Chapter 1
Jake Winters was convinced paperwork would be the death of him. It couldn’t be today though because the ranch hands expected to be paid.
He hit submit on the first phase of paperwork for the government solar project and stretched. This was only the first of many phases and already he regretted his decision to install solar on his land. Not because he didn’t think it would be worthwhile but because of the virtual mountain of paperwork it required.
He couldn’t think of anything else to do with the large section of land that was too sandy for growing crops. This ranch was his life, and the solar project was his way of adding to the legacy he’d been left.
He pulled a checkbook from his desk.
“Ah, the dreaded paperwork!” Lottie stepped through the open office door.
Jake flinched, both welcoming and dreading the distraction. He hated being cooped up indoors, and interruptions prolonged the torture.
“Need something?” He set the completed paychecks on the corner of his desk.
Lottie Hamilton—his cook and housekeeper—was like a second mother to him. She and Zane, his ranch foreman, had both been with the ranch since before Jake was born.
“I’m headed to town. Do you need anything?” When Jake shook his head, she asked, “Do you want to look over the menu and grocery list?”
Jake tossed his pen onto his father’s old mahogany desk. A desk whose rich, dark color belied its age. Of course, Blake Winters had hated paperwork as much as Jake did.
Man.It had been three years since his father died, but his absence still hit Jake hard sometimes.
He scowled. “Why would I want to do that?”
Lottie propped her hand on her hip. “To see if you want to change or add anything.”
“Have I ever changed the menu?” Jake bit back a sigh. “Your cooking is amazing, and you anticipate my needs better than I do.”
“Too well, I’m afraid.” Despite Lottie’s stern expression, the laugh lines around her eyes softened her features. She had her jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail, an obvious sign of her no-nonsense-get-things-done mood.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, Jake Winters, you’re spoiled. You’re too comfortable. You need something, better yet,someoneto shake you up a bit. I may not always be around, you know. What would you do then?”
Here we go again.
“This ranch is your home, you can’t leave. And if you ever did, you’d have to go without Zane, because there’s no way I’d ever let him go.” Zane had held this ranch together after Jake’s father’s first stroke five years ago. At twenty-four, Jake hadn’t been ready to assume the magnitude of responsibility thrust upon him.
Lottie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
She enjoyed reminding Jake what a pitiful bachelor he was. And she’d grown more persistent in recent months—since his cousin, Ben, got remarried.
His usual response of, “I’m too busy for a wife,” always earned him a scowl. Today, he kept his mouth shut. He learned a long time ago not to mess with Lottie when she had her hair in a ponytail.
“Well, I’m leaving. If you’re lucky, I’ll come back. If not... good luck.” She laughed as she walked away.
Finally, some peace and quiet. Now there was no chance of interruption. Unless the phone rang. His mom knew he spent Friday afternoons doing paperwork and frequently called to chat. He’d better be careful, or he’d jinx himself.
He opened the window beside his desk, needing the fresh air like crops needed sunlight. As usual, his office had grown claustrophobic. Of course, the breeze blowing through the window wasn’t exactlyfresh. It carried the unmistakable scent of the manure they had hauled to the grazing pastures on the outer reaches of the ranch earlier in the week. The alfalfa fields that took priority were fertilized weeks ago.
A grin pulled at Jake’s lips. Lottie would chew him out when she came home for “stinking up the whole house.”
Focus.
The occasional low of cattle, clang of a metal gate, and drone of a tractor pulled at his attention. He wanted to be out there, not in here. But running a successful ranch required paying the bills and ordering supplies.
Jake’s head snapped up at the screech of rubber on asphalt followed by the crunch of crumpling metal. A chill raced down his spine. He surged to his feet, heart in his throat, and bolted out the back door of the house.Had one of his men been injured?
