Page 17 of Then You Happened
“We may be simple folk here, but we don’t take being insulted lightly.” He holds his hand up when I start to argue. “I know. You didn’t mean any harm by the article, but opinions have been formed.”
“And, apparently, they can’t be unformed.” I sigh in frustration, and Rusty nods without expressing an opinion. “The complaints are bullshit, Rusty. You know that. I know that. I’m not going to let them push me out, and I’m not going to tolerate being harassed.”
“I know.” He shifts his hat from one hand to the next and then places it back on his head. “But I still have to investigate all the same. The anonymous caller stated that you have a lame mare that you aren’t getting the proper care for.”
I laugh. “Apparently, I have a lot of lame mares considering less than half of them are pregnant.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Of course, he’s heard. Everyone’s probably heard about how Tatum Knox took over her dead husband’s ranch and doesn’t know how to run it any better than her husband did.
Just another thing for this damn town to gossip over. Just another instance where they think Karma has worked her magic.
I look down at my scuffed boots and then back up at him. “What is it you need so you can go back to doing the real crime fighting?” Sarcasm laces my tone, and I don’t try to hide it.
“Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“Be my guest.”
Rusty walks down toward the stables, poking his head here and there. Pushing open doors to see what’s inside. He pauses briefly to talk to some of the horses, his hand automatically sliding up and down their noses in greeting before he passes on to the next one.
“See anything amiss?” I ask when he seems to have reached the end of his half-assed search. “All horses standing? Fed? Healthy?”
“Everything looks good to me. You’ve got some great-looking ladies out there.” He lifts his chin to the pasture where a few of the mares are out roaming. “You’re thin on stock, though,” he says, reminding me of those first few months of chaos after Fletcher died.
When I was so lost in simply trying to get through the next second, the next moment, the next day because I’d been so swamped in grief that I let my storage rooms almost run bare. And then, just when I thought I might be able to breathe again, I was hit with the truth about what Fletcher had done. I was forced to figure out just how in the hell I was not only going to make it through the next day but also how I was going to keep this place afloat.
“You planning on bringing some new mares in here or are you going to keep some of the foals when they’re born so you have more to work with going forward?” he asks, his tone genuine, as if he’s interested in my future plans. All I really hear is the reminder of just how few horses I’m housing, which is nowhere near enough to maintain a breeding ranch’s standard.
“I’m working on figuring all of that out. Finding someone who can come in here and tell me if it’s better to keep the foals or to sell them and use the money to secure better bloodlines. Obviously, what we’ve—I’ve done in the past hasn’t worked, so we’ll see. Regardless, I need more mares for breeding. I need to build up my stock . . . my reputation”
“But more horses mean more work and more work—”
“Means needing more staff.” I lift my eyebrows, trying to figure out where he’s going with this. I laugh disbelievingly and cross my arms over my chest. “Hell, Rust, maybe this is fate’s way of telling me I don’t know shit about being a breeder and I need to just sell this place and walk away.” My chest constricts at the thought.
“And let them win?” Rusty slides a glance my way with only the slightest turn of his head. It’s the first and only time I’ve ever heard him say anything close to supportive. “You don’t believe you should do that anymore than I do.”
I shrug, a little surprised and a lot relieved. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It isn’t as if I can do anything right these days.”
He rests his arms on the white railing and purses his lips as he looks out at the horses in front of him. The whole perfect picture is framed by the trees behind them. “Permission to be frank?” he asks without taking his focus from the pasture in front of us.
“This isn’t the army. You don’t have to ask to speak.”
“True, but it isn’t my place either.”
I stare at his profile and wonder why it seems as if I’m spilling my soul to Deputy Chatsworth. Maybe because he’s the first person in forever besides Sheryl who actually seems like they understand.
“What is it, Rusty?”
“You’ve pissed a lot of people off.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I joke.
“Quite possibly, you’ve got some disgruntled employees.”
“Hence, why they no longer work for me.”
“True, but no one works for you now. You’ve run them all off.”
