Part Time Cowboy (Copper Ridge Book 1) (12 page)

“Listen, I don’t care what you think,” she said. “And I’m not going to let you try to put me down because of some kind of moralistic—”

“I know you don’t care what I think,” he said. “And none of this has anything to do with being moralistic. You know full well you were trying to psychoanalyze me, and then you went and played dumb about it. And now what? You’re going to get all pissy because I said you weren’t innocent? Because you’re going to apply that statement way further than it was ever intended to go? And you’re going to try to do it while feeling all self-righteous? Hell no, baby, that’s not going to happen.”

She sputtered. “I don’t... You don’t...”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Sadie.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Liar,” he said, putting the truck in Park in front of a giant barn that she wouldn’t have even guessed was a barn at first glance. It had a dark brown tile roof and honey-colored wood siding, glass-paned windows and sliding doors of varying widths. It was more what she’d associate with a high-end stable, not a cattle ranch.

“I’m not a liar,” she said, unbuckling and marveling at the severe...neatness of everything. Sure, it was dusty and there was hay all over the ground, but it was neat and tidy. There was no denying that. It was such a sharp contrast to Connor’s house, and the lack of organization there.

“You are. And if you don’t think you are, you’re at least lying to yourself.” He got out and slammed the door behind him. And she sat for a moment before scrambling out after him. “Thing is,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “it’s not that big of a deal. The original thing I called you on. I think you just like fighting with me.”

“I don’t like fighting,” she said. “With anyone. And I went a very long time without doing it at all before you came back into my life.”

“Correction, honey, you came back into mine.”

“Call me honey one more time, and I’ll dip your fist in honey and shove it in an anthill.”

“My point stands.”

“Okay, sweetie pie,” she said, “the point is that except for you, I never fight with anyone. So I think it’s pretty safe to say that you’re the damn problem. Not me.”

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “It is.”

“Or do you just not talk to anyone who dares to disagree with you?”

He strode toward the barn and left a hissing and spitting Sadie standing there, stunned for a full thirty seconds before she took off after him.

“Why don’t we get back to business,” he continued. “Since I don’t really want to get to know you, and I’m betting you don’t want to get to know me.”

“Yeah,” she said, “fine.” She reached behind her head and tugged the end of her ponytail. “I don’t want to know you. I want to know your barn.”

“Get ready for the excitement,” he said, his tone dry. “And I’m assuming
barn
isn’t a euphemism for my...for anything.”

“How could a barn be euphemistic?”

“I don’t know. But you’re always accusing me of missing those kinds of things so I figured I’d take preemptive measures.”

“Right. Well. No. A barn is just a barn. Though, may I say, this is a particularly fantastic barn. Have you ever had weddings here?”

“No,” he said.

“You should. Weddings and parties and—”

“No.”

“You are the boringest man.”

“I thought we were letting go of personal things and getting on with business?”

“Well, I was, but then you started talking about the possibility of barns being something dirty. Which made me think of your—”
don’t say anything dirty
“—exasperating nature.”

“Just look at the barn.” He walked to the side door and released a wrought-iron latch, pushing it open, muscles in his thighs flexing, his biceps and forearms straining just enough to make everything in her tense up to match.

She stepped inside, the wood floor hollow-sounding beneath her feet, the expansive, empty section cleaner than most of her apartments had ever been. “Wow,” she said. “I’m serious, you could host events here. And you could charge lots of money for them.”

“It’s nothing special. Just a place to keep equipment and hay.”

“So...just a place to keep your entire livelihood? Yeah, you’re right. It’s not that special.”

“Well, it’s a serviceable barn. And it cost a hell of a lot of money. But the old one was run-down, and after we ended up with moldy hay one winter...it was pretty clear things had to change. After Dad died, we got a good chunk of change from his life insurance, and Kate and I gave our share to Connor to invest.”

“Well, he did it in a very serious way,” she said.

“Yeah, he did. But this place is our family legacy. Connor’s the keeper of it, sure, but when...when there’s another generation, I guess they’ll all have a part of it. Though I’m sort of skeptical about any of us managing another generation.”

“Okay,” she said. “You, sure, because...I can see that you’re not the open-your-home-up-to-chaos-and-crazy kind of guy. But Connor could find someone else.”

“He doesn’t want to. He seems to think cracking a smile’s some kind of hanging offense.”

“And Kate?”

“She’s a kid.”

“She has to be in her twenties.”

“Twenty-one,” he said. “She’s way too damn young to be thinking about that stuff.”

“Well, I agree on one level. A husband and kids? No way. Not at her age. But I assume she’s dating and otherwise showing a normal interest in that sort of thing.”

“Uh...not so much.”

“Oh.” Sadie’s face heated, embarrassment washing through her. “Sorry, I was making assumptions. I should have said partner.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, just the way you said that I thought maybe I’d made a very broad assumption about her sexuality, is all.”

He winced. “Can we please not talk about sexuality and my sister in the same sentence?”

“I just meant, if she’s a lesbian I have no problem with that and I would hate for it to seem like I was passing judgm—”

“She’s not,” he said. “Considering the number of times I found torn-out magazine pages of...what’s his name? Zac Efron?”

Sadie laughed. “Okay, but you realize that’s an indication that she does have a sexuality.”

“I refuse to have this discussion.”

