Читать книгу The Rancher Next Door - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 8

Chapter Three

“Mom and Dad wanted to be here, too, but they both have to work evening hours at the hospital,” Amy Carrigan told Rebecca an hour later.

Her three siblings had stopped in to congratulate her. They’d also brought housewarming gifts. Sunscreen and lip balm from Susie, who worked outdoors as a landscape architect and garden center owner and knew the importance of protecting skin. An indoor herb garden from Amy, who owned her own ranch and plant-growing business. And a deluxe first aid box from Jeremy, a family physician at Laramie Community Hospital.

“They said they’d be by later in the week,” Jeremy continued.

“Right,” Rebecca said.

Susie understood the hurt Rebecca felt—maybe because she had encountered resistance, too, when she had decided to eschew lucrative job offers and go into business for herself, right out of college. She and Amy had both been remarkably successful eventually, but there was no denying their first few years out of the gate had been so lean financially that their parents had worried constantly. Susie had taken the brunt of it, since she had been the first to take the leap.

“Just give them time. They’ll come around, once they see you making a go of it,” Susie encouraged, for once being more supportive than overly protective.

“And that Open House you’re planning in two weeks to get your business off the ground will help,” Amy added.

Rebecca hoped that was the case. Now that she was actually residing at the ranch, for all of…six hours…she was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed by everything that had to be done, despite the steps Miss Mim had taken to make the transition easier for her by leaving the pantry, fridge and freezer stocked with fresh food and homemade entrees.

Lucky for her, Miss Mim had loved to cook for others.

“Just be glad you’re not in my position,” Jeremy lamented, “since everyone at Laramie Community Hospital still thinks of me as Luke and Meg’s kid.”

It had to be hard, Rebecca figured, taking a position at the same hospital where their physician father was Chief of Family Medicine and their mother an RN who supervised the entire nursing staff.

“You want to trade positions with me?” Rebecca teased. She stood on tiptoe to retrieve a glass casserole dish, then set it on the counter. “I’ll be glad to let you cook dinner for Trevor McCabe.”

“I still don’t get why you agreed to that,” Amy said.

“Yeah. Why didn’t you just tell him to go jump in Lake Laramie?” Susie sipped the iced tea Rebecca had poured for everyone.

Rebecca shrugged and opened a foil-wrapped single serving packet marked Tex-Mex Chicken Casserole. She dumped the rock-hard concoction into the dish. “I have to borrow a livestock hauler from somebody. He has one that isn’t being used tomorrow. He lives right next door to me. He had no problem being neighborly.”

Jeremy watched as Rebecca unwrapped another packet. “Maybe I should try his approach. It’s certainly a novel way to get a date.”

Rebecca regarded her siblings, her brows arched. “This isn’t a date.”

“Then what is it?” Susie persisted.

Rebecca popped the casserole into the microwave and punched Defrost. “It’s an opportunity for me to start setting some boundaries with that handsome cowboy.”

Amy tilted her head. “Interesting way to refer to your neighbor to the north.”

“Come on,” Rebecca huffed. “You all know what I mean.”

“The question is, do you?” Jeremy asked.

Rebecca studied the dish in the microwave. “Trevor needs to understand I am no Miss Mim.”

Her only brother chuckled. “I think he’s got that part down already, giving how fast he’s moving in on you.”

The microwave dinged. Rebecca grabbed a pot holder and removed the dish. “For the last time, Jeremy, Trevor McCabe is not staking out any kind of claim on me tonight.”

“If you say so.” Jeremy looked over her shoulder. “And if I were you, I’d use about four of those if you don’t want Trevor McCabe to leave hungry. Those are lady-sized portions.” Jeremy patted his stomach. “I figure I could put away at least three of them, so he probably could, too.”

“Good point.” Rebecca went back to the freezer and emerged with two more single-serve packets. “I wouldn’t want him to leave hungry.”

Susie studied her, ready to jump in, if necessary, and save Rebecca from herself. “That gleam in your eye means trouble,” Susie said.

“Does it?” Rebecca asked innocently, wondering when Susie would finally realize that Rebecca could survive just fine without any sisterly—or parental—help?

Ever the peacemaker, Amy said kindly, “You could always ask us to stay for dinner, too.”

