Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Mollie’s eyes go a little wide as they move over the horse. “Working cattle? That mean what I think it does?”
I meet Sawyer’s gaze. It’s all I can do not to grin. She’s gonna hate this.
“Means we’re handling the cows. Moving them from pasture to pasture. Takin’ care of sick cattle, finding lost ones, that kind of thing.” Wyatt leans an elbow against the stall. “For the record, Miss Luck, I like the look.”
I don’t. She’s gonna be uncomfortable and hot as hell in her skintight jeans and long-sleeved denim shirt that’s unbuttoned practically to her navel. A lacy purple bra peeks through. It matches her purple boots and the ridiculous feathered band wrapped around her pristine Stetson.
I look away. I honestly can’t tell if Mollie is wearing this shit ironically or if she’s just that ridiculous. That clueless. It’s a hundred fucking degrees out there. She’ll melt in this stuff. Never mind how dirty she’s going to get.
She smiles. “Thank you, Wyatt. And you know, I was just kidding about the Miss Luck thing. Please call me Mollie.”
I drop the mounting block on the ground by her feet. “Time to get on the horse, Mollie.”
“Not you, Cash. You can still call me Miss Luck.”
Rolling my eyes, I shove my hat onto my head. “Let’s get a move on.”
“Where’s Goody?”
“Out here!” the lawyer calls from the corral. Like a true Texan, Goody keeps spare riding gear in the trunk of her pickup. She’d changed and was in the saddle less than ten minutes after lunch wrapped up. “Y’all take your time.”
Mollie dubiously looks up at the brown mare waiting for her. “Please tell me his name is Easy Rider. Or Sweetie. Or Sugar Puff.”
Sawyer holds out his hand, still smiling. “This is Maria. She was your daddy’s horse.”
Mollie goes very still. My chest tightens at the emotion that flickers across her face.
I remind myself that she’s here for the money. Said so herself.
But what would Garrett say if he saw her right now? Can’t help but feel he’d be happy his daughter finally stepped foot on the ranch, even if she is wearing sparkly purple boots for an afternoon ride.
He’d be proud as hell to see her riding Maria.
I think of all the pictures Garrett saved of Mollie on horseback, which makes me feel a stab of guilt. He wouldn’t be happy, knowing I was trying to chase her off. But it’s the right move, isn’t it? He loved the ranch, same as he loved me and my brothers. He wouldn’t want to see our hard work undone.
How they share the same genes, I don’t know.
I half expect Mollie to throw up her hands and quit on us before she even gets in the saddle.
Or maybe that’s just what I hope will happen.
Instead, she’s taking Maria’s velvety nose in her hand and stroking the white star on her head. “Hi, Maria. I’m Mollie. I get the feeling you took good care of my dad, yeah?”
Maria, being the sweetheart she is, nuzzles Mollie’s hand, tucking her head into Mollie’s chest.
“Aw, hey, I like you too. Please don’t throw me off. And if you wouldn’t mind being patient with me, that’d be great. I’m a beginner. Well, I rode when I was younger, but it’s been, like, a million and a half years since I got on a horse, and I’m a little nervous.” Maria whinnies, and Mollie bites her lip. “Okay, a lot nervous.”
Sawyer and I meet eyes again. He arches a brow.
Garrett loved talking to Maria this way. My brothers and I would joke that the horse was our long-lost sister. Mama was so desperate for a girl, she ended up with five boys trying for one.
“Thank God for Patsy,” Garrett would joke. “Sometimes, I think she’s the only thing standing between y’all and the gates of hell. Or the penitentiary.”
Taking a sharp breath through my nose, I turn and stalk toward my horse—a colt I named Kix—and climb into the saddle. My left leg throbs from a run-in with one of our longhorns this morning. Back aches because I’m old and I didn’t sleep great last night.
Glancing at Mollie, I wonder if she’s losing any sleep over her daddy passing. Looks rested enough. Then again, she didn’t see it happen.
She didn’t miss the signs the way I did. Garrett complaining about shooting pains in his arm that week. How he’d kept a hand on his chest that morning, clearly hurting. He blamed it on heartburn, saying he’d overindulged in Patsy’s ribs and jalapeño cornbread the night before.
She wasn’t here to see him collapse inside a working pen, calves streaming around his lifeless body like he was a boulder parting a river.
My shoulders slump beneath the weight of my exhaustion. Glancing behind me, I watch Sawyer and Wyatt help Mollie onto the horse. It takes three attempts and several oh sweet Jesuses to get her into the saddle.