Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Yes, I’m not going to be of any help in the horse barn or outside in the pastures. Best-case scenario, I don’t get anyone else hurt. Worst-case scenario, I do get someone hurt, and I hurt myself, too, in the process. What happened the other day is a case in point.
But I still want to stay. And that’s a problem for…God, so many reasons.
“You don’t have anything to make up for,” I say. “I know Cash has a lot on his plate.”
“I’m happy to show you around, Mollie.”
“You sure? I don’t want to be a pain—”
“This is your ranch now.” He looks me in the eye. “Whether you’re a pain or not, if I were you, I’d want to learn my way around. You’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine, I promise.”
But glancing at Cash, who’s nuzzling Happy’s sweet little nose now that she’s finished her bottle, I’m not at all sure I’ll be okay.
And yet I still find myself saying, “All right. Thanks, Wyatt.”
Wyatt is an excellent tour guide, showing me around first in an ATV and then in a huge Lucky Ranch–branded pickup when we move further away from what everyone around here calls the New House.
I thought he was being flirty with me before, but now I see that he flirts with everyone. He’s that guy—charismatic, witty, with a wickedly handsome smile that wins you over every time. I feel comfortable enough to ask him about a hundred questions, which he patiently answers. I meet a hundred people—from the owners of the local feed store, to wildlife experts hired to keep food chains intact, to the landscapers who maintain Lucky Ranch’s green spaces.
The ranch is one hell of an operation. It started out purely as a place to raise cattle, most of which end up as beef on American dinner tables. The cowboys who live here care for the herd, often accompanying the cows on horseback to move them to new pastures in pursuit of fresh sources of food. Cows eat a lot. Like, a lot a lot, which means they need to move often so pastures don’t get overgrazed. The cowboys also make sure the cows stay healthy, which is a full-time job in and of itself. The horses, too, are a big part of the operation. The ranch owns a stable of them, and Cash is apparently always looking for new horses to replace retiring ones.
Dad got involved in some oil prospecting too. Once he made a big strike, he had the money to turn the ranch into more than just a place for cattle drives. Now it’s a magnet for bird watchers, hunters, and fishermen.
My feet hurt, and my head is spinning. But time flies by. Being surrounded by so many people—so much action—is a refreshing change of pace from working solo or just with one or two other people.
It’s also a really great distraction from thinking about Cash.
Wyatt drops me off back at the New House later that afternoon. It’s only four, but I am beat.
He laughs when I yawn. “You’ll get used to the hours. It’s an early start, but if you can make it past two p.m., you’ll be fine through supper. Drinking lots of water helps.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tour. I had an awesome time, and I really appreciate you being so kind.”
Wyatt lifts his fingers off the steering wheel. “Anytime. Sorry my brother’s being a punk. He’s taking Garrett’s death really hard.”
Scoffing, I look down at my lap. “Yeah, well, he can join the club.”
“We all loved Garrett. But he and Cash had a special bond. I think…” Wyatt shakes his head. “He’s struggling to come to terms with all this. Losing Garrett. The ranch going to you, and now you being here. It’s a big change for him, and if there’s one thing Cash doesn’t handle well, it’s shit not going to plan.”
A familiar ache rises in my throat. “I didn’t plan on this happening either.”
“You’re doing great, Mollie. Just keep showing up. Cash’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, I’ll take him down a notch. Gladly.”
Laughing, I look at Wyatt. He’s handsome in a rugged way: shaggy blond hair, overgrown scruff, earnest, piercingly blue eyes. So different from Cash’s dark intensity and yet so similar too.
“That a promise?” I ask.
His face creases in a grin. “Promise. See you at supper.”
The inside of the house feels blessedly cool after a day spent in the blazing heat. I strip off my clothes, which are soaked with sweat and caked in dirt, grime, and God knows what else, and take a long, cool shower.
It’s still not time for dinner—or supper, as they call it here—after I get dressed, so I decide to give my friend Jen a quick call.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, cowgirl!”
Hearing her familiar Carolina drawl, I’m hit by a wave of homesickness. Which makes no sense, because Jen lives on a tiny island off the coast of North Carolina a thousand-some-odd miles from here that I’ve only visited once.