Rebecca slid the extra portions on a plate, put them into the microwave and pushed Defrost once again. “If I did that,” Rebecca replied, peeved Amy was now starting to meddle a bit, too, “Trevor McCabe would think I was hiding behind you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Susie demanded.

Rebecca reached for the herb garden and broke off sprigs of mint, cilantro, oregano, basil, rosemary, parsley and thyme. She got out a cutting board and began dicing up everything but the cilantro. “I am not afraid to spend time alone with him.”

Amy frowned. “You realize you just mixed all those herbs together.”

“Indeed, I do.” Rebecca took the plate out of the oven, added the contents to the casserole dish, then picked up her spoon, and prepared to get to work. “And soon Trevor McCabe will, too.”

THE GUILT STARTED as soon Rebecca opened the door. She hadn’t bothered to do more than wash her face and brush her teeth to get ready for her company. Her hair remained in the two loose braids she’d put it in that morning. She was still dressed in a T-shirt, jeans and boots.

Trevor had obviously showered before driving over. He was wearing a clean pair of jeans, a freshly ironed white Western shirt and dress boots. He smelled of soap and cologne. His reddish-brown hair was still damp, parted neatly on one side.

To make her feel even worse, he hadn’t shown up empty-handed. He had a large wicker gift basket jammed with all manner of sauces and condiments, all bearing his mother’s company’s name—Annie’s Homemade—and a plate of homemade ranger cookies.

Behind her, a less-than-appetizing smell filled the air. Rebecca tried not to think how the doctored casserole was going to taste.

To his credit, and her increased annoyance, he didn’t react in the slightest to the rather unappetizing aroma scenting the ranch house. “My mom and dad sent you a housewarming gift, welcoming you to the neighborhood.”

Rebecca studied the array of labels gratefully. She already knew Annie’s barbecue sauce, ketchup, hot sauce, mustards and salad dressings were first-rate. “I didn’t realize your mom had expanded into jams and jellies, too,” she said. There was everything from boysenberry to apricot fruit spreads, as well as jalapeño jelly and chipolte pepper mayonnaise.

Trevor smiled. “Seems she’s always perfecting some new recipe.” He set the plate of cookies down on the kitchen table. “Better be careful or she’ll have you acting as a taste-tester, too.”

Rebecca nodded at the dessert plate. “Your mom make those, too?”

“No.” Trevor took off his hat and hung it on a hook near the back door.

Rebecca studied the cookies. Golden-brown, perfect in size and texture. Her mouth watered, just looking at them. “Bakery in town?”

Trevor shook his head.

“Grocery?”

“Does it matter?” He was beginning to look a little annoyed. “I can vouch for ’em. They’re good.”

Rebecca slid one out from under the cover of plastic wrap. They smelled delicious, too. “I’m just curious.” She bit into the confection, and found it rich and buttery and full of crispy rice cereal, oatmeal and coconut.

“I made ’em.”

It took all her concentration to swallow. “You?” she sputtered, amazed.

Trevor shrugged. “My brothers and I all know how to cook. Even Kyle and Kurt.”

“The younger two,” Rebecca said, remembering.

“They’re only seventeen and eighteen but they can grill a mean steak, scramble eggs. Throw together a salad. All the basics.”

Maybe doctoring the food hadn’t been such a good idea. She could have cooked normally and he likely would have been disappointed. Now, well, it was obvious what she had done….

“Anyway, I hope you like oatmeal and coconut….”

Like ’em? She was addicted to both. Even more annoying, it looked as though he was a better cook than she was, if the cookies were any indication.

“Can I help?”

Rebecca shook her head. Gestured for him to have a seat at the trestle table. She’d put herself at one end, him clear at the other. Four places and a vase of primroses stood between them. Aware the lettuce was beginning to wilt over the heavy application of buttermilk ranch dressing she’d layered it with a good half hour before, she set the wooden salad bowl on the table and went to the oven to get the casserole.

“I never knew you wanted to ranch,” Trevor remarked.

Rebecca set two steaming plates on the table and sat down opposite him. “That’s because I never confided my ambition to anyone but Miss Mim. She used to help me find books at the library.”

“But you didn’t study agriculture in college.”

Deciding to start with her salad, Rebecca twirled a soggy piece of lettuce on her fork. “That’s because I couldn’t see myself breeding cattle or horses, or heaven forbid, pigs! I can’t say chickens appealed to me much, either.”

