Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Dude, stop.” Colton is hauling more hay, his shirt stretching taut over his shoulder blades as he lifts another bale. “You work in the stables every damn day.”
“Just because I was going to be here already doesn’t mean I can’t also help out a damsel in distress.” Beck’s eyes twinkle as he looks at me.
Colton scoffs. “She’s no damsel.”
“And the only distress I experienced was after inhaling all that terrible cigar smoke on the ride over here,” I add.
Beck laughs. “It’s awful, ain’t it?”
“You.” Colton points at his brother as he walks back down the aisle after he did whatever he needed to do with all that hay. I notice he’s getting a little sweaty, his shirt sticking to his chest and stomach. “Mucking duty. Now.”
“Aw, man—”
“You keep complainin’, and you’ll be shoveling shit for the rest of the day.”
But Beck only smiles. He tilts his head toward the stalls that are emptying out as the ranch hands lead the horses outside. “Here, I’ll show you how things work around here. Dad said you wanted to do some hands-on research?”
“Beck.” Colton sounds like his father now—certain, slightly aggrieved. “I don’t need to tell you to keep your hands to yourself, right?”
His brother chuckles and meets my eyes. “Someone’s a little territorial today.”
“Dude.” Colton stares down his brother, hands on his hips. “Quit while you’re ahead, yeah?”
Waving him away, Beck starts walking down the aisle. “Lainey, just ignore him. His mood usually improves after lunch. Usually. Well, sometimes. Not often. But sometimes.”
The last thing I see is Colton’s head falling back and his throat bobbing on a swallow before I scurry after Beck.
A scent assaults my nostrils. It’s earthy, but not in a good way.
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.”