I frown and I’m out the door in seconds, still barefoot with my coffee in my hand. The bright afternoon sun jabs at my hangover, causing a new throbbing to start behind my eyes. Already, the ranch feels different. It’s in the slow amble of the horses in the paddocks and the sound of their soft whinnies. For a gut-wrenching moment, it’s like I’ve stepped back in time twenty years. I’m a kid again, racing outside to help Dad top up the hay, hoping he’ll give me that proud smile it felt like he saved just for us boys. Out of nowhere, the grief punches through. Raw in a way I haven’t felt in years. It’s the last thing I need right now, and so I focus on the woman standing in one of my paddocks, rubbing the neck of a chestnut mare.
“Hey!” I shout, closing the distance between us. “What the hell are you doing?”
The woman doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stutter an apology like I half expect. Instead, her shoulders pull back with an easy confidence. She turns around and recognition slams into me. Those feline green eyes, all fire and challenge, lock onto mine.
It’s her. The woman whose rusted compact I bumped yesterday. The one I left stranded in traffic, two hundred bucks lighter and zero apologies given.
But that memory gets knocked aside by another. The bar. That kiss. Hot and furious. The way she tore away like she was half a second from either slapping me or dragging me into a dark corner for more. And now she’s on my ranch like she owns the place.
Irritation flares. “You,” I bite out.
“Me,” she says, like we’re picking up a conversation instead of hurtling toward another fight.
“If you’re after that money you threw back at me last night, you can talk to my lawyer.” My voice is sharp and defensive.
She rolls her eyes. “Relax, big guy. I’m not here about my car.”
“Then why are you here, blondie?”
“I’m Izzy Brooks? Bill sent me.”
My brows slam together. “Sent you? For what?”
A smirk twitches on her lips, but there’s steel under it. “I’m his granddaughter,” she replies. “And his lead ranch hand. I was part of the deal you and Bill made at the bar last night.”
Brooks… the ranch hand Bill threw into the deal.IzzyBrooks. Stupid of me to assume the ranch hand I’d hired would be a man…
“Six weeks,” I mutter, mostly to myself. Trying to catch up. Trying not to sound like I have no clue what the hell I agreed to.
She nods. “That’s what Bill told me. But I’ve got other offers, so if you’ve got this all handled, I’ll be on my way.” She starts to turn.
“Wait,” I call out, unable to disguise the panic in my voice. “Sorry. Can we start again?” I stick out my hand. “Dylan Sullivan.”
Izzy tugs off a suede work glove, steps closer, and takes my hand. Her grip is strong, her hand warm. In stark comparison, her expression is cool as she takes in my bare feet and rumpled tee.
“I know who you are,” she says, releasing my hand like it burns. “Just like I know you’re no rancher.”
My temper flares. “My dad was a rancher, OK? I grew up raising horses. I’m not a complete idiot.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I hate them. I don’t want these damn horses. So why am I pretending any different?
Izzy lets out a short, mocking laugh. “Sure. And I used to braid my doll’s hair. Doesn’t make me a hairdresser.”
Pressure builds in my chest. “Listen?—”
“No, you listen,” she cuts in. “These horses, they’re some of the best rodeo stock in Colorado. If you screw it up, you’re not just failing yourself—you’re failing them. You can’t just play at being a rancher.”
She turns away without waiting for a response, her words hitting harder than I’d like. I watch her go and can’t help but notice the way her jeans fit like they were made for her. I curse under my breath and turn toward the house. And that’s when I see the long silver trailer parked beside the barn.
“What the hell is that?” I call out.
Izzy doesn’t even look up. “My home. How else did you expect me to run your ranch? From the city?”
Oh, hell no. I storm inside to an empty kitchen, the others having quickly vacated, and head straight to my room, needing time alone. Needing sleep. Needing this day to be over.
Thoughts of Izzy follow a step behind. That look in her eye, like she knows I’m full of shit. She’s a smart-mouthed reminder of how much I’ve fucked up. My teeth grind just thinking about her and that infuriating smirk. Judging by the glare she just threw my way, the feeling is more than mutual.
You can’t just play at being a rancher.
