Linnea sighs and nods in agreement. As much as I’d love to have backup while meeting a stranger, who may become a permanent fixture in my life if it turns out he really is Jesse’s dad, I have to do this alone.
Another snort of amusement threatens at the realization, though, this time it’s tinged with bitterness.
Solving problems by myself isn’t new.
I’m a master at going it alone, and meeting Mr. Cormac Madsen won’t be any different.
4
CORMAC
Sweat drips into my eyes as I tighten the fencing on the east side of Rocking M Ranch. The red bandana stuffed in the back of my Levi’s has seen better days, but it does the job, mopping my brow and the back of my neck before I shove it into my pocket again.
My horse nickers in greeting as the sound of pounding hooves nears. Setting my tools aside, I rise to my feet, blinking against the sun cutting beneath my hat.
“Got an issue, boss,” my foreman and one of my best friends says with a tip of his chin. “Garrett never fixed that broken post where the herd is grazing. One of the heifers got spooked, tried to jump the fence, and got scraped all to hell. The vet’s on his way now.”
“Goddammit!” Removing my leather gloves, I gather the manual auger and shovel and pack them away before mounting Rollo, a sorrel Quarter horse who’s been my dependable companion for the past decade. “Where’s Garrett now?”
“I radioed the stables about twenty minutes ago once I discovered the injured heifer. He was last seen shooting the shit with Hank and Clyde by the goat pen.”
Gritting my teeth, I turn Rollo in that direction with Deacon close behind. Swaying grass stretches toward the mountains to the north of us, a spectrum of changing colors as spring battles winter for supremacy.
This is our busy season. The beginning of spring retreats and summer vacations. And how are we going to start it? Short-handed because Garrett can’t follow simple fucking directions.
I hired him as a favor to his uncle. He’s young and inexperienced, but I can work with those things. There’s nothing wrong with starting from scratch and learning as you go. Training ranch hands is practically my second job.
What I can’t fix is a bad attitude.
Something Garrett has in spades.
He balks at authority. Sneers at constructive criticism. Honestly, if Buck Headly wasn’t his uncle, and a good neighbor, I would have kicked Garrett’s ass off my property months ago.
Like his first fucking day here.
Instead, I gave him chance after chance to improve, but my tolerance for his bullshit has finally reached its end.
When one of mine gets hurt? Whether it's a thousand-pound heifer, a barn kitten, or one of my employees, I don’t take that shit lightly.
The main house, barn, stables, and various animal pens come into view, and sure enough, there is Garrett’s wiry length lazing against a wooden post, jawing with two other ranch hands.
Grinning like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Motherfucker.
I ride right up to the trio before hopping to the ground with a heavy thump.
“Garrett!” I shout, the anger dammed in my veins exploding into action. The younger man startles and straightens. “You’re fucking fired!”
“‘You can’t?—”
He doesn’t have a chance to finish his snide retort before my fist flies into his jaw with a bone-breaking crack.
But it’s not the satisfying howl of pain from Garrett that snags my attention. It’s the high-pitched squeak of fear. A feminine gasp of shock that is out of place on a ranch full of men.
Following the sound, my eyes whip across the dirt between the main house and goat pen until they land on a sweet little brunette who’s slowly retreating to a gray sedan.
A gust of wind tosses her hair across her cheeks and causes the loose sweater that falls midthigh to mold to her lush breasts and round belly.
