Page 16 of Stuff My Turkey
Buck's face darkened. "Customers don't give a damn about 'heritage breeding' or whatever hippie nonsense you're peddling. They just want meat for their Thanksgiving table."
"Some customers care about quality," I interjected. "And ethical farming practices."
Buck's attention swung back to me, his smile turning predatory. "That right? You one of them activists? Because your boyfriend here kills birds for a living, same as me."
I felt Heath stiffen beside me.
"There's a difference between sustainable farming and factory operations," I said coolly. "And if you can't see that, I'm not surprised you're struggling to stay relevant in a changing market."
Buck's eyes narrowed. "Feisty. I like that in a woman." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If you ever get tired of playing cowgirl with McGraw here, come see a real rancher sometime. I'll show you how a man treats a lady."
Heath was on his feet in an instant. "That's enough, Jessup. Time for you to go."
"Making conversation," Buck said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But his smirk told a different story. "No need to get territorial."
"My property, my rules," Heath said, his voice deceptively calm. "And rule number one is respecting my girlfriend."
Girlfriend. Even knowing it was part of our charade, the possessive edge in Heath's voice sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
Buck rose slowly. "Didn't mean no disrespect." He tipped his hat to me. "Ma'am."
Heath escorted him firmly to the door. Through the window, I watched Buck's truck pull away, then stop at the end of the drive.
"His truck is still here," I said, frowning.
"Probably trying to scope out my breeding stock without permission. He's been trying to copy my program since I started it," Heath said, grabbing his hat. "I'd better make sure he's not causing trouble. Be right back."
As soon as Heath stepped outside, I collapsed onto the couch with a sigh of relief. "Well, that was awful," I said to the empty room. "Does he always look at women like they're prime rib?"
Heath returned a few minutes later, looking irritated. "He claims he was just checking his phone, but I wouldn't put it past him to be snooping around."
"Buck looks at everything like it's something he wants to possess," Heath continued, pacing the room. "The ranch, the Vickerys' investment, you."
"Good thing none of those are actually available to him," I replied, straightening a couch pillow. "Though I suppose our relationship isn't actually real either."
Heath stepped closer, his voice dropping. "It needs to look real enough to convince everyone, including Buck. Especially now. If he thought for a second this was an arrangement, he'd use it against us with the Vickerys to try to convince them to invest in his place rather than ours."
"Don't worry, I'm committed to the charade," I assured him. "Hosting Thanksgiving while pretending we’re madly in love, and then my legal career stays intact."
"And my dreams of expansion come true," Heath agreed.
A shadow passed by the side window, and Heath frowned.
"What?" I asked.
"Thought I saw something." He crossed to the window and looked out. "Buck's truck is still here. He's probably checking out the propagation pens without permission."
Heath grabbed his hat. "I'd better go make sure he's not causing trouble. Stay inside."
After confirming Buck had finally left the property, the rest of the day unfolded in a more peaceful rhythm. Heath had ranch work to attend to, and I spent a few hours catching up on emails, making sure my absence from the office wouldn't derail any ofmy cases. By late afternoon, we found ourselves back in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
Heath fired up the grill on the back porch to cook burgers and hot dogs, while I tackled side dishes. I found potatoes and onions in the pantry, beans in the cupboard. The refrigerator yielded cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.
The November chill had crept in through the kitchen windows, but between the grill's heat and the oven, we'd created a pocket of warmth that made the approaching winter feel distant.
"Is macaroni and cheese okay with you?" I called through the open window. "I can actually make that without burning down your kitchen."
"Sounds perfect," Heath replied, flipping burgers with practiced ease. "There's a recipe card in that tin by the breadbox. My mom's specialty."
