Page 10 of Ashes of the Past
How did I not know that Joanne’s brother was the same guy as the horse whisperer? This is insanity.
“My brother left town twelve or so years ago,” Joanne told me last week. “Our oldest brother was in a lot of gambling debt and addicted to drugs. Our nephew, Tate, had been taken by family services, and Jason and his girlfriend were trying to get clean. His girlfriend, Charlotte, got clean, and Jason didn’t. Jackstuck around to help Charlotte and ended up meeting his wife Savannah and settling down there.”
“Why is he coming back?”
“Tate is seventeen and has delayed entry to the Marine Corps. Savannah cheated on him with his best friend, so he needed a clean break.”
“Man, that’s awful. Hopefully, he’ll get that here. It’ll be nice for the kids that their uncle is close again,” I said.
“He’s going to be so helpful to you and your dad, Brynn. You’re going to love having him around, too.”
Anything is better than what we currently have happening, which is me handling everything.
I blow out a breath and come back to the present.
“Get in,” I snap, climbing into the driver’s seat of the UTV. My hands grip the wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles whitening as I glance his way. He’s standing there, arms crossed, looking as though he’s got all the time in the world. His dark jeans and faded shirt cling to his broad frame, annoyingly perfect for someone I want to despise.
Cowboy time. He’s not in any sort of hurry for anyone but the animals on the property. It’s maddening.
“You sure about that?” he drawls, one eyebrow quirking up. “Not sure women driving these things is the best idea. Could be dangerous.”
My jaw drops, and for a split second, I’m too stunned to speak. Then the fury bubbles up, hot and unstoppable.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you want to drive? Or would you rather sit there and mansplain the proper technique for pressing the gas pedal?”
He smirks, leaning casually against the side of the UTV. “Just saying, I’d hate for you to break a nail or something. But hey, your call.”
He cannot be this much of an asshole. Is he goading me?
“Get in, or I’m leaving you here,” I snap, my temper flaring like wildfire.
Jack chuckles, low and infuriating, before sliding into the passenger seat. He’s too big for the space—his knees brush the dashboard, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he leans back, resting one arm along the side rail, looking completely at ease. “All right, Brynn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
My teeth grind together as I start the engine, the growl of the motor matching my mood. Without a word, I press the gas harder than necessary, the tires spinning briefly before we lurch forward. He doesn’t flinch, his calm demeanor only fueling my irritation.
“So, is this the grand tour?” he asks, his voice annoyingly light. “Gotta say, I’ve had better introductions.”
I ignore him, focusing on the dirt path ahead. It’s bumpy, uneven, and littered with mud puddles from where the irrigation system was leaking.
Perfect.
I steer toward the first puddle, hitting it dead-on. Mud splashes up, coating his side of the vehicle. A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips.
“Nice aim,” he says, brushing a glob of mud off his arm. “You do that on purpose?”
“What? Me? Never,” I say innocently, keeping my eyes on the trail.
He chuckles again, the sound grating on my nerves. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not working. I’ve dealt with worse than a little mud.”
“Good to know,” I bite out, swerving slightly to hit another bump. The jolt sends him shifting in his seat, and I’m tempted to apologize. But then I remember the way he looked at me when he knocked me to the ground outside City Hall. No chance.
By the time we reach the north pasture, my irritation has morphed into a slow simmer. The sight of my dad and a few of the ranch hands standing around the irrigation system doesn’t help. They’re scratching their heads, clearly stumped, and my dad’s face lights up the moment he spots Jack.
“Jack! You made it!” Dad calls out, waving him over like he’s a long-lost friend.
Jack hops out of the UTV, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “John,” he says warmly, shaking my dad’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
They fall into easy conversation, laughing and talking like no time has passed. I stay by the UTV, my arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. My dad, the man who raised me to be cautious and discerning, is acting like Jack’s some kind of hero.
