…”
“Now boys,” Evelyn interjected, refreshing my coffee though I’d barely drank any of it. “If you wantmeto give a good report to Mr. Whitaker, then you’re gonna actually need to try. I gave you time to get used to one another, but it’s high time you started keeping up your end of the bargain.”
“I’ve got work to do,” I began.
“And half a dozen ranch hands who are more than capable of doing it for you,” she cut in. “So, I think you can spend the day with Jesse going over the books and figurin’ out how you’re gonna save this place from goin’ under before the year is up.”
I felt my jaw clench as Evelyn’s words hit home. She was right, and I hated it. The ranch hands could handle the day-to-day operations without me hovering over them like some anxious mother hen. But sitting across from Jesse, talking about money and business and whatever else he’d found in those ledgers... that was dangerous territory.
“Fine,” I grumbled, pushing my plate away. “We can work in Dad’s old office.”
Jesse’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised I’d given in so easily. “Really? Just like that?”
“You want me to change my mind?” I snapped, already regretting my decision.
“No, no,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Dad’s office works.”
I winced internally at him calling Jack “Dad” so casually, but I bit my tongue. It made me feel disgusting about how I felt about Jesse, but it’s not like I could explain that to him. And especially not with Whitaker coming to check on our progress. We needed to remain civil, at least for the day.
“I’ve gone through most of the accounts,” Jesse continued, a hint of excitement in his voice. “There are a lot of places we can tighten up, save some money. And I’ve been researching some direct-to-consumer models that could really boost our profit margins on the beef. Those big meat packing plants are bleeding you dry.”
I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to look at him. Every time I did, all I could see was water cascading down his body, that metal piercing catching the light. Heat crept up my neck just thinking about it.
“Cole?” Jesse’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You even listening?”
“Yeah, yeah. Money stuff. Got it.” I stood up abruptly, needing to put some distance between us. “I’ll meet you in the office in ten.”
I didn’t wait for his response before heading outside to clear my head. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and dew-damp earth. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to get my shit together. This was business. Just business. I could handle sitting in a room with Jesse for a few hours without making a fool of myself.
When I finally made my way to Dad’s office, Jesse was already there, papers spread across the old oak desk. He’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms as he leaned over the ledgers. I forced myself to look at the papers instead of him.
“So,” he began as I took a seat across from him, “the biggest issue I’m seeing is that we’re losing money on our distribution model. The middlemen are taking too big a cut.”
I nodded, trying to focus on his words and not the way his lips moved when he spoke.
“I think we should consider selling direct,” he continued. “Set up a website, take orders online, ship premium cuts tocustomers willing to pay more for grass-fed, humanely raised beef.”
“People do that?” I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.
“All the time. Farm-to-table is huge right now. Has been for a couple decades, actually. People in cities will pay a premium to have food shipped directly to their door. Grocery stores are a fucking nightmare.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to keep up the act of irritation rather than reveal how uncomfortable I was.
“You wanna set up some fancy website to sell our meat? We don’t know the first thing about that kind of business.”
“I do,” Jesse replied, eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “My last job was marketing for a bunch of small businesses. Setting up online storefronts, optimizing sales funnels, all that stuff.”
He pushed a spreadsheet toward me, his fingers brushing mine for a split second. I jerked my hand back like I’d been burned.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jesse asked, narrowing his eyes. “Seriously, you’ve been jumpy as hell all week. Every time I get near you, you act like I’ve got the plague.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered, staring hard at the numbers on the page. “Just... focus on the books.”
Jesse leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He had that look in his eye, like he wasn’t going to continue until I confessed. I’d seen his same stubbornness plenty of times when we were kids. “It was the shower, wasn’t it?”
My head snapped up, heart hammering against my ribs. “What?”
