Chapter 2

Jackson

Loud, incessant knocking is the first thing to rouse me. The voice that follows has me sitting up with a groan.

"Jackson Darling! I know you're in there. Get your butt outta bed and answer this door."

"Jesus, Ma," I call, rubbing my eyes. "Hold your horses."

The knocking starts up again, and I swing out of bed, practically stumbling to my dresser. I pull on a well-worn plaid work shirt, step into jeans, and make my way toward the front of the house.

My mother's face greets me when I swing open the door, her fist held up in knocking position. It drops to her side as she gives me a sweet smile I don't much trust. "Morning, Jackson. We've got some things to discuss."

"It couldn't wait?" I ask, heading toward the kitchen.

My mom follows, not bothering to take off her boots. "It couldn't. You remember how I said it was time we found some help for the ranch house?"

I sigh, starting a pot of coffee and grabbing a thermos. "Mhm. I haven't had a chance to look."

"I know you haven't," she says, plopping down at the kitchen table. When I hold a mug up in question, she shakes her head. "Which is why I hired somebody myself."

I pause. "You what now?"

"Hired somebody," she says slowly. "Really, Jackson, it's like you're not listening."

I scrub a hand over my eyes. It's too early for my mother's antics.

"Name's Ashley," she goes on. "Arrived ten minutes ago."

"And you didn't think to consult with me first?" I ask, slamming the cupboard door a little harder than necessary.

"And why would I do that?" she snipes back. "Have you forgotten I still own part of this business?"

"No," I grumble, running my hands through my hair when I catch my reflection in the microwave. Christ , I look like a rumpled mess.

"What was that?" my mom asks loudly.

"Jesus, Ma. I said no , I haven't forgotten."

"Mhm," she hums, leaning back in her seat. "You may have taken over running the ranch, Jackson dear, but don't forget who made you. I brought you into this world. I can take you out of it."

I turn slowly, glaring at my mom. She smiles back at me. "You sound deranged."

"Maybe that's 'cause I had to tromp all the way over here to come wake you," she says.

I nearly huff. All the way . My house is less than a quarter mile from the main ranch house.

The coffeemaker stops spitting, and I pull out the carafe, emptying the contents into my travel mug. "You coulda called," I point out. "Who'd you leave the new hire with?"

"Your dad."

"Jesus," I groan, slamming the carafe back into place. "Why would you do that?"

"He's not that bad," she says.

I turn to look at her again. "Not that bad? Just the other day, you called him an old goat who had more stubbornness than brains."

"Well, that's true."

"And the day before that, you said his head was stuck so far up in the clouds, you wouldn't be surprised if he found Jack's beans."

"Well, yes," she says, sounding put-out. "I'm allowed to say that. I married the man."

"And divorced him," I point out. "Twice."

"Semantics," my mom says, waving me off. "The point is Ashley is waiting, so go brush your hair and say hello. You're doing the tour."

"Why me?" I ask, capping my coffee.

"'Cause I said so. I already gave the spiel. Cooking, cleaning, keeping things in line. Now's your turn. After all, you're the boss, ain't you?" My mom gets up, pushing her chair in noisily. "And Jackson?"

I heave a breath. "What?"

"Be nice."

"I'm always nice," I answer, affronted.

My mom laughs. Loudly. "Time's a tickin'," she says, heading for the door. A moment later, it slams shut, and I look up at my exposed beam ceiling, wondering what in the hell I ever did to deserve a mother like that .

I make a quick trip to the bathroom to tame my hair and piss—plus brush my teeth because I wasn't born in a barn—and then I'm out the door. The air is cool this morning but not as cool as usual for the start of autumn. Flowers are still blooming strong and the trees haven't yet let go of their green. There's time, of course. The seasons always change, and winter will be here before we know it.

Vehicles occupy the dirt lot in front of the ranch house when I arrive, many of them dusty or flecked with mud. I don't see any unfamiliar cars or trucks that could belong to Ashley. The house itself is expansive, two stories and built in a log-cabin style. Granted, it's more log-cabin chic . Big windows let in plentiful light, and a new metal roof shines under the sun.

