My hands wrap around my mug. I don't really need a second cup, but what the hell. "It was more of a formality."
Gramps finishes his eggs and doesn't say a word while he drinks his coffee. When his cup is nothing but dregs, he leans back in his seat and trains his clear, wise gaze on me. "How ya doin', little girl?"
I smile at the endearment. "I've probably been better, Gramps. But I've definitely been worse."
"Been there a time or two myself. What's going on?"
"Wes wants to know some of my ideas for the ranch. And I'm happy about that, don't get me wrong." I nibble on the edge of my thumbnail. I've been trying to figure out my feelings since Sawyer left an hour ago. “I want toworkon the ranch, too, but Wes and Dad are resistant. And it pisses me off."
"Why do you want to work here?"
I take a second to gather my thoughts. I know Gramps has my dad’s ear, and he's one of the few people my dad might actually listen to. This is an opportunity to speak my mind without arguing with anybody. "I love this place. This ranch, she's"—uncharacteristic tears prick the backs of my eyes—"woven into my soul. The soil, the trees, the stream that runs alongside pasture eighty-two. The way the grass grows tall at the edge of the backyard, and if you walk through it in late summer, the ladybugs hitch a ride on your clothes. My heart belongs here, and I don't need to travel the world to confirm that."
"Ranching is about a lot more than just fond memories. It's tough work that can break a man," he ducks his chin at me, "or woman, both physically and mentally. Your dad and Wes know this already, and they're trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting." I point at the mailer on the table next to his empty plate. "That was my work. I got the asshole to scurry away and sell his place."
He sighs slowly, but keeps his lips closed so the sound is low. "You proved you're smart. Not that you needed to. But you're also about as wild as they come, and people's memories are long. They know you as impulsive, a spitfire, and that doesn't fit the mold of cattle rancher."
I frown. "That's limiting."
"Not when your last name is Hayden. You aren't a cowgirl coming here asking for a job. You're the owner's little sister, and the previous owner's daughter. You'll have to work twice as hard and twice as long to show everyone what you're made of."
My chin lifts. "I'm up to the task."
"Jessie?" Wes walks up behind me. He comes around the table and stands next to Gramps. His eyes look tired, and I don't think the wrinkles between his eyebrows have relaxed since I came back home. “I know I asked you to come here, but can we do this later? Today has already been a real bitch, and I’m running out of fucks to give.”
I swallow my disappointment. ”Do you need an extra hand today?"
He sighs, very much the same way Gramps did, low and slow through closed lips. "No."
"Lie."
A muscle in his jaw twitches. I am probably the last thing he wants to deal with after his tense conversation with Dakota, but that's too damn bad. "You need help, right?" My arms open wide. "Ta-da. Help has arrived."
"We've been over this, Jessie."
"We really haven't, Wes. You've been without a second-in-command since Warner left to teach at the college and—"
"Let me get this straight. You show up here expecting me to make you my second-in-command even though you've never worked on a cattle ranch? Just because of your last name?"
"First of all," I hold up one finger. "Maybe I've never been an official employee, but I grew up here. I know some shit, Wes. I didn't just fall off the back of a turnip truck." I peek at Gramps. He's smiling. Even Wes has cracked a smile.
"That was Grandma's favorite thing to say." His voice has softened. He looks at me a little nicer now, with the eyes of a big brother. "Do you have a second point to make?"
I hold up a second finger. "I don't have expectations. I'm showing up, ready to work. What I know from growing up here isn't the half of what you do, I get that. But I'd like to learn, Wes." My hand comes back down, my palm presses to the table. I keep a steady gaze on his and watch him consider.
"We're spreading manure today." His eyebrows lift, waiting for me to protest or whine.
"Great."
"We need to spray weeds."
"Awesome, hand me a sprayer."
He falls quiet, studying me. I'd like to tell him to knock it off, but I realize I don't have that much leeway right now.
Then Wes, the most intimidating of all my brothers, says, "Go see if Mom has gloves you can borrow."
