Grumpy Cowboy (Single Dad Collection)

Surprised at myself, I look down at my leg and take stock. The pain has eased from a seven to a four, and it doesn’t feel quite like I’m dragging around a swollen club anymore either.

“Hey,” Leah says from right behind me, startling me away from the kind of realization I probably wasn’t ready to have anyway. “I, um…”

I turn around to face her and have to chew the flesh of my bottom lip to stop from laughing. She’s slick with sweat and red in the face, and all of her normally perfect looks are notably marred.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s still fucking beautiful, but now, it’s looking a little less varnished.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just…how long exactly are they supposed to exercise? I’m doing my best out there, but they don’t seem particularly interested in burning calories. Most of them have just been eating grass the whole time, actually. Not that I don’t understand the draw of a good snack, but—”

“Leah,” I cut in, interrupting her ramble.

“Yeah?”

“They’re good. All you had to do was turn ’em out. They’ll exercise themselves out there plenty.”

“What? Turn them out?”

“Open the gate and let them roam,” I clarify. “That whole show you just put on was noteworthy, darlin’, but what it wasn’t was necessary. The point of turnout time is so they stretch their legs themselves. If we’re gonna work ’em, we put ’em in an arena.”

“Are you serious?” She glares. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug, smirking. “Probably because, way I remember it, you weren’t too interested in hearing my advice.”

“That’s not advice. That’s essential information.”

I tilt my head to the side and laugh. “Well, I guess you’ll know for next time.”

“Next time?” she asks, her breath catching in her throat and creating a sound of desperation.

I nearly laugh, but it’s hard to do when she’s looking this pitiful. Maybe later, when she’s had time to wipe the sweat-streaked mascara out of her eyes, I’ll enjoy it more.

“Yeah, darlin’. Horses get fed twice a day. This group’s on a special diet, so we’ve gotta feed ’em in the stalls, and horses in the stalls means shit to clean. Just because you did it once doesn’t mean it’s done.”

“Oh my God. Why? Why do you do this?”

At that, I have to laugh.

“It’s a way of life. And I’ve never been scared of work.”

“I’m not scared to work either. It’s just…a lot.”

“Ranch life is more than a pretty backdrop. It takes a hell of a lot to keep this place goin’, and I’m responsible for much of it. What do you think, I just like to suffer for the hell of it? I can’t sit around worrying about my leg ’cause there’s no time to sit around, period.”

“You’re right,” she says with a resolute nod.

“I am?” I ask, hesitant to trust such a speedy switch to agreement.

“Absolutely. There are things to be done, and they’re not going to do themselves, and I get it. You can’t just sit around waiting for your stupid leg to heal to do them, right? They have to get done now.”

“Exactly.”

She nods again, and I let a smile crack the corner of my mouth. Finally, someone’s understanding around here.

“You can’t sit around, and you can’t wait for it to heal,” she continues then, gabbing like I suppose women like to do—largely for no reason since the point’s already made. “You have to get out there and make sure that one, two, maybe three months from now, you don’t ever have to do this work again.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she says through a fake laugh that makes my smile disappear. “Well, yeah. I mean, that’s how it works. You beat your leg into the ground, abusing it so it doesn’t heal, and in two or three months, the damage is so irreparable that you’re permanently wheelchair-bound. Then you don’t have to worry about any of this anymore because it’s officially above your pay grade. Your job is to sit. All the time.”

I grind my teeth as my jaw tightens. There’s just about nothing I hate more than being talked down to like I don’t understand that actions have consequences. I know that overworking my leg isn’t good for it, but I also know that I’m not like most patients of hers. I know my physical limits, and I’m designed to push them. But that doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot.

I know my stopping point.

“I’m not stupid. I know my body and—”

“I’m sure you do, Rhett,” she cuts me off. “I’m sure you know it just the same way I know horses. Clearly, I’m a professional, right? I don’t need your help, right?”

“This is not the same damn thing as you doin’ jazzercise with my damn horses for the last half hour. I’m in my body, I know it.”

She shrugs. “I’m on your ranch, Rhett. In fact, since I’ve been here for seven days now trying to track your stubborn ass down, you might even say I live here. I could tell an outsider that, and they might actually assume I know something. But sometimes, geography isn’t the whole story.”