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Chapter 5

Ash

Waking at three in the morning is nearly my undoing. Nearly .

But I buck up, get my feet out of bed, and work the kinks out of my body as I head down to the kitchen. I can hear others stirring before long, the house coming alive as I cook bacon, eggs, and French toast, including a gluten-free option for Ira from bread I baked last night.

At four o'clock on the dot, the early shift ranchers start to arrive, a flood of sound coming in from the dining room at the back of the house. There's some laughter, feet stomping, chairs screeching across the floor.

The sun is still asleep, but the animal folk are wide awake and ready to work.

People are well into their food by the time I bring the last of the eggs to the table. Ira, I see, found the smaller plate of French toast I left with a little toothpick on top labeled "GF." He shoots me a quick grin, pouring maple syrup over his entire breakfast plate, eggs included.

"Morning," Jackson grumbles, coming into the room. A few mornings are tossed back his way. His eyes meet mine briefly before he takes a seat.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and snag a piece of bacon, not yet hungry enough for more. That doesn't seem to be a problem for the ranchers who are blazing through hearty portions. Colton comes into the room before long, seemingly half asleep. Remi, too, although he's more awake. He waves a quick hello before grabbing three bacon strips and heading off. I saw Marigold's light turn on from the kitchen window, but neither she nor the elder Mr. Darling are here for breakfast.

It took me a minute to get everyone straight, but I think I have it now.

Marigold and Hank Darling are divorced for the second time but are—I'm pretty sure—still madly in love, considering they live mere footsteps away from each other. They're both in their mid-sixties, and while Hank is a subtly handsome man who's aged finely, Marigold is plain stunning. There's a grace about her that's mesmerizing and a bluntness I appreciate. I adored her immediately. And Hank, well… He's endearing in the way a child who doesn't know better is.

And then there are the Darling brothers, four of them. Lawson, age forty-two. Jackson, who's forty. Colton, thirty-seven. And Remington, twenty-eight. All handsome in their own right. All unattached—as I've learned—apart from Lawson, who will be soon. They're a close-knit family, that much is clear.

Jackson, though. He's the one I'm drawn to. I'd like to say it's simply a matter of lusting after an attractive man, but I'm fairly certain it's more than that. There's something about him that intrigues me. The loyalty he has toward his family and this ranch. The way he's a little growly and rough around the edges but clearly a good man. How he tries so hard to keep his stoic mask in place, which only makes me all the more eager to see it slip.

I can't help but wonder what it would take to make the man unravel.

As the ranchers start heading off, their plates cleared, I watch Jackson. He takes his own plate and silverware out of the room, seemingly cleaning up after himself, before reappearing with a thermos in hand. Without a word, he steps out onto the back deck. Curious, I follow. It's still dark, not yet five in the morning, but the big red barn is lit up and the cows in the nearby field are walking that way. Do they know it's time to be milked?

Jackson approaches the fence line, his voice ringing loud and clear. "Get. Get on, now. Go."

His tone isn't mean, just… forceful , and the cows who'd been lying down get up and trot off toward the barn. I shiver, fairly certain it has nothing to do with the morning chill.

Heading back inside, I get started on cleanup. Colton is the only one still sitting at the table, his head in his hand.

"Not a morning person?" I ask.

He swings his gaze my way slowly. "Nope."

I huff a laugh. "Me neither."

Although I have a feeling that's going to change, whether or not I want it to.

I grab the nearly empty coffee carafe and plunk it down in front of Colton, smirking when he jumps. "Buck up, partner. The day has just begun."

His laughter follows me out of the room.

"Hey, Mom."

"Ashley, honey. Did you make it to Montana? Are you with Virginia? I still think you're making a mistake."

"I'm here," I tell my mom, ignoring the last part of what she said. "I'm not with Ginnie right now. I got a job, actually. I'm on a ranch."

My mom is quiet for a moment, clearly digesting that, and I look out over the land from my spot on the back deck. It's midafternoon, and I just finished cleaning the floors inside the house. I've been enjoying the shade since, as well as the view. The sky is bright but dotted with clouds, and I'm fairly sure I can see Jackson far off on horseback. I squint a little harder.

"A ranch," my mom says after what feels like an eternity. "Ashley…"

"Mom, please," I cut in, not wanting to hear another diatribe about my choices. My mom made her thoughts perfectly clear before I left. "I don't need mothering right now, okay? I could use a friend."