Trevor dug into his first course with an enthusiasm that made her wince. “So instead you took the job with that tour company and headed overseas.”

That had been due more to a quarrel with her sister Susie and her father, over their outright betrayal of her in a romantic matter, than anything else. But Rebecca wasn’t about to get into that. Especially since her relationship had never really been the same with her sister Susie, or her father, since.

Rebecca shrugged. “I’d always longed for adventure. The job provided that, and more.” Plus, since she’d always been working and traveling and hadn’t had to pay apartment rent, she’d been able to bank nearly her entire salary.

“I still don’t see how you got from there to breeding alpacas.” Trevor finished his salad, and took a big bite of Tex-Mex chicken casserole.

It was all Rebecca could do not to gag herself as Trevor swallowed and followed his first bite of the main course with a gentlemanly sip of water.

She continued to play with her salad. “One of the European tours went to an alpaca ranch. I fell in love with the animals almost the moment I saw them, and when I found out how valuable their wool is—it’s the finest in the world—I knew I’d found my calling.”

“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.” Trevor got up and walked over to the gift basket. He came back with a bottle of Annie’s Homemade Ketchup, with the familiar blue-and white-gingham label. He sat down and poured a liberal dose over the entrée.

“More than you could ever know,” Rebecca replied.

He studied her while he ate. He didn’t need sips of water now.

Rebecca on the other hand had all she could do not to gag on the mixture of incompatible herbs that she had added to the casserole.

Which served her right, she figured, for having done such an immature and bratty thing to begin with. She knew better than to treat a guest—even a self-invited one—this way.

“It’s okay to be nervous about a new business venture,” Trevor said eventually.

Finished with the meager portion she had put on his plate, he helped himself to some more, added ketchup, and—to her complete astonishment—dug right in.

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” Rebecca groused, not about to deal with one more naysayer in her life.

Her parents’ worries, combined with her three siblings’ unvoiced skepticism, had been more than enough.

Not that anyone had bothered to listen to the entirety of her plan. No, she usually lost them when they heard about the second loan she’d taken against the first, and the balloon payment due two weeks after closing.

Oblivious to the calculated financial risks she was taking, Trevor regarded her with a gentleness she didn’t expect.

“You have the same look in your eyes that I had in mine when I closed on Wind Creek.”

Rebecca couldn’t figure out whether he was being straight with her or not. What he’d said did not sound like the Trevor McCabe she knew. “You. Mr. Big Shot Cattleman. Were nervous.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor replied. “As was my brother Teddy when he started up The Silverado.” Trevor finished his second helping, and went for a third. “It’s the same thing everybody feels when they buy their first car or home or pet, or accept a job. That what-have-I-gotten-myself-into-now panic. Buyer’s remorse, some call it.”

Rebecca added ketchup to her dinner, too, and found the condiment delicious and the casserole beneath just as unpalatable.

She toyed with the food on her plate, suddenly glad he’d brought this up. She needed some encouragement. “When does the panicky feeling pass?” she asked him.

“As soon as you get going.” He flashed her a sexy smile. “Which is why it’s probably good you’re going to pick up the start of your herd tomorrow. Once you get busy caring for your alpacas, you won’t have time to think.”

Not thinking sounded good.

Rebecca started to relax.

Trevor smiled at her.

Too late, she saw the unexpected had happened…they were becoming more than neighbors…they were becoming friends.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME you had a puppy,” Trevor remarked a few minutes later as they cleaned up the dishes.

“I don’t.”

“Then you’ve got a visitor.”

Rebecca followed his glance to the bank of kitchen windows overlooking the backyard. Sure enough, a chocolate- brown Labrador retriever was alternately nosing the ground and trotting briskly toward the house. When he reached the stoop, he let out a sound that was half bark, half whine. “Oh my goodness. He barely looks old enough to be away from his mama.”

Trevor caught the puppy before he could dart past Rebecca, into the house. He lifted the squirming Labrador to chest level. “It’s a she. And I’d guess, from the size of her, that she’s about nine, ten weeks old, which means she probably just left her mama and the rest of her litter.”

Interesting. “Does she have tags?”

“Nope.” Trevor looked. “Just a collar.”

She sure didn’t look scared or lost. “Anyone around here have puppies recently?” Rebecca asked.

