Page 1 of Unexpected Sweetheart
Ryan
The scent of hay, dirt, and manure burns in my nostrils as I finish mucking out the horse stalls.I certainly don’t miss this.I hang the shovel up on the barn’s wall, and pick up the curry comb so I can get to work on my favorite mare, Comet. She was my horse after Dad rescued her back when I was still in high school. We only got one summer together, and she was scared of almost anyone except for me. So, we developed a special bond, and somehow, it’s still there all these years later, like she waited for me to come back home for her. She's quite honestly the only thing I ever missed about this place, and as I switch to the stiff bristle brush and carefully sweep it over her shiny coat, I can’t help but wish there was space for this girl in my city apartment. Out of my father’s entire estate, she’s the only thing I’d like to keep.Maybe I can stable her somewhere close by to visit her often?
I let out a sigh as I realize how out of my reach doing something like that is. Before my father passed away, and I learned how in debt he actually was, I was quite comfortable and had these things called savings. But now…I’m at the end of my ability to pay the rent on my apartmentandkeep this place going. I’ve sold off what I can, but I need a buyer for the ranch and fast, otherwise I’m likely to lose everything I’ve worked for. Not to mentionmy jobif I don’t get back to the city soon.
“Hup.” I run my hand down Comet’s hind leg and lean into her side, causing her to lift her hoof so I can clear out any dirt or gravel lodged in there. She knows the drill and patiently waits for me to run the pick around the shoe and either side of the frog. I may have grown up on this ranch and know how to run horses and take care of the cattle and the land from here to Sunday, but I’m no rancher—that was my father. Me, I’m a financial analyst, and it’s time for me to go back to my own life. It’s time for me to say goodbye—to the ghost of my father’s expectations, to the ranch, to Comet…
Gently wiping a damp cloth over her face to finish up, I press my forehead against the old girl’s face and let out my umpteenth sigh of the day. “I wish things were different, girl. But they’re just not.” She nickers, a soft kind of purring sound that I like to take to mean she understands me, but half the time it means, ‘where’s my food?’
I give her a gentle pat then exit the stall momentarily, returning to dump a bunch of feed in Comet’s trough and offer her a carrot as a treat. She gives me an appreciative grunt as she takes it, munching away like a little kid with a packet of gummies.
“You know this is a have to, not a want to situation, right?” I say to her as I latch the door of her stall closed. She blows out some air, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “Yeah. Me neither.”
With a sigh, I move on to the remaining three horses. The barn holds ten, but in the last month I've sold six of them. Ever so slowly, I’ve let go of anything with value just so I can keep making the repayments on the over-draughts on this place. My father was excellent at helping other people’s kids find their way in life—which is what this ranch was used for—but he wasn't the greatest at keeping his books. He was in debt up to his eyeballs when he died, which means that nowI’min debt up to my eyeballs.Thanks, Dad.
"How’s it going, boy?" I ask as I scratch the top of the dark gelding’s head. His name is Shadow because of his pitch-black coloring. He’s small and docile, so he's a great starter horse for anyone who doesn't know how to ride. But he's not much of a workhorse which is what people are looking for in these parts. I'm worried I won't be able to re-home him. Just like I'm worried I won't be able to re-home Comet either. Comet is too old, and Shadow is too small. Still, I know I can't keep them. I simply don’t have the means, and I honestly don’t know how my father kept this place going for so long. It’s like he was paying his bills with nothing more than grit and determination, the only two worthwhile things I inherited from him. Not that my father saw it that way. He thought I didn’t have enough of a heart, a shitty analogy since my mother died from heart complications when I was only three.
I probably sound like a total ass with the way I talk about my past. Some days, I definitely feel like one. I'm the only child of a man who spent more time caring about children who weren’t his than he did about me. Everyone’s problems were always bigger than my own, and I constantly felt shoved aside, no better than a ranch hand.
Sniffing, I wipe my forearm across my face before I run the wide-toothed comb through Shadow’s mane.These things always get so tangled.
No matter how I feel about the man now, he was still my dad, and I have to accept the shitty feeling that comes from knowing that I’m tearing apart his life's work, selling the place I grew up in—the only place on this earth I have memories of my mother.
Maybe I’m not trying hard enough to save it.
Maybe I just don’t want to.
I left Sweetheart, Colorado, a long, long time ago with a view of never coming back. I was done with being a disappointment. Done feeling like I was the last thing on this earth my father cared about. But, of course, the past has a way of sneaking up on us when we least expect it, just when we think it won't affect us anymore, it rears its ugly head and forces us to return to our roots, face the life we didn't want, and make peace with our sins.