“All I’m saying is, don’t give up on the next generation yet. You’re such a cliché,” she said, shaking her head and laughing.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I sort of raised her from the time she was two years old, so I reserve the right to be a little insane.”

The admission hit her somewhere around the heart. Which made her very uncomfortable. “Oh. Right. I wasn’t...thinking.”

“Our mom left before Kate turned two. Dad might as well have left. Someone had to work, someone had to take care of the baby. Connor and I were an old married couple before we could drive.”

“Eli...”

“Hey, look, I’m over it.” Except he so obviously wasn’t. He wore it as sure as he wore his uniform. His need for order. His need for control. “But the thing is...I think that’s why this place means so much. And why I’m an overprotective crazy person. Because it was all down to Connor and me. And when you have that much responsibility that early, it becomes a part of you in a way it never would otherwise.”

She turned and looked at the barn, at the care that had so clearly gone into it. Evidence of money that could have taken them away from here. That could have taken the Garrett family on to other things. College, maybe. Had any of them gone? Kate was twenty-one and working, so she clearly wasn’t in school.

They had given their all for this place. To hold it together. Because it was what they’d done all of their lives and it was what they continued to do.

For a woman who hadn’t lived in one place for more than a couple of years, it was a level of commitment that was...hideously daunting. It was sticking something out through thick and thin, rain and shine. Old barns and new.

It was choosing to keep on staying even when there was an out. And suddenly all that history, all that intensity, made it feel as though the walls were closing in.

And you’re here for five years.

“Wow,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Anyway, this is great. I mean, if we could do tables, lots of tables in and around here, that would be...excellent. Just so very excellent.” She started to walk back out, quickly, trying to escape the weird, oppressive weight that had settled onto her stomach.

“I’ll have to clear it with Connor. Farmwork getting done is going to be the top priority. But I think we can arrange to have the field just over here cleared for parking, which should make things easy. It’ll all have to be roped off and...well, it’s going to be a big deal.”

“I know,” she said. “But the city is willing to kick in for some funds. And I think I might be able to entice some vendors. Local beers, wines, cheese. And you know, if you wanted to kick in some beef, I think it could end up being really great for the business side of the ranch.”

“Again, I’ll talk to Connor about it. I may need to get him drunk first.”

“He doesn’t have to hang out if people...bother him.”

“Everything bothers him. To be honest, I’m not sure if he’d be any more miserable in a crowded bar than he is alone.”

“I’m sad for him. Your brother seems like a nice guy.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Really, he didn’t. But she’d been searching for something to say and the blanket, insincere words had rolled off her tongue easily. “Fine. He doesn’t seem that nice. But I’m still sorry for him.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t sound like the worst idea, does it? We’ll get pies donated from the diner. We’ll get...fried pickles from Ace’s. We’ll make it a whole thing!”

“You’re really embracing this local spirit. Surprising, all things considered.”

“Yeah, no one is more surprised than me. But I was ready for a change, and at this point, putting down roots is kind of the only way to feel like something’s changed.”

“And change is...”

“Good,” she said, getting back into the truck. “Healthy. I mean, people should change things around them every so often. Especially when life isn’t gelling the way it should.” Practiced lines she’d told herself over and over. “So, why don’t you take me to see that other field?”

“You want to see the potential parking lot?”

“Sure. And anyway, I thought you were supposed to tell me why all my harebrained schemes wouldn’t work.”

“Well, I haven’t come up with a single damn reason why what you’re asking for won’t work,” he said, slamming the truck door. “Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”

“I have a fair idea of how annoying that must be for you. It must really suck.”

“It does.”

But somehow, even he didn’t seem unreasonable right now. He seemed...understandable. Here in this vast, wild place, so carefully tamed by the hands of his family, by him and Connor, she could see what a huge job it had been. Two boys who had been essentially alone in the world, with a sister to care for. She could easily see how much grit and strength it would have taken to hold things together. She wondered if that impossible task was what had built the solid man she saw in front of her. The man who was still doing the same thing. Still trying so hard to hold the pieces together.

Dammit. It made her heart all achy, and that was much more disconcerting than being horny.

They didn’t get very far up the road before Eli stopped the truck again. “Right there,” he said, “we’ll move the cows to another pasture and open up the gates.”

She looked over to where he was pointing and shaded her eyes as she studied the bright green fields, dotted with glossy black animals, their heads down, the sun casting a ripple of light and shadow over muscle and sleek hair.

Yellow flowers popped like little sunbursts across the grass, standing in sharp contrast to the dark green and fading blue of the mountains beyond.

It took her breath away. It reminded her why this place was home.

Which was so strange, because she couldn’t remember ever really feeling like it was before, but sitting in the truck, looking out at all this, she felt it. Not like something new, but even better and more rare for someone like her, it felt familiar.

“Parking lot doesn’t really do this justice. Will it be okay to...drive on it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. We cycle the cows through the fields anyway and they’re about done here for now.”

“I can suddenly see why none of you ever left.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Some days I kind of forget to look at it. But the expression on your face just reminded me.”

Something warm shot through her, across her face and down into the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard, fought against it. It was a good feeling, but weird. Deeper than the kinds of feelings she was used to.

And she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Anyway, I have to get out and help Connor for a while, so I’ll drive you back.”

“I’m fine walking,” she said, suddenly feeling the need to escape again. To feel a little sunshine on her face and some wind in her hair. “I mean, really, I want to walk.”