Page 28 of Colt

Manure. Colton wasn’t joking about shoveling shit, I guess.

“Sorry about him.” Beck keeps his voice low. “I promise he’s a good guy. He’s not nice⁠—”

“I’ve discovered as much,” I say with a mirthless scoff.

“But he is honest. I keep telling him that everyone deserves a second chance…” Beck shrugs before he grabs what appears to be a pitchfork and a shovel. “Anyway. You have any questions before we get started?”

So many. Mostly about your brother.

But I’m a professional, damn it, and I’m here to do a job. So I set down my notepad and pen on a nearby post and hold out my arms. “How can I help?”

CHAPTER 7

History and Horses

LAINEY

Beck looks me up and down. “Did you bring any other clothes?”

“I did, but your brother didn’t give me time to change.”

“Right. Well, how about I do the chores today and you take notes? I’ll explain everything as I go.” Stepping inside a stall, he puts down the shovel. “How much do you know about ranching? Was Colt saying you’re from Dallas?”

“Fort Worth,” I say with a sigh. “And for all intents and purposes, let’s assume I’m a technology nerd who’s spent more time online than she has with animals.”

Beck looks up from the—holy shit, is that gigantic brown pile actually…well, shit?—stuff he’s scooping out of the hay inside the stall. “You’re a nerd?”

“It’s cool to be a nerd now. At least that’s what I would tell my younger self when I was wearing my headgear while doing my homework and waiting for my pimple cream to dry.”

He chuckles again. “You’re funny, Lainey Brown.”

“Something tells me y’all don’t see many nerds around here.” I grab my notebook again. “I don’t think any of us would survive on a ranch.”

“You gotta give yourself more credit. Anyone can learn this stuff. And once you do”—he grunts while dropping an even larger pile of manure into a waiting wheelbarrow—“it becomes second nature. So I’ll start with the basics, then. There’s all kinds of ranches. In this part of Texas, it’s mostly cattle ranches. They raise the cows that become the beef we eat. Now, we got a small cattle operation here on our ranch, but our main focus is horses.”

I move my pen furiously across the lines of a page. “So that’s your main source of revenue, then? And also what you’re famous for, right?”

“Right. My ancestors bred some mighty fine horses in their day, and those bloodlines started selling for piles and piles of money. Ever since, our horses have been highly sought after by other ranchers and traders. We really are the best at what we do, and people know that.”

I grin. “I want even more people to know how awesome y’all are.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Beck doesn’t skip a beat as he continues to clean up the stall. “So my great-great-great-grandaddy bought this land in 1910. His name was Ulysses Morton Wallace.”

“He sounds legit.”

“The man was a legend. He was a veteran of the Spanish-American War who apparently bought the ranch using cash he won drinking everyone under the table. Literally. He’d wager he could hold his liquor—without puking—longer than anyone who challenged him.”

My pulse skips a beat. I may not be outdoorsy, but I do love history.

There’s a story here. A good one. I’m honored to get to tell it—share it—in a whole new way.

“He sounds like a rock star,” I say. “Who inherited his tolerance?”

Beck laughs. He’s awful chipper for someone who’s cleaning up poop. “I’d say Billie got that gene. You keep up with her at your own risk. I got his swagger, though.”

“Lies,” Colton says as he passes by.

The scent of his cigar lingers in his wake. If I’m being honest…I actually don’t hate it. Smells kinda nice, like a warm fire on a cold winter night.