SWNOVELS Off to the Races: Chapter 7
I roll out of bed this morning, not feeling rested at all. Again. This seems to be my new normal. Work. Stress. Poor sleep. A vicious cycle. It isn’t helping my mood either; I know I’ve been a cranky bastard. The overwhelming pressure I feel to succeed and the ever-present memory of my grandfather are combining to bring me down. To paralyze me.
Taking over at Gold Rush Ranch isn’t just another challenge, it’s downright daunting. I love the farm in a special from-my-childhood sort of way, but I had been thriving in my role at the family mining company.
I felt like I’d really found my stride. I liked the board meetings, the anticipation of drilling for new deposits, and managing something that was fiscally booming. Talking to the media about Gold Rush Resources was easy. It was exciting. This? This is depressing. An absolute clusterfuck. And I’m not above admitting how grumpy I’ve been at having something my conscience won’t let me walk away from dumped in my lap.
On my drive back to the ranch offices this morning, I replayed the events of the night before. Billie Black, talking way too loud as night fell over the quiet farm. I hadn’t meant to listen in on her, but the way the sound traveled up the hill made it almost impossible not to overhear. The gist of it was that I’d been such an ass that I’d driven a woman I hardly know to drink wine straight from the bottle and hash her day out with a horse in the dark.
That’s a new low, even for me.
I knew she was a little nuts, but that scene was really just more depressing. And standing there listening, I’d felt the creeping sensation of shame swirling in my gut. I’d never tell her that, though. Even if she had been one of the trophy wife prospects my mom liked to send around, my outburst was a shit way to talk to a person. I’ve been told I can be cool, or hard to get a read on, but not downright rude. That’s not who I am.
Apologies aren’t really my strong suit either, but weaving down the back roads this morning, I know I’m going to have to extend some sort of olive branch. I should try to start fresh. I’m stuck in this small town working with the woman, and I know she’s going to be grating, but I also know a business runs best when everyone is on good terms.
I can’t afford to be on bad terms with her.
After pulling up to the farm, I step out of my Porsche, feeling the invisible pressure of running behind. Although for what, I’m not sure. It’s only seven in the morning, so a light misty haze hangs over the back fields, contrasting against the vibrant green of the grass. I breathe deeply, feeling that cool, humid west coast air slip past my lips and coat my lungs. It smells like spring.
I can hear the clip-clop of hooves on concrete around the corner. The farm hands and grooms will already be a couple hours under way. Horses don’t much care about business hours. Turning to head into the office, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
Down by Double Diablo’s paddock Billie sits facing him, in a lawn chair this time, reading and flipping through sheets of an open folder on her lap while the horse happily munches his hay out of a feeder right next to her. I stretch my left arm out to check the time again, almost in disbelief that she’s already here. And that she’s sitting so casually beside a horse that everyone has told me is crazy.
A match made in heaven, those two.
I stride into my office to get the coffee pot going, because I really need the caffeine boost this morning. I slam the glass pot back into place a little too hard, agitation lining every movement I make. Luckily, it doesn’t break. I fire up my computer and am met with what had me storming out of here last night.
The cursor blinks on the blank page of my word document. Yesterday I had gotten so far as opening it and titling it, Gold Rush Ranch Statement. That is what I have to show for all of yesterday. I shake my head, disappointed in myself.
“Big win, Vaughn. You fucking sad sack,” I mumble to myself.
I’ve always been a hard worker, a high achiever. Not being able to buckle down and focus is messing with my head. I lean forward on my elbows, willing myself to type, but end up staring at the blank screen with my chin resting on steepled hands. Maybe what I need is scotch rather than coffee.
Or maybe just a change of scenery.
Five minutes later, I stand in front of Billie with a cup of peace-offering coffee in hand. She’s either totally absorbed in what she’s reading or ignoring me, because she hasn’t acknowledged my approach. Even standing here, facing her, she doesn’t glance up.
She looks cozy and relaxed. Natural. Like she belongs here, all curled up in the great outdoors on a lawn chair with one jean-clad leg folded underneath herself and a light blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There’s a small bucket of crunchy horse treats in her lap, and her worn black Blundstone boots lay discarded carelessly beside her.
“Did you sleep out here?”
She snorts and quirks one eyebrow without looking up at me. “You said you wouldn’t object.”
I sigh. “Is the house really that bad?”
Feline amber eyes shoot like lasers to mine. “Not anymore, it’s not.”
I stare at her, honestly not sure where to take this now. “Do you like coffee?” I mumble.
Her gaze shifts down to my hands. “Is water wet?”
I reach one mug towards her and she eyes me with suspicion. “I’ll take the other cup.”
I roll my eyes. “They’re both black coffee, Billie.”
“Yeah, but I feel you might be offering me the poisoned one,” she deadpans.
“I—you… what?”
She presses her lips together, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m joking, Boss Man. If you wanted to kill me, you missed your chance with that knife last night.”
