Page 8 of A Cowboy to Call Her Own

Asher rolled his eyes even though he was alone. The only person who worked more than him was his boss. He asked, “Would you give me access to my work email if I told you I was home? Back in Gold Finch, Kentucky.”

“No,” Pierce replied flatly and without hesitation. “I would tell you to find your cowboy boots and get on with vacationing.”

That was the problem. Asher was not sure how toget onin Gold Finch. He was much better atgetting gone. He sighed, loudly and irritably.

“You’ll thank me for this.” Pierce chuckled and added, “No more work texts, either. Send me a photo of you on a horse if you feel the need to text me.” With that last order, his boss ended the call.

Asher parked in the horseshoe-shaped driveway and reached for his cell phone. Only there were no unanswered work emails to distract him. He snatched the coffee cup from the console and finished the last of it in one swallow. He should have lingered at the diner. Accepted Kelley’s breakfast offer. But he was not home to reconnect, especially not with an intriguing cowgirl chef.

Silence crowded around him. His thoughts tumbled. And suddenly, the already compact rental car became all that much smaller. Asher got out. Only now he was in a face-off with the sprawling single-story ranch house where he’d grown up.

The family rambler needed a fresh coat of paint. The garden beds a good weeding. He’d bet the last brick on the second step of the front porch was still loose. Same as it had been since his twin knocked it loose trying a new trick on his skateboard when they were kids. Their father had assumed Asher was the careless one and the brothers hadn’t bothered to correct him. Asher blocked the memory before it could trip into another and then another. He was not there to revisit his childhood, either.

Asher eyed the front entrance. On the other side of the ornate wood double doors was a decades-long collection of family photographs decorating every available space on the foyer walls and extending into the hallway. Short of closing his eyes, there would be no way to escape walking through snapshots of favorite family moments on his route to the kitchen.

An ache built inside his chest. Making him realize he wasn’t quite as numb as he pretended to be.

Asher veered toward the stone path that led to the detached garages and back door for quick access to the mudroom and far fewer painful flashbacks. Besides, it wasn’t like Walter was there to stop him. That ache expanded.

One rap of his knuckles on the glass pane in the back door, Asher stepped inside and was officially home. He braced his legs wide and waited for that sadness to engulf him. It saturated the very air the last time Asher was there for his twin’s funeral eight years ago. Back then he had struggled to draw a decent breath around the tightness in his chest. Now the air was tinged with a distinct bitterness.

Asher inhaled. Not bitter but rather burnt. He sniffed again. Definitely a burning smell.

Hurrying into the kitchen, Asher found his father’s cousin, Elias Blackwell, and his father’s best friend, Joe Allcott, eyeing a smoking toaster on the kitchen island. Asher asked, “Everyone okay in here?”

“We’re fine, but I can’t say the same for the toast.” Big E frowned and used a pair of tongs to fish out a blackened piece of bread. Shaking his head, Big E chuckled. “I believe this toaster is more vintage than me.”

Joe coughed and waved his arm, dispersing the smoky air wafting from the toaster. “Walter was never much for unnecessary upgrades, especially if they didn’t benefit the stables.”

The horses always came before everyone and everything in Walter Blackwell’s heart and mind. There simply was very little space left for anything else. Especially a son who refused to bend to his father’s wishes.You’re a Blackwell, Asher. It’s time to see if you can prove you know what that means.Asher knocked the past aside and moved farther into the kitchen.

Joe made his way around the island, shook Asher’s hand then added, “Looks like you made it without any issues.”

The only issue was Asher suddenly second-guessing his decision to come home. What help could he possibly offer? And judging from Joe’s cool reception, his father’s best friend and the stable’s longtime manager was thinking along the same lines. Asher cleared his throat and said, “It’s good to see you, Uncle Joe.”

Joe only gave a small chin dip in acknowledgment of the Blackwell boys’ endearing name for him.

Now Asher knew where he stood. That was to be expected. Joe always sided with his father for as long as Asher could remember.

Big E tossed the toast into the sink and wiped his palms on a towel. Then he shook Asher’s hand and drew him in for a quick, albeit hearty welcome-home embrace. Big E grinned and said, “You’re taller than I remember, son.”

“My mom called me a late bloomer,” Asher replied.

Freshman year of college Asher finally grew tall enough to look his twin in the eyes, and suddenly it became even more challenging to tell the identical twins apart. Of course, Dylan and Asher used that to their advantage and enjoyed more than one laugh when they had confused friends and family over the years. What he wouldn’t give for a twin swap right about now. That ache built again.

Asher flattened his palm on the butcherblock countertop decades past its prime and anchored himself in the present. So much time to heal and yet Asher still missed his twin on the daily. He asked, “Did we miss the staff breakfast already?”

“This is breakfast.” Joe frowned and added, “Vicky was poached by Sully over at Connelly Stables. She gave her notice last night. The crew is eating donuts this morning.”

But Vicky was a staple around the ranch and known for her extensive culinary creativity with a Crock-Pot. There was not a meal Asher could recall that hadn’t been served in a Crock-Pot of some sort whenever Vicky was on duty. And Asher was always elected the taste tester by his brothers. He scratched his cheek. “What now?”

“Can you cook, son?” Big E asked, hope in his steely gaze.

“Not well enough to feed an entire stable of employees.” His lack of skill aside, the more pressing problem was the collection of outdated appliances and whether any even worked properly. Given the state of the toaster, Asher was betting no.

Joe crunched on the last of his toast and added, “Unfortunately, we’ve lost more employees than Vicky to our rivals recently.”

No surprise there. Cheating allegations tended to spook both the clients and the staff. He looked from Joe to Big E and asked, “How bad is it?”