I kick my boots against the mat before opening the front door. The ranchers are out working this time of day, as they are every dawn, breakfast having already been eaten. I would've been into my day already, too, if it weren't for the late night and extra shots of whiskey my brothers so helpfully shoved down my throat, courtesy of my birthday.

Forty goddamn years old. Shit .

The house is quiet when I enter, but it doesn't take long to hear my dad's voice coming from the kitchen. It sounds like he's lecturing our new employee on the differences between Holstein and Angus cattle. Christ . He couldn't give her a day to get settled?

I shake my head as I make my way down the hallway inside my childhood home, and then I come to a dead stop.

Two men are standing inside the kitchen. One is my father, dressed in blue sleep pants and a chunky oatmeal sweater, his glasses on top of his head. The other I'm not expecting in the least. He's taller than my dad, but not by much. His jeans are gray, and while his shirt certainly isn't inappropriately tight, the stretch of it doesn't hide the lean muscle he's sporting. His hair is a dark blonde, long enough to curl at the back of his neck, some pieces tucked behind his ear while others hang across his cheekbone. And his eyes… His eyes are a stormy blue-gray that widen in surprise the moment they land on me.

I'm so shocked, my tone comes out biting when I ask, "Who the hell are you?"

My dad blinks mildly, taking a sip of his coffee before saying, "This is Ashley."

My head cocks back, and I look at the man again. "You…"

Spinning out through the doorway, I stomp back across the house and throw the front door wide. I make my way to my mother's, the woman herself back behind the small cottage she now lives in directly next to the ranch house. She's snapping pole beans off the vine, the last of the crop, and dropping them into a bowl beside her.

"Ma," I call.

She looks up at my approach, not even flinching when the gate slams behind me. "Mm?"

"Ashley is not a woman."

My mom stands to her full height, an impressive six feet. She's a couple inches shorter than me, but it doesn't feel it as she stares me down. "And this is a problem why?"

"It's not a problem. You just said—"

"I never said Ashley was a woman," she cuts in.

"But…"

"Jackson Darling," my mom says, hands landing on her hips, her tone bordering on dangerous. "Surely my second-oldest son isn't implying a woman needs to be the one doing the cooking and cleaning."

"Of course not—"

"And surely ," she goes on, "you don't have a problem with a man named Ashley being in your employ."

"What?" I ask, feeling turned around and upside down. "Of course not, I just—"

"Then I don't know what your problem is," she finishes, dusting her hands on her pants.

"I just… He just…"

With a groan, I turn on my heel and head out of my mother's garden. I hear her mhm following me, but I pay it no mind, my anger or surprise or I-don't-know-what slowly dissolving as I make my way back to the main house. I close the front door and let out a breath before striding toward the kitchen.

My dad and Ashley stop talking the moment I step through the doorway, the former raising an eyebrow, the latter giving me a cautious look.

"Sorry," I say, plunking my thermos down on the counter and holding out my hand. "Jackson Darling."

Ashley accepts my handshake. "Ash Alcott," he says, voice smooth and warm, just like his palm.

I drop it, nodding briskly. "Welcome to Darling Ranch, Ash. My mom said she talked to you about the job duties?"

"A bit," he says, tucking his hair behind his ear in a way that has me fighting a groan. "You need someone to cook meals for the…cowboys?"

His tentative question has my dad huffing a laugh. "I'll leave you boys to it," he says, patting Ash on the shoulder before turning to me. With his back to our guest, he waggles his eyebrows.

I fight another groan, shooing my dad away. The menace is laughing as he leaves the kitchen.

"Ranchers is fine," I answer. "You're not from around here, I take it?"

"What gave me away?" Ash asks, a mild smile on his face.

Everything .

"Nothing," I answer. "Why don't we walk while I go over the job? I can show you around."

"Sure," he says, setting his coffee mug down. It's still half full.

"Want a thermos for that?"