“Not that I’m aware. And this is a purebred, which makes her worth a pretty penny.”

“You got that right,” a male voice concurred.

Rebecca and Trevor turned.

Vince Owen strode toward them.

“This is Coco. I just got her today. I was bringing her over to meet you and she got ahead of me. Trevor.” Vince nodded.

Trevor nodded back, looking, Rebecca noted, no more pleased to see the Circle Y’s new owner than he had earlier in the day.

“Rebecca.” Vince leaned forward, and before Rebecca could stop him, kissed her cheek in Southern-style greeting.

Rebecca didn’t know why she was annoyed. Having grown up in Texas, she had received many a casual peck on the cheek as hello over the years. None had ever bothered her. This one rankled. The way he subtly moved in between her and Trevor seemed meant to annoy his old college classmate. She didn’t like being used as a pawn in anyone’s game.

Trevor handed Coco to her new owner with a cynical look.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Vince said.

Rebecca sensed Vince wanted an explanation for Trevor’s presence and perhaps an invitation to hang out for a while, too. She was just as inclined not to give it. Intuition told her that despite his smooth manner and cordial appearance, the handsome, blond Vince Owen was nothing but trouble.

Trevor looked at Rebecca, checking, she figured, to see if she needed him to stay. Knowing it would be easier to get rid of Vince and back to what she needed to be doing in preparation for the morning, Rebecca let Trevor know it wasn’t necessary.

To her relief, Trevor took the hint, albeit with barely concealed reluctance.

Trevor slipped back inside the house to get his hat. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I better get going. Vince.” Trevor dipped his head in polite acknowledgment.

Vince nodded back. He waited until Trevor climbed into his pickup truck and drove away, then turned back to Rebecca.

“Like to hold her?” Without waiting for a reply, Vince thrust the puppy into her arms.

The chocolate-brown pup looked up at Rebecca with dark liquid eyes. As always, when confronted with puppies, Rebecca felt her heart melt a little. They were just so sweet, vulnerable, eager to please…

And given the packet of investment information she had yet to pull together for future customers of the Primrose alpaca operation, she really did not have time for this.

“My cattle won’t be delivered for a few days. I’ve got two hired hands sitting idle. Should you need anything, be sure and let me know. I could send my cowboys over to help,” Vince said.

“That’s a very generous offer,” Rebecca replied. But not, she figured, without strings. What kind, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“What are neighbors for?”

Rebecca petted Coco’s head. She was a beautiful dog. Rebecca smiled as Coco licked her forearm with her velvety rough tongue. Too bad her new owner didn’t seem half as smitten with the puppy as Rebecca was.

“You don’t work the cattle yourself?” Rebecca asked.

Vince Owen shook his head. “I’ve got two other properties around the state. Have to ride herd on all of them.” He withdrew a business card from his wallet, handed it to her. “Here are all my numbers. Should you need anything at all, just call. Meantime, as long as you and I are getting acquainted—” he paused to flash her a salesperson’s winning smile “—I’ve got two tickets to the Laramie County Rancher’s Association Spring Fling.”

Rebecca already knew about the black-tie dinner-dance at the community center on Friday evening. “Thank you for the invitation, Vince, but I’m already planning to attend.”

“With McCabe,” Vince guessed, a hint of unpleasantness coming into his eyes.

Rebecca gave him the “attitude” she reserved for too- persistent men. “Alone,” she corrected.

Relaxing, Vince gestured affably. “If we went together, you could introduce me around.”

Reluctantly, Rebecca handed his puppy back to him. She didn’t want anything or anyone interfering with her efforts to network and promote her new business. Vince could easily do just that, as could Trevor McCabe. “Laramie is a very friendly place. You won’t have any trouble meeting people on your own.”

Vince took her rejection with a graceful shrug. “Another time, then.”

Not, Rebecca thought, if I can help it.

The tension between Vince and Trevor aside, there was something about Vince Owen she just didn’t trust.

“SO WHAT’S THE STORY between you and Vince?” Rebecca asked Trevor the next afternoon, after they had returned. Her first stock purchase, the cornerstone of her alpaca breeding operation, Blue Mist, had weathered the trip back well, and was now grazing in the shade.

Trevor’s hands tightened on the pasture gate. Up until now, he hadn’t asked her anything about her other visitor from the night before, but she had felt his curiosity as surely as her own. “Why?” Trevor tipped the brim of his hat away from his face. “What did he say?”

