Is thirty-five too late to change your entire career and life plan? I have a 401k and a pension. I make six figures at my dad’s accounting firm. It would be a pay cut with the way the cattle industry has been going. I can kiss my chance at traveling goodbye, not that I did much of that in the first place.
I want to see how things go with Sawyer, but what about Dad? He’s counting on me to return and help him at the firm. And Mom? She’d be so disappointed if I stayed.
Maybe Ishouldgo back to the city, take things slow with Sawyer. One day at a time. She hasn’t even told me how she feels about me yet. I could have just dreamt up that she feels as strongly as I do.
What doIwant?
If I go, what would happen to the ranch? Pops wouldn’t be able to keep up with things here much longer, and he would hate having to give this all up. He would watch his dreams go down the drain.
Guilt twists in my stomach when I think of selling that place.
Guilt and regret. Seems those are the only feelings I can muster up this morning.
Why was it so hard to know what I truly wanted and what was just me hating to disappoint the people I loved? I’m being pulled in a million different directions all at once, and for the life of me, I can’t make sense out of which way is up and which is down.
Whatdo I want?I still had nothing.
What the fuck am I doing? What do I want?
I need some fresh air.
I pull on my jacket and shove my hands in my pockets. A paper crinkles as my fingers brush over it, and I pull out the list I've made to glance over it for the thousandth time.
I’ve spent a lot of my evening hours working through both Pops’ personal finances and the finances for the ranch. As I did, my mind flooded with ideas on how to grow this place, how to expand and put some money into new things that weren’t quite as risky as raising cattle. Dawson Ranch was one drought or herd disease away from no longer existing.
I came up with some sound ideas that would ensure this place has a future—utilizing the stables again, offering riding lessons and a training program—but none of those are something Pops can put any time or energy into.
I stare at the list. Maybe it’s another pipe dream.
I sigh heavily.
My eyes scan the page of ideas before the creak of a floorboard tells me Sawyer’s awake. I quickly fold the paper and shove it into my back pocket to mull over some more later.
I look over my shoulder to find Sawyer smiling at me with her arms crossed over her T-shirt. “Look at you getting an early start. You weren’t going to leave without saying a proper goodbye, were you?”
I duck my head while I pour her a cup of coffee and hand her the mug. “Thought I’d help you turn out the horses before I go back to the ranch.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she says, peering up at me with eyes that look closer to the color of the sky this morning.
“I know I don’t need to, but I want to,” I say, brushing a brief kiss on the top of her head.
I sleptlike a baby last night with Sawyer curled up next to me. I’d woken up early so I could make a damn plan away from her intoxicating lavender and sage scent, but watching her sip her coffee, her hair still a rat’s nest from the fun we had last night with that ever-present smirk on her lips, I find my answer.
I know exactly what I want.
Once we finish our coffee, we turn out the horses and return to the stable so she can start mucking out the stalls. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how damn pretty she looks when her skin goes all red like that. I waste no time pinning her up against the stall door and capturing her mouth with mine.
Her lips are soft and supple, making me groan with desire. I angle her head so I can ravage her more fully and she hums into my mouth as her hands wind around my waist. I’d happily stand out here in the cold and kiss her all day long. I’m settling in to do just that when her hand brushes against my backside. She breaks the kiss and her brow wrinkles in confusion as her fingers dig into the paper I’d shoved in my pocket this morning.
I reach around and pull out the crinkled paper to show her. “Sorry. I forgot I put that in there.”
“What is it?” she asks, peering at the paper upside down.
I scratch at my beard. It’s grown in thicker these past few weeks, and the itchiness of it has worn off. “It’s, uh, a plan. For the ranch.”
She arches a brow at me, a silent question.
“I came up with a few ideas while going through the ranch’s finances—ways to bring in additional revenue so we can hire some more ranch hands and expand. Diversify our income.”