"Oh, uh…"

Stepping past the sink, I open a cupboard and grab a travel mug. Ash shoots me a grateful smile as I dump the rest of his drink into it. I simply grunt, handing it over and grabbing my own.

"So, we do a bit of everything around here," I explain as Ash and I head down the porch stairs at the front of the house. I lead him toward the pastures first. "Our main focus is the cattle. We run a dual beef and dairy operation. See that low red barn over there? That's for milking."

Ash nods, his eyes wide as he takes everything in. The cattle are out grazing, the sun not yet high enough for them to seek shade, although with the temperatures beginning to drop, that'll be less of a concern.

"They've already been milked," I tell him. "Five a.m. and five p.m. every day. Out further are the beef lot."

"Wow," Ash says quietly.

The astonishment in his tone has me following his gaze. Our land stretches far to the west, farther than the eye can see. Deciduous trees and pines dot the landscape, and cattle roam over still-green grass, like black-and-white ink blots on a spring canvas. To the left, a slow-moving river snakes toward the mountains towering in the distance, the surface of the water reflecting the bright blue of the sky.

I grew up on this land, and I've never once taken it for granted. But it's easy to forget, I think, the beauty in what you see every day.

It's not the first time a newcomer has reminded me of that.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "Where're you from?"

"Maine," Ash answers, giving me a smile. His bottom lip is fuller than the top, and there's a tiny divot in his chin that I have to forcibly tear my gaze away from.

"Come on," I say gruffly, heading in the opposite direction. Ash keeps pace at my side. "So we have about twenty employees who man the cattle. They come to the ranch house for meals. That's where you come in. Breakfast is at four—"

Ash makes a choking sound, and I pause.

"All right?" I ask.

He nods quickly. "Yep. Four a.m. Okay, what else?"

"Lunch at eleven. Dinner at six."

"Holy shit," he says before wincing slightly, presumably at the swear word. "That's a long day."

"The ranchers work in shifts," I tell him, stopping at the dirt drive that leads further into the property. "You will, too. We don't expect more than eight hours a day out of you, so you'll take time for yourself between meals. Plus, you're not expected to clean up after dinner. We'll handle that."

He nods, and I point toward the white barn at the end of the drive.

"Down that way is our petting farm," I explain. "We've got goats, a pony, and some chickens, although the chicks don't always like being pet. It's open to the public in the afternoons, and we have employees there, too."

Ash gives another nod. "Got it."

"We do trail rides on the weekends, as well. The brown barn? That's the stables. Some of the horses are for the employees' use only, but we have several with even temperaments who do great with kids."

Ash shakes his head slightly, that smile still on his face. "You weren't kidding. You're busy here."

"That we are," I agree, waving him back toward the main house. It's then I notice his shoes. "You're probably gonna wanna get some boots. Those won't hold up here."

He looks down at his feet, huffing a laugh. "Noted."

I sip my coffee as we walk. "Questions so far?"

"Uh, yeah," he says. "Who lives there?"

He's pointing at the cottages situated beside the ranch house. One is pink, and the other is blue. I heave a sigh as my mom waves at us from her garden.

"My mom lives in the blue house and my dad in the pink."

Ash looks at me in surprise. "They don't live together?"

"They're divorced," I say flatly.

His smile widens, and I find my gaze drawn to the angles of his cheeks and the way his eyes crease gently at the corners. "They're divorced, but they live ten feet apart?"

"You'll understand soon enough," I tell him, nodding my head toward the ranch house. "Come on. I'll show you around the kitchen. You staying close or outta town?"

"Oh, uh… I'm staying here."

My feet stutter to a stop, and Ash skids to a halt beside me. "Pardon?"

"Well, my car broke down on the way into Darling. Ratchet has it?" he says a little uncertainly.

"The mechanic," I mutter.

He nods. "Yeah, he's taking a look at it. But until I have a car again, your mom said I could stay here. She set me up in the guest room."

I shut my eyes tight and pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course she did.

"Is that…okay?" Ash asks, sounding concerned.

"It's fine," I tell him, opening my eyes and waving him forward. "Just fine."

Yep.

Everything will be fine .