“Nothing about you.”

Trevor rested an elbow on the top rail. He looked out at the pregnant alpaca. “Then why are you asking?”

Rebecca finished filling the water trough and shut off the hose. “Because clearly the two of you are not mutual admirers.”

Trevor tilted his head. “Happens sometimes.”

She tilted her gaze in the same direction. “Usually, for a reason.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Anyone ever tell you you’re nosy?”

Her pulse picked up. “Anyone ever tell you you’re maddeningly private?”

“All the time.” He tapped her playfully on the nose. “And you didn’t answer my question,” he said.

She tried hard not to stare into his eyes as deeply as he was gazing into hers. “Inquisitive was the word Miss Mim used, I believe,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks heat. “And yes, she said that all the time.” She held up a finger as if lecturing to a student. “And you know what that means.”

He waited.

“Once I have a question in my mind, I have to discover the answer.” She paused for effect. “No matter what it takes.”

“Threats don’t work on me,” he told her mildly.

She wrinkled her brow, the way she always did when working a puzzle. “Is that what Vince Owen did to you? Did he threaten you someway, somehow?”

Trevor scoffed. “You’ve been watching too many mystery shows on TV.”

“But something despicable is going on here, nonetheless. Otherwise you and Vince wouldn’t give each other those looks.”

Trevor’s expression remained impassive. “Looks,” he echoed, as if he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. Even though she knew he did.

“Like you can’t stand each other but you’re going to be polite because you’ve ended up living and working in the same place and to do otherwise would make everyone else even more uncomfortable and that would be ungentlemanly, and you were brought up, as a McCabe, to be a gentleman.”

“Well, now that you’ve got it all figured out…”

“Okay. Don’t tell me.” Rebecca pivoted. “I guess I could always ask your mother.”

He clamped a hand on her shoulder, brought her back around. “Why do you care?” he demanded.

She made her eyes go wide. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, cowboy, I live between the Circle Y Ranch and the Wind Creek Ranch, and that puts me right smack- dab in the middle of you two guys. And although you might be willing to let that go, I assure you, Vince Owen will not.”

Resentment warred with the curiosity on his handsome face. “Did you ask him?”

Why hadn’t she? She could have. “I wanted to hear your side.”

“And not his?”

Rebecca tried not to think why she automatically trusted Trevor in a way she couldn’t seem to honor Vince. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Vince and I met at Texas A&M,” he told her brusquely. “We were both studying cattle management. I was at the top of my class from the beginning—probably because I grew up on a cattle ranch and worked side by side with my dad, who happens to be one of the best cattlemen around.”

It was more than that, Rebecca knew.

Trevor had a way with animals. An immense capacity for hard, physical, down and dirty work. And a need to achieve as deep as her own.

From what she’d seen thus far, Vince seemed driven by the outward trappings of success. Instead of being content with one ranch in one area of the state, he wanted three. He managed instead of ranched. And he already had his eye on the local social scene.

“Vince wanted to be the top student in our department. He was upset when he could not best me on exams and labs.”

Okay. “And that’s it?”

“Obviously, you’ve never had anyone continually competing with you. It grates on a person.”

She studied him. “You think that’s why Vince Owen bought a ranch so close to yours, don’t you?”

Trevor clenched his fists in frustration. “It’s not just this ranch. He dogs me all the time. I was asked to be a speaker on a ranching seminar last year. He found out and unbeknownst to me, got on the program, too. He found out what kinds of cattle I was breeding, started breeding that type, too. Bought a herd of heifers out from under me. Bought that land on the other side of you—the Circle Y—out from under me. I had offered the asking price to the previous owner, when he was ready to sell. Next thing I know he has accepted an offer from an intermediary for ten percent more. When I heard it, I had a sinking feeling who the new owner might be, but I didn’t know for sure until Vince Owen walked into the feed store yesterday morning.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Wow. No wonder you’re annoyed.”

Trevor dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t. I knew right off he wasn’t the kind of guy I wanted to have as a friend.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t use you to get to me,” Trevor warned.

“To use me, he’d have to get me to give him something. I have no intention of doing that. Now or ever,” Rebecca said flatly. “I do want to thank you, though, for helping me go get Blue Mist this morning.”