She sighs. "How are you liking it?"

"Honestly? It's amazinghere. I'm cooking for the employees and staying at the ranch house. They have cows. And actual cowboys."

"Sounds…quaint," she says.

I snort. "There's dirt on the floor. You'd hate it."

I can practically hear her cringe. "You're safe? These are good people?"

"They are," I assure her. I may not know them well, but I know that much. Plus, Virginia vouched for them, and I trust her with my life.

"Do you know when you're coming home?" my mom asks.

I let out a slow breath, not sure how to tell her I might not ever be coming back. To visit, sure. But I don't think Maine is home for me, not anymore. Maybe it never was. I don't know if Darling could be that, but I want to find out.

"Not sure yet," I say. "I'll let you know."

"Please be careful, Ashley. I'm allowed to say that as a friend, too. I just… I love you," she says quietly. "I never want harm to come to you. So please, look out for yourself. And don't forget to listen to your body."

I nearly roll my eyes. I'm a grown-ass man who's been taking care of himself for a long time, but I don't remind my mom of that. "Love you, too, Mom."

"Say hi to Virginia for me," she adds.

"Yep. Talk soon."

When I click off the call, I set my phone down on the table next to me, right beside my glass of lemonade. With nothing pressing to do, I kick back and enjoy this little slice of country life I seem to have found myself smack dab in the middle of.

It's some time later when I hear the approaching sound of hooves. I blink my eyes open, not having realized I'd shut them, and watch as Jackson comes riding up on a jet-black horse.

Hoo, boy .

He's wearing plaid again today, but I swear the man wears it better than anyone I've ever met. His eyes are bright yet brimmed in shadow underneath his hat. His cowboy hat, despite him telling me he's a rancher, not a cowboy. His jeans are tight, legs hugging the horse, and he moves with an ease that speaks of longtime experience in the saddle. He was probably riding horses the same time I was learning to swim.

I sit taller in my seat as he pulls on the horse's reins, making a gentle "whoa" sound. The horse, who I can tell is a boy after a quick glance, comes to a stop, but not before spinning in a tight circle twice, as if he has energy to spare.

"Howdy," I say, smiling brightly.

Jackson grunts in response. "Have you been over to the petting farm yet?"

"I have not."

"I can show you now," he offers. "Unless you have something else to do?"

"Nothing better than you," I mutter.

"Hm?"

"I'd love to," I say louder, standing and pocketing my phone.

Jackson nods, jumping down from his horse in a fluid move I follow greedily with my eyes. He holds the reins out in front of the horse, which I take to mean he's going to walk.

"What have you been up to today?" I ask, falling into step next to him but keeping a bit of distance between me and the horse. I have no clue if I might spook him.

"Mm. Bit of everything. Surveyed the fences, checked the local milk deliveries, ordered supplies. Did Colton get the groceries you need?"

"He did," I say. "But hold up. You guys hand-deliver milk?"

"Couple times a week," he says. "We bring it out to stores and a delivery service that runs it to folks' homes."

I stop still, and after a moment, Jackson stops, too.

"What?" he asks a little warily.

"Your town has a fresh milk delivery service?" I repeat. "Like, bottles that get dropped off at people's doorsteps?"

"Yes?"

"Holy shit," I mutter, immediately wincing. "Sorry."

Jackson snorts, the closest he's come to a laugh since my meeting him. "You can swear 'round here. It's not gonna bother anybody."

"Good to know," I mumble, getting my feet under me again. "Milk delivery. Geez."

Seriously, what is this place?

It doesn't take long to reach the petting farm. Jackson ties his horse's reins to a post near a water trough back behind the barn where people aren't allowed, and then we walk up front to the visitor's entrance. I immediately make an aww sound I'm not the least bit embarrassed by. Because good grief . Baby goats.

I hustle inside as Jackson explains to the attendant who I am. I make a mental note to say hello before I go, but right now… I sink to my butt in the middle of the fenced-in petting farm, and, immediately, I'm swarmed.

I laugh as a goat tries to nibble my ear, another climbing onto my leg and nearly slipping off again. A third pulls at my shoelace, a few others nearby bleating.

"Oh my God," I breathe, doing my best to pet each and every one of them. "You look like little goat bunnies."