I don’t even know how to respond to her, so I just stand here. Floundering. Like he can smell weakness, Double Diablo’s head shoots up out of his feeder. He pauses before lunging towards me at the fence.
Little prick. Just because I’ve spent years wearing a suit doesn’t mean I forgot how to be around horses. I give him an unimpressed look; his pinned ears and angry face are nothing new to me in the world of business. If nothing else, I feel like his angry face is just a reflection of mine these days. I lash out just like that, too.
Billie gawks at me with a big smile on her face. “Not bad, fancy pants. You didn’t even squeal.”
Is she kidding? “I grew up on this farm, Billie. Horses aren’t completely foreign to me, and I deal with assholes every day.” I motion my cup at Double Diablo, who snorts and goes back to eating.
“Good boy, DD,” she murmurs, tossing a small, crunchy horse treat beside his feet.
I blink and shake my head at her. “What did you just call him?”
“Deedee. Like, his initials. His name sucks.”
Inclining my head towards the little devil, I ask, “What would you name him instead?”
She wraps both delicate hands around the mug and takes a cautious sip of her coffee, looking over the rim to assess the horse. “I don’t know.” She snorts in a completely unladylike way. “Maybe Mister Black. Humans suck, so he’s pretty much the perfect man for me. You’d take my name, wouldn’t you, DD?”
I cough out a laugh. “My Grandfather named him you know.”
She says nothing but pulls her lips back as if to say yikes, and then promptly changes the subject. “Thanks for the coffee, but I take cream in mine.” Is she kidding right now? I must give her an incredulous look because she smiles at me like the Cheshire cat. “You know, for next time.”
“You’re incredible,” I say, shaking my head at her.
“Thank you.” She points behind me. “Grab a chair and chill out for a second. You’re all uptight. It’s making DD and me nervous.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. He told you that when he snapped at you.”
I shift my eyes to the horse. He stops munching and looks at me suspiciously, out of the corner of his eye, without lifting his head. Maybe she’s right. I take a few strides towards the other lawn chairs she has leaned against the fence and fold one out beside her, facing the paddock. A breath I didn’t know I’d been holding whooshes out of me when I sit.
This is nice.
I attempt to look at Billie’s profile without openly turning to stare at her. She’s so unusual, so alluring, like a piece of art in a gallery I want to analyze. Get lost in. She’s like a splash of red in a sea of grey.
I realize she knows I’m checking her out when her cheek closest to me quirks up before her lashes shift my way. A mischievous look takes over her whole face as she says, “Hello, and welcome to my crib.”
I can’t help but laugh, and a low rumble rolls across my chest. “You’re nuts. You know that?”
“Ha! I’ve been told they really broke the mold with me.” Sadness flashes across her face, but disappears as quickly as it showed up. She turns and looks at me, a small smile touching her full lips. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m jetlagged as all get-out, and I may or may not have enjoyed a little too much wine last night after not eating properly all day. I really needed this.”
She lifts her mug in a silent toast and appears so sweet and sincere. The carefree, sarcastic woman is missing right now and I realize she’s actually easier to take when she’s being obnoxious. I don’t know how to respond to this almost melancholy version of her.
I grunt and return the gesture with my mug.
Smooth.
We sit in silence, sipping our coffees and watching Double Diablo, or DD—insert eye roll here—as she’s now calling him. The soft sound of him munching on hay mingles with snorts and whinnies from around the farm. The whole sensory experience brings me back to my childhood summers spent here. I close my eyes and tip my head back to rest on the chair. I’m not sure when I last sat outside and just enjoyed nature.
Life got too busy. Skyscrapers and busy traffic, the sound of phones ringing, and printers pumping out warm sheets of paper usually fill my day. I have to admit, this is almost therapeutic. Extending an olive branch has been bearable so far. And Billie is being quiet now, which makes it even better.
But of course, she can’t let it last.
“Are you okay, Vaughn?”
“What?” From this angle I can really analyze her profile, lit by the early morning sun. She sniffs and the end of her straight, upturned nose does a little wiggle. Thick caramel hair tucked behind her ear cascades straight over her shoulder like a waterfall.
“You heard me,” she says, looking back out to the paddock.
She looks almost uncomfortable. Too still, like she’s avoiding looking at me.
No one has asked me how I’m doing in the last few weeks. Not in a way that makes me feel like they actually want to know and aren’t just asking to be polite. Billie doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to ask me something just because it’s the polite thing to do. It’s unnerving to have someone I barely know, and barely like, reach out to me in this way. It throws me off balance; a feeling I’m not fond of. I don’t want to share my inner turmoil, my inner shame, with anyone. Least of all Billie Black, who would probably find some way to mock it.
My goal of being passably nice to a new employee today is complete. I stand and shoot her a wry grin. “Peachy.”
Her response is to stare at me and tip her head to one side. Her gaze makes my spine tingle, like she can see right through my charade.
I depart with a, “Good luck today,” from over my shoulder.
Yeah, I duck and run.