Page 43 of Then You Happened
I need her to realize this is hers now.
Not Fletcher’s.
“I’m not on your side?” I ask. “I’m not here trying to turn your horseshit into diamonds for you?”
I stare at her proud shoulders and petite body, at the gray in her eyes and the wisps of hair that curl around her cheeks, at the swell of her breasts through her tank top and the tight fit of her jeans around her hips.
And I wonder how I can want her and not really like her at the same time.
Her unique beauty is undeniable, and I’m not sure I’d ever want to tame her temper or mood swings.
“I’ve been busting my ass nonstop for a year to try to make this work. I know I hired you to help, but it seems you spend more time questioning me than anything.”
“Maybe if you’d answer the questions, I’d stop asking them.”
“What’s the question this time?” She asks, but I doubt she’ll answer the one I’m going to ask.
“What’s your end game?”
“My end game?” she asks, that fire of hers faltering momentarily.
“Yeah, your end game. What is it you hope to get out of this? Make the ranch successful and sell it off? Make it profitable and live out your days here with a new husband and the two point five kids? Walk away in a month without a glance backward? What?”
Confusion flickers across her face followed by determination, but she doesn’t respond.
“You ever run a breeding ranch before? Have you ever even been to one before Fletcher bought this one?” I ask, switching gears.
“What’s your point?” Her hands are on her hips, and her lip is curled up in anger.
“How’d you learn to do all of this?” I point to the pasture bey
ond the stable and to the feed scoop in her hand. “If you never learned how to do all this, then how do you plan on succeeding?”
“He taught me a few things. Others I picked up from watching the hands we had. Some from research on the internet. I’m doing the best that I can.”
“How do you know you’re doing it right?” I push.
There it is . . . the look I knew she’d give me.
Insecurity, nice to fucking meet you. I’ve been waiting for you to show, waiting for her to acknowledge that you’re why she’s continually sabotaging my success.
So I push harder.
“Just how do you know you’re doing it right? Is it Fletcher’s fault you weren’t more prepared? Will it be his fault if this ranch fails? Will it, in part, be his achievement if it doesn’t?”
“I’ve got work to do.” She glares at me.
“It was Fletcher’s dream, wasn’t it?” I ask, ignoring her comment.
“This conversation has nothing to do with him.”
“Doesn’t it?” I chuckle and push her buttons again. “He brought you here and then screwed you over. No one would blame you for walking away. No one would blame you if the ranch failed. Hell, sell off the horses and give them a better life on some other ranch and you can move on.”
She growls out in frustration, and when I smile at her response, I swear to god she balls up her hands to punch me.
At least that would be more cathartic than screaming under water.
Does she not see what I see?