"They're Nubians," Jackson says from behind me. He walks around to where I can see him before adding, "The breed is lop-eared, like rabbits."

"They're adorable," I say, petting one of the goat's long, dangling ears. "You're the cutest, aren't you?"

Jackson hums. "You're one of those, huh?"

"One of what?" I ask, scratching a goat on his or her haunches.

"The talking-to-animals-like-they're-babies type."

I look up at Jackson's loosely crossed arms and flat expression. "Why yes, I am," I coo, petting the goat in front of me but staring at Jackson. "Because he's a good boy who deserves it, isn't that right?"

Jackson clears his throat, gaze skipping away, and I smirk to myself. When there's a tug on my hair, I turn my head to the side, only to come face to face with a long nose and hair-covered eyes.

"Snickerdoodle," Jackson says, passing in front of me to reach the pony. "We don't eat the guests."

Snickerdoodle backs up a step, her body and mane, as one might expect from her name, a golden tan. She whinnies, sounding as if she's arguing.

"Nuh-uh," Jackson says. "Doesn't matter if he looks good enough to eat. He's off limits."

Was…was that a joke? Did Jackson Darling just make a joke?

"Now who's talking to the animals?" I tease.

Jackson simply scoffs, leading the pony back a couple more steps. "At least I don't baby 'em."

"Sure, you don't," I say, turning to the goat who's nibbling my sleeve. "He's a meanie, isn't he?"

"Jesus," Jackson grumbles. "Day two, and he's already got lip."

I huff a laugh, fairly certain my boss isn't upset about that fact.

"Yeah, well," I mutter, "these lips have gotten me out of plenty of trouble, so I think I'll keep them."

Jackson looks sharply my way, his nostrils flaring. It reminds me, momentarily, of a bull, and I can't help but wonder if he sees the green flag I'm waving.

Jackson clears his throat before looking away. "My, uh, brothers want to throw you a welcome party," he says, hand running down Snickerdoodle's long neck.

"That so?"

He grunt-hums. "I've got a bonfire out behind my place. Tonight if you're free, since it's Friday. There'll be whiskey," he adds, like he's not sure whether or not that's a good thing.

"And you?" I ask. "Will you be there?"

He makes that short, rough sound again. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"All right," I say with a smile. "Sounds good to me."

"Good," he says, and then, "You wanna feed 'em?"

"The goats or your brothers?" I joke.

He doesn't bother answering me, just walks off toward the attendant as I chuckle to myself.

When Jackson returns, he has a small pile of baby carrots cupped in his palms. He holds them out my way. "Here."

The goats crowd me as I take the carrots from Jackson's work-roughened hands. Their tiny hooves step all over my legs, leaving little dusty prints.

"You're gonna be a mess if you stay down there," he points out.

"I don't mind," I reply, letting one of the goats snag a carrot. "Getting dirty can be fun."

I don't look up to see what Jackson's expression is doing this time, but I swear he tenses just the tiniest bit. I give another carrot away as a voice inside my head questions what it is I think I'm doing, flirting with my new boss. I ignore it.

I came here looking for something new, didn't I? A fresh start. An adventure.

Well, Jackson Darling could certainly be all that.

When the carrots are gone and some of the goats have left my side to beg other, newly arrived guests for treats, Jackson holds out his hand. "Ready?" he asks.

I clasp his palm, sun-warmed and steady, and let him tug me to my feet. "Ready," I say, immediately pulling in a breath when a muscle in my back protests the sudden movement. I roll my shoulder as I drop Jackson's hand. "Thanks for showing me around."

He frowns at me. "All right?"

"Fine," I tell him. "Let me ask you this. The whiskey we'll be having tonight. I don't suppose it's Darling Whiskey?"

"You've had it?" he asks, walking with me back toward the gate. A few chickens scatter as we pass, their feathers ruffling.

"Oh, I've had it," I answer. "It's good. Potent."

"Dangerous," Jackson adds at a mumble.

I try to keep my amusement hidden. "Does that mean we'll be seeing a full moon tonight?"

Jackson scowls. "Not a fucking chance," he grumbles, pushing through the petting farm gate. It slams behind him, and he stalks off, heading in the direction of his horse.

"Oh, we're in trouble all right, aren't we?" I ask the goat that's trying to escape. I give him or her a gentle nudge back before exiting the corral and following after Jackson. "Yes, we are."

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