Page 16 of Colt

He glances at me, and I resist the urge to shiver. There’s a coldness to this cowboy. At the same time, I feel my face flushing with more heat.

It’s a mindfuck.

The unfortunate fact of the matter is that this man is handsome. We’re talking chiseled jaw, one that’s covered in just the right amount of scruff. Full mouth. Deeply tanned skin, with a constellation of freckles sprinkled over his straight nose and wind-burned cheeks.

He’s also cut. His broad shoulders and arms fill out his green plaid button-up to perfection. When he puts his hands back on his narrow hips, I notice just how well those Wranglers mold to his ass and thighs.

Also also. His hands. Colton’s are huge, with thick fingers that flirt with the edges of the scuffed-up belt he’s wearing. How different from the thin, clammy, lily-white hands of Randolph III.

He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t so much as blink as he looks at me and looks.

It’s unnerving.

It makes me angry. I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to drive the three hours from Fort Worth, and this is how my kinda-sorta second boss treats me?

“I’m not here to erase your legacy,” I reply evenly, despite the hammering of my heart. “I’m here to share it with the world so that more people can appreciate the quality of work y’all do on the ranch.”

This is not the first time I’ve had to defend my profession. People don’t appreciate good branding until they see it. Then it’s a total ah, now I get it moment, when the message and the visuals and the mission all come together in one beautiful, intelligent package.

Before I chatted with Dale on the phone late last week, I googled the ranch. It didn’t take me long to go through the results, seeing as the ranch doesn’t have a website or any social media presence whatsoever.

There were a few articles about horses bred by the Wallaces that won competitions at rodeos and then a mention in a local school’s PTA minutes about a donation Dale and his wife, Paige, made to hire a chess instructor. There were also records of Wallace-bred horses sold at auctions around the country for ungodly amounts of money.

Otherwise, zilch. I kinda respect that actually, even if I don’t agree with the business sense behind not having a curated online presence.

“We don’t need attention,” Colton shoots back. “Our reputation speaks for itself. The right people will always find us.”

Fire grips my lungs and squeezes. “Reputation is almost everything. But that will only get you so far. From what I’ve seen, y’all take immense pride in what you do. Yes, you do it well. Probably better than anybody else. So why not take it to the next level? Why not get your name out there more? I see enormous potential here.”

“More isn’t always better.” Colton’s hands are still on his hips. “As a matter of fact, we’re about as busy as we can handle right now. With my parents winding down their involvement⁠—”

“I’m old, but I’m not dead,” Dale interjects.

Colton keeps his eyes locked on mine as he speaks to his father. “But you are making the kind of questionable decisions that have me thinking you should retire sooner rather than later.”

“Hey, guys?” Billie leans forward. “I feel like we’re airing some dirty laundry here. We don’t wanna scare Lainey off, do we?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Colton replies smoothly. “Let’s keep going, then. Maybe I won’t have to escort her back to Dallas.”

“Fort Worth,” I say.

Dale lets out a breath. “I’m never one to pull rank, but you’re forgetting that I’m the principal here, son. You’re foreman, and sure, that’s a big job. Ultimately, though, I’m the one who calls the shots and signs the paychecks. You want me to retire? Fine. But before I go, I want Lainey to work her magic.” Dale walks toward the door. “And I want you to help her. Do we have an understanding, Colt?”

A muscle in Colton’s sharp jaw twitches. “This is a headache I do not need today.”

“Your attitude is what we don’t need,” Dale shoots back. “You know the ranch best out of everybody. It’s your job to show new employees the ropes. So do your job. That’s all I’m asking.”

Colton’s chest barrels out on a deeply aggrieved inhale. “How old are you, Lainey?”

I’m the color of a beet. I know it. “Twenty-four.”

The jerk throws back his head and laughs. A rich, smoky sound that has my nipples doing weird things inside my bra. “A twenty-four-year-old expert.”

“I’ve been doing this for years, thank you very much. I’ve got dozens of very satisfied clients.”

“Sure you do. That’s rich.”

“I’m rich.” Dale is talking in his stern I’m-the-boss voice again. “And I got that way because I made smart choices for the business. If you recall, I inherited a reputable but unprofitable operation from my daddy. Thirty years later…” He glances at the brand-new offices around us. “Some things are the same, but others are completely different. I’ve earned the right to make the final call. We need Lainey’s help. A rebrand will be good for the ranch, and it’ll be good for our family too. All our family, including Dean. Why are you so threatened by that?”