Page 17 of Red Hot Rancher

“I mean, if you can tolerate not having Walker beef.”

She grinned and lightly punched him on the shoulder. “Now I’m going to have to go and scope out the competition.”

“You’d better come with. I don’t think Derrick will forgive me if I don’t bring the one person who can talk cattle as much as him.”

She laughed, and they wandered to his pickup. He should’ve made life easy on himself and dissuaded her from coming with him. But he would find a way to endure being inches from her without trying to kiss her and making an ass of himself. All he had to do was make it through the night.

It was getting late, and the temperature was dropping below freezing, but Farah had opened the shop doors and fired up the electric heater. Brigit’s coat was in Caleb’s truck, but she was comfortable in the sweater she’d thrown on.

If her college friends could see her now. She was in an old university sweater and a clean pair of jeans she usually wore around the farm, with a pair of boots that weren’t muddy. Her clothing was snugger than the last time she’d come home to help work cattle or bring the harvest in, but all that meant was that she was the same size she’d been when she’d left home.

The food! Body-conscious Oliver and his protein shakes and mixed green salads. All were fine, but Lord, she’d missed her beef, and not the lean cuts. Mr. James had grilled a “rib eye and a spare” for each of them. She’d eaten both. Because life was too short to limit her intake to eight ounces.

She might regret that motto in the morning.

But for tonight she was full of quality cuts, she had a cold beer in her hand, and she’d been cornered by Mr. James and his wife. Caleb was laughing at the folding table with Farah and Jesse. Justin had claimed he had a late conference call and couldn’t make it.

Brigit caught herself looking at Caleb again and how the sweatshirt he wore draped over his broad shoulders and tapered down to his waist. She tore her gaze off him and focused on her own conversation.

“Black Angus don’t get as big as we need.” Mrs. James was talking, proving she could still command a room. Before her stroke, she’d been the sheriff, but her gaze was direct and while her words came slower now, she made them count—when she could get a word in edgewise. Brigit and Mr. James hadn’t let up discussing sales-barn politics and Big Agriculture conspiracy theories.

Mr. James nodded. “I don’t think purebred is the way to go. The best cattle I’ve ever raised were Black Angus crossed with Charolais.”

“For a small operation like this, I think mixed genetics is the best,” Brigit agreed. “But I think it’d be interesting to see what a ranch like Caleb’s could do if they partnered with a genetics company and raised stock cattle.”

“It’s tempting to switch to stock cattle.” Mr. James huffed. “Especially the way beef sales have slowed down. But we’re too small to catch their notice. The Walker Five could get into negotiations though.”

“I’ve put a bug in Caleb’s ear about it.” Brigit grinned. “Everyone thinks he’s laid-back, but when it comes to the ranch portion, he’s interested in expanding.”

“Good for him.”

“But between trying to build a house and balancing the ranch and his job, he’s a little stuck on what he’s able to do.” He wanted to do more with this place, and she had so many ideas. But it wasn’t her place.

Story of her life.

Mr. James nodded. Caleb’s financial dilemma was the story of a lot of ranchers’ lives. “I wish I could get to more ag shows in the winter, but it’s getting harder to travel. But you know how it goes. Moore’s too small to attract much of any workshops or conferences.”

Mr. James glanced at his wife and did a double take. The more the night went on, the less animated her features were. “It’s past our bedtime. What d’ya say, honey?” He didn’t wait for an answer but hopped up to help her stand. Arm in arm, they walked out of the shop. “You kids stay as long as you want. And don’t worry about the noise. Our neighbors moo all night.”

Brigit wandered over to the folding table, trying not to stare at the tender way Mr. James treated his wife. Her chest constricted. The Jameses were in it for the long haul, their lives and their careers in Moore.

Why hadn’t Brigit wanted that?

Right. CEO ambitions and all that—after the whole law school debacle.

Caleb pulled out the chair next to him. “Say the word and we’ll go. Farah and I are used to being up at all hours and we tend to keep Jesse past his bedtime.”

“I’m fine.” Brigit took her seat. This night was better than any bar she’d ever gone to.

Jesse had his arm slung across the back of Farah’s chair and she snuggled into him. Seeing how she acted around her fiancé made Brigit wonder how she’d ever thought Farah and Caleb had a thing for each other. They were close, but there was nothing physical between them.

Farah broke the silence. “Too bad Justin couldn’t make it, but he was always the mysterious one.”

“That’s a good word for it.” Brigit set her drink down. The others were looking at her, and just like that, any small talk skills she possessed vanished. These three were clearly good friends. She was the odd one out. Like always. Only Caleb didn’t overwhelm a conversation like Oliver had.

Caleb chuckled. “I don’t know what international marketing entails, but I think he’s really a secret agent still working out of Denver.”

“A secret agent sheep farmer?” Brigit asked.

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