With big, long strokes, I run the soft brush down Shadow’s back and over her side flank, rhythmic movements that are as ingrained in me as breathing is. Growing up on this ranch was hard work. My father believed in earning your keep and said things like ‘no rest for the wicked’, and ‘idle hands are the devil’s playthings’. I got up before the sun, and I sat down again after the wolves started howling. And each night when I was lying in bed, I swore that this would not be my life. Which is why I worked so hard at school and got a scholarship to the best college I could manage. When I finished, I was up to my eyeballs in student loans, but I got myself a job then I got myself a series of promotions, and now I'm one of the city’s best financial analysts with a plush apartment with a great view, the latest car and gadgets and free time on my hands—not a lot, but more than I ever had before. However, I've never been able to quit waking up before the sun. That part of ranch life never could leave me. And now that I’ve been sucked back into the vortex that is this ranch, I don’t have the car or those gadgets anymore. I’m barely managing to keep hold of my apartment. Pretty soon, I’ll have to let that go too, and the ranch will be all there is.
"Here you go, boy," I say, holding out the carrot as Shadow munches down. He whinnies and nods, making me smile as I back out of his stall and close the gate.
I repeat the same process on the last couple of horses, then do a final sweep of the barn and head outside, tugging off my gloves and taking a long drink of cool water. Despite the cold weather, mucking out stalls and grooming the horses is sweaty work. And that's on top of feeding the remaining cattle, irrigating the meadows, and checking the grass levels in the pasture. What's left here is manageable for one person—for now. Even if I could afford it, this isn't something I can do indefinitely, a point I made abundantly clear at my meeting with Emma fromA Plus Realtorsearlier today. I have maybe thirty days of grace left before Ineedto get back to Sacramento or my job will be gone too. I’m telecommuting at half pay to keep my position and some sort of cash flow, but that can’t go on indefinitely.Mylife is currently in free fall because this ranch just couldn’t leave me the hell alone. I’ve gotta do something to dig my way out of this before I’m right back at the beginning, stuck on this ranch with nothing. I worked so hard to get out of here. At the same time, I can’t give up and walk away. I need to save this place, make sure it continues for future generations. Just because I don’t want to be here, doesn’t mean I don’t care about what the ranch stood for.
Frustration heating my blood, I turn around and kick the barn door, breaking a chunk of wood off the bottom of it and hurting my toe in the process. “Fuck!” I kick it again. If I have to fix it, I may as well give it hell and feel better at the end of it.Seems I have unresolved anger issues.
Just as I calm the fuck down and wipe my chin of the water that escaped my mouth, the sound of crunching gravel pulls my attention toward the house. A big black limousine with tinted windows and a high-shine wax coating idles out the front. Something like this can mean only one of two things—some higher-up from the bank is coming out here to pressure me for more money, or some rich asshole thinks he can come out here, buy our land and build a bunch of condos on it. Neither of those things is happening on my watch.
While I fully intend to sell this ranch to the first suitable buyer, I’m not willing to hand it off to just anyone. The buyer needs to be a rancher and use the land as it was intended. I know, I know, beggars can’t be choosers. But that’s precisely why, three months after my father’s passing, I’m still stuck here playing at being a rancher in Sweetheart, Colorado, while my life in Sacramento becomes a distant memory I’m desperately trying to hold on to.
Shoving my gloves into my back pocket, I head over to where the limo is waiting, slowing my pace as I approach. The driver gets out of his door and gives me a curt nod before he walks to the back and opens it up. Some guy in a suit that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe gets out and smooths a pinky-ring-wearing hand over thinning black hair. I remove my hat to be polite.
"You own this place?" he asks, his voice like gravel.
"That depends..." I meet his eyes and give him a long, stern look before continuing, "What's your business here?"
The slimy rich guy grins. "Sweetheart Mountain Ranch,” he says. "A working camp that promises to straighten out your wayward youth." He’s quoting information from the website. The website where it clearly states that we are no longer taking bookings.
"We’re closed."
"I booked months ago. You weren't closed then."
"I don't have any record of a booking," I say, placing my hands on my hips as I glare back at the man. He thinks I'm a simple-minded rancher, but no rancher is simple-minded. And neither is a financial analyst. I've dealt with the likes of him enough times to know that I'm about to be ‘persuaded’ by whatever power he feels he has.Fuck that.
“Well, I happen to have"—he reaches into his pocket.Here it comes—"a booking confirmation and receipt that says I did."Oh, shit!That'snotwhat I was expecting him to pull from his pocket.Goddamnit, Dad. How can one man be so horrible at keeping records?
I take the slip of paper he offers me and study it before shoving it in my back pocket. "Listen, the man you made that booking with has passed away. I'm his son. And I'm just here sorting out his estate. The ranch is no longer running the way it was. And I'm sorry you had to come all this way to find that out. But if you go toThe Stopand tell them Ryan Oakley sent you, a lady called Alice will make sure you get a good meal before the journey home. That's the best I can do."
