Page 9 of Awaiting the Storm
“Is that right?” he replies. “I guess my mother instilled better manners in me than that.”
I raise an eyebrow at his veiled insult.
The corners of his mouth lift in a grin, like he’s used to being challenged and he doesn’t mind the taste of it. “Just wanting to be friendly—that’s all.”
“Right,” I say. “Well, you’ve made friends with our owner. Guess that’s a start.”
Daddy clears his throat. “Matty—”
“I should get Luna cooled down and rubbed out before she stiffens up,” I cut in. “Long ride this morning.”
“Of course,” Caison says, stepping back. “Don’t let me keep you.”
He says it like a gentleman, but something tells me he’s anything but.
I lead Luna toward the barn, not looking back. I can feel his eyes on me though. The prickle down my spine doesn’t ease until I’m inside and out of sight.
I finish tending to Luna, brushing her down and checking her hooves. I move slower than usual, giving our visitor plenty of time to get gone.
Caison Galloway.
The name sounds like it belongs in a banking firm, not on a ranch. And yet he looks like he could throw a hay bale if he had a mind to. Or fight someone who tried to take it from him. I don’t trust him. Maybe it’s the way he looked and talked—the way he looked at me. Maybe it’s who he works for.
Ironhorse Ranch doesn’t need friends. It needs people to bend to its will. That’s what Holland Ludlow’s always wanted. And if Caison’s here to play nice before he makes a move on Wildhaven Storm … well, he’s going to find out real quick that Storms don’t bend.
Especially not me.
By the time I walk back up to the house, Daddy’s alone again. He’s leaning on the porch rail, watching the sky.
“He leave?” I ask, stepping up beside him.
“Just now. Said he’ll be back sometime next week. Wanted to walk the western pastures. Said he’s looking to expand.”
I stiffen. “Expand where?”
“Didn’t say.”
“He didn’t have to.”
Daddy sighs. “Matty …”
“I know what Ludlow’s about, Daddy, and so do you. And I also know he didn’t hire someone like Galloway just to walk the fences.”
“You just met the fella. You don’t know him yet.”
“I know enough. You don’t wear loafers out here. You wear them to office meetings. He’s not a rancher; he’s a businessman. And I don’t trust suits.”
He laughs at that. “Well, maybe he’s not as green as he looks. Said he worked on a ranch in Texas before moving to Ironhorse. Was in cattle and land development.”
“Land development,” I repeat. “Again, that’s not ranching. That’s salesmanship.”
“He knew his way around herd logistics—I’ll give him that. Spoke real clear about rotational grazing, herd dispersal, drought mitigation …”
“Which means he’s educated and read a few books and memorized the bullet points.”
Daddy looks at me. “You’re always so quick to judge. I have no idea where you get that from.”
“When Ludlow’s involved? Yeah. I’m suspicious, and you should be too.”
