“Zeb, you’re not my boss, my husband, my anything. Lucinda asked me to do it and share, and I believe she trumps you. Next time, learn some damn facts before you decide to be the biggest asshole around here.”
Chapter 4
Zeb
Itook off my hat to run my hand through my hair as I watched her march away.
I was seething. No two ways around that.
I didn’t like her even more after that stunt.
“She’s a photographer and a blogger.”
I turned to look at the little lady before me and smiled.
“Is she?”
“Yes. She was asked to do that, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“She won’t like you even more now.”
“I can see this, Tiffany.”
The girl tilted her head to the side, assessing far more than a thirteen-year-old should.
“You don’t like her, but you like me?”
The logic of kids, no matter how old, still amazed me. She was right. If I didn’t like city folk, then I shouldn’t like Tiffany. But this young lady before me was cute, funny, and smart, and honestly, she reminded me of me a lot at that age.
“I don’t like city folk,” I said, being as honest as I could. I didn’t believe in lying, or at least, not to kids. They knew and understood far more, and I always said I wouldn’t treat them like they were dumb things.
“We’re not city folk.”
“Didn’t you come from a city?”
“A town, Zeb. We came from a small place in Oregon that became too much for mom, so we moved.”
“Why here?”
“Luck of the draw.”
My eyebrows snapped together in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Because of my dad and the way he was treating my mom, mom grabbed a map, told me to pick ten different spots, and whatever I drew was where we were going to move. And this is where we ended up. Can I go watch the horses?”
“Yeah,” I absentmindedly answered. Of all the things I would hear today, that was not one of them.
But having worked with kids for many years already, and seeing how life can treat them, the way her mother handled this set me off even more. Talk about a dumb and immature way to move. Just show your kid that being reckless is smart.
I grunted as I yanked my hat off yet again and ran my fingers through my hair, my levels of annoyance with that woman escalating as the minutes ticked by.
Six hours later, I stalked to my truck, throwing open the door, and tossing my backpack in it. All I wanted to do right now was go for a drive, park under the stars, and drink the day away. Ofcourse, the sweet spitfire boss of mine walking my way told me it was about to be a different plan than what I was hoping for.
“Zeb,” she called as she leaned against my truck, her arms crossed.