“No problem. I haven’t been around alpacas since I was in college. I had forgotten how beautiful they are.”

Interesting he would say that, Rebecca thought. It mirrored her feelings exactly.

As if realizing she was being talked about, Blue Mist ambled toward them.

The fawn-colored animal stood at almost five feet. With her gentle demeanor, long, sloping neck, sturdy giraffe-shaped body and dense, soft and fluffy wool coat, she lent a pastoral quality to The Primrose. Her cute oblong face and intelligent dark eyes only added to her appeal. Rebecca stroked her wool.

“How much do you know about shearing?” she asked Trevor.

He grinned. “I haven’t tried it on my cattle.”

“I’m going to have to do that once I get the entire herd on the property. It has to be done before it gets too hot.”

He rubbed Blue Mist behind the ears. “You shear them once a year?”

Rebecca nodded. “In the spring.”

Trevor dropped his hand as Blue Mist moved away once again. “One question. How did an alpaca with light brown wool get the name Blue Mist?”

Rebecca had been wondering if and when Trevor would ask that. “She was born on a foggy morning, and when the owners first saw her, she was rising up out of a blue mist.”

“Ah.”

“It’s a good name, I think. Prophetic.”

“You mean romantic,” he teased.

Rebecca couldn’t afford to be thought of as anything less than business-minded. “I mean it spoke to me when I heard it. And when I met her, saw how gentle she was, and found out she was already with cria, I knew she was the start of my herd.”

“Speaking of which…you and I need to talk about the fence around your pastures.”

“Why?” Rebecca braced for news that would cost her more than she’d already spent. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked in trepidation.

“The wood is breaking down in places.”

She cocked her head. “You had your cattle in there.”

His lips twitched. “Circumstances are different now. We’re going to have my thousand-pound steers on my side of that fence, and your one-hundred-pound alpacas on the other.”

“Are you saying your cattle are going to bother my alpacas?”

His hazel eyes glimmered seriously. “Not under normal circumstances, but we have to be prepared for the unusual.”

She wished she could say he was joking. “Such as?”

“Predators getting in the pasture with your alpacas.”

She would have laughed at the statistical absurdity of the statement had it not been for his warning expression. “Are you trying to give me a hard time?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that even a stray cat or dog could spook your alpacas, and if they get spooked and start running and upset my cattle, we could have a stampede on our hands.”

So it was back to the alpacas and cattle don’t mix theory of ranching. An old wives’ tale if she’d ever heard one. She planted her hands on her hips. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

He let his gaze drift slowly over her before returning to her face. He leaned down so they were practically nose to nose. “And I think you need mesh fence on the inside of the split rail borders, for safety’s sake.”

She dropped her hands and stepped back. “I can’t afford to do that right now, Trevor.”

He shrugged, as unconcerned with the financial details of the situation as she was obsessed. “Then I’ll help you out.”

His matter-of-fact offer sounded like a mixture of pity and charity. If she accepted either, word would get out, and she would never have the other ranchers’ respect.

Rebecca shook her head, promising, “I’ll get to it as soon as I can, but until then we’re just going to have to make do.”

Silence ticked out between them. “You sure that’s a chance you want to take?” he asked eventually.

What choice did she have? She was on such a tight budget as it was, at least for the next month or so, the slightest catastrophe could catapult her into bankruptcy. Once she’d attracted outside investors, though, her situation would ease quickly.

Gulping around the anxiety rising up within her, she tried to smooth things over while still stubbornly holding her ground. “Look, Trevor, the rest of the herd won’t be here for another ten days or so. As soon as I get past the Open House I’m having for potential investors, a week from Sunday,” and get past the balloon payment that is due on my operating loan, “I’ll take care of the fence. I promise.”

Trevor looked like he wanted to continue debating her, but when he finally spoke it was only to ask, “Where are you going to house your herd at night?”

“In the stalls in the barn. Which reminds me. I’ve really got to get cleaning if I want Blue Mist and that cria she’s carrying to have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

Trevor took the hint, and left to tend to his own herd.

Three hours later, Rebecca had scrubbed down the central cement corridor and two of the ten wooden-sided stalls. She was filthy from head to toe, and bone-tired to boot. Deciding to check on Blue Mist, she walked out to the pasture, and stopped in her tracks at what she saw.