Page 1 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

Chapter 1

-Brooke-

“Come on, darlin,’ I’ll be gentle.” I gritted my teeth and tried again to reach the clog in the tractor’s intake. “If only I didn’t have these giant boobs in the way,” I muttered. My fingers brushed the mass of grass that was the problem, but I couldn’t get a hold of any of it.

The soft crunch of footsteps approached from the direction of the barn, and I wondered who had bothered to walk all the way out to the middle of the field.

“Do you need some help?” Christopher, one of our ranch hands, asked.

“Not from your burly arms,” I grunted as I willed my fingers to get longer.

“I brought this.”

I turned my head and found the home-grown-Texan guy holding a screwdriver between us like an offering. He came complete with weathered cowboy boots, worn jeans, a T-shirt that did nothing to hide his bulging muscles, and a ratty baseball hat over his curly blond hair.

I grunted. “I’ve almost got it.” If I let Christopher do this, he’d start from the beginning?because there was no way he’d take my diagnosis?before eventually coming to the same conclusion I had. I didn’t have time for that, because I had a conference call with the Curvy Girl Crew in just over an hour. I jammed my shoulder into the machine, held my breath, squished my chest so hard that I had mammogram flashbacks, and bit my lip.

This time I grasped enough of the clog that I could pull. It dislodged. I extracted my arm and held the clump of grass and…I made a face as the smell of manure filled the air.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d touched animal poo—and believe me, it had been a lot—it always grossed me out. However, one did not show weakness to the boys on the ranch, so I casually flung the glob off my fingers.

A soft thunk sounded as it hit the side of the tractor, then cartwheeled down, leaving a trail of refuse behind, until it dropped to the ground.

Christopher patted me on the arm. “Nice job.” The guy could strut sitting down, but I remained unaffected. He was a year younger than me, so we’d gone to school together, but the fact that my oldest brother had paid him to take me to a dance had soured me toward any relationship that might have sprung up between us.

“Thanks.” I wiped my tainted fingers on the nose of the tractor before climbing up and turning the key.

The engine sputtered, then died again.

Christopher raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. “It must be the transmission.” I’d been limping this machine along for months. We would need it up and running for the next round of planting. “I guess I’m going into town for lunch.” Which was fine with me. I’d been craving Whitehill BBQ for a week. If I hurried, I could grab food and take the Curvy Girl Crew call at the park.

“Please wash your hands first,” Christopher said with a wink.

“You ruin all my fun.”

“Do you want me to tow it back to the barn?” Christopher pointed at the tractor.

“I’ll get it later.” I started toward my place, which sat half a mile away on a small rise. My dad’s house lay a little farther in the other direction.

A cold breeze sent a chill down my spine, and not for the first time today, I regretted leaving my hoodie on my couch. Spring in Texas could be freezing cold, cool, lukewarm, or boiling hot. I’d bet on lukewarm this morning and had lost.

I took a moment to look over the ranch. The golden winter barley waved like ripe wheat and would be ready to harvest in a couple of weeks. Everything else was just coming to life. Fields that looked dead would be full of grass before the end of the month. Browns would turn to green, and soon I’d be complaining about the heat.

Welcome to Texas.

I drew my phone out of my overall bib pocket with my clean fingers and swiped it to life. “Call Dad.”

The phone did its thing, and a moment later, my dad’s craggy face appeared on the screen. Thinning dark locks topped his head, and his white nose hairs greeted me. “Hello?” His eyes squinted as if he didn’t quite believe that I was calling.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Brooke? Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“No, I mean I can’t see you.”

---