Page 15 of Ashes of the Past
“What do you want, Jack?” I snap, too tired to play nice.
He raises an eyebrow. “I heard about the fence problem. Thought I’d come help.”
“I don’t need help,” I say, slamming the truck’s tailgate shut. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Sure, you do,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Because everything’s been running so smoothly around here.”
I whirl on him, my fists clenched. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but this is my family’s ranch. I’ve been running it just fine without you.”
He steps closer, his gaze locking with mine. “If by ‘just fine,’ you mean barely holding it together, then yeah, you’re doing a bang-up job.”
The tension crackles between us, sharp and electric. I’m so angry I can hardly see straight, but beneath the anger is something else—something I don’t want to name.
“Get in or get out of the way,” I say through gritted teeth, climbing into the truck.
To my surprise, he climbs into the passenger seat without another word. As I pull onto the dirt road, the silence between us is thick enough to choke on. But as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that’s glad he’s here. Because, for all his arrogance and infuriating attitude, Jack Renfrew knows his way around a ranch. And right now, I’ll take all the help I can get—even if it comes from the last person I want to rely on.
He’s arrogant, unbending, and infuriatingly good at making me second-guess myself. And yet, there’s something about him that gets under my skin in a way I can’t quite shake. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, like he’s been through hell and has come out the other side. Or maybe it’s the way he looks at me likehe wants to devour me, and my stupid body goes weak like that would be a great idea.
The truck bounces over the rutted dirt road. My knuckles are white against the steering wheel, and my stomach churns with a mix of anxiety and irritation. Jack sits in the passenger seat, his arms crossed, his sharp brown eyes scanning the landscape like a hawk. He hasn’t said much since we left the barn, but the tension radiating off him is almost suffocating.
When we reach the stretch of fence I’ve been dreading, my heart sinks. The damage is even worse than I remember. The top wire is completely snapped in several places, the posts leaning like drunken soldiers. It’s obvious the fence has been like this for a while—weeks, maybe longer. Jack’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence, and when I glance at him, his expression is a mixture of shock and disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, climbing out of the truck before I can even kill the engine.
I follow him, the gravel crunching under my boots as I approach the mangled fence. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I cross my arms tightly over my chest, trying to shield myself from the inevitable storm.
He turns to me, his jaw tight. “How long has it been like this?”
I shrug, my gaze fixed on a patch of dried grass by my feet. “I don’t know. A while.”
“A while?” His voice is sharp, and when I look up, his eyes are blazing. “Why the hell hasn’t it been fixed?”
“I haven’t had time to get to it,” I say, the words tumbling out defensively.
He lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. “You haven’t had time? You’ve got five ranch hands, Brynn. Five. They should be checking this fence daily and fixing it on the spot. Why haven’t they fixed it?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The truth lodges in my throat like a burr, and I know it’ll only make things worse. He doesn’t need to hear that I’ve been doing most of the work myself because it’s easier that way. I can’t stand waiting for the ranch hands to move at their own pace when there’s so much to be done. That trusting anyone else to do the job right feels like a gamble I can’t afford to take.
He shakes his head disgustedly. “You’re not doing anyone a damn bit of good if you’re paying those ranch hands for the work that you’re doing yourself. Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
“I know how it sounds,” I snap, my embarrassment morphing into anger. “But it’s my family’s ranch, Jack. I’ll run it how I see fit.”
He steps closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over me. “It’s falling apart. You’re running yourself into the ground, and for what? To prove you can do it all on your own?”
I glare at him, my fists clenching at my sides. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything riding on you. To feel like if you stop for even a second, the whole damn thing will fall apart.”
Whoa, where did that all come from?
“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back. “You’re the one who refuses to ask for help. You’re the one who thinks you have to do everything yourself.”
“Because I do!” My voice cracks, and I hate the way it betrays me. “If I don’t, who will? The ranch hands don’t give two shits if this place fails; they’ll just move on to the next ranch. My dad certainly can’t do it by himself. If I want Olivia to have any sort of legacy, itisall on me.”
His eyes narrow. But instead of firing back, he turns abruptly and starts unloading tools from the back of the truck. “Fine. Let’s fix it.”
I hesitate, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. But I can’t afford to waste time. I grab a pair of gloves and follow him to the fence, the silence between us crackling with unspoken tension.
We work in tandem, our movements efficient despite the undercurrent of frustration. I hold the posts steady while he hammers them back into place. He stretches new wire while I secure it to the posts, my fingers fumbling slightly as I try to keep up with his brisk pace.
