Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You are not staying in the house.”
“Then point me to your guest rooms… Oh wait, that’s why I’m here. I guess I am staying in the house. And you are going to accept it.”
I stepped forward, almost growling in my anger. I jabbed my finger at her. “I don’t fuck—”
The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the porch, Sammy bent over me, smiling down sweetly. “Careful, Luke. I have a protective father and an uncle who made sure every girl in my family could defend themselves from men who like to point their fingers and talk down to them. Never mind about showing me to my room. I’ll figure it out. I’ll leave the equipment box in the kitchen. I’ll need it later.”
She stood and brushed off her hands, looking around. “What a gorgeous place you have here. I’m looking forward to working with you!”
She took her suitcase and rolled it into the house, never looking back.
I blinked.
What the hell just happened?
I headed to the small space I used as an office. When I’d grown up here, this was my mom’s room. She sewed in here all the time. Constantly adjusting hems, patching shirts, pants, recycling flour sacks into aprons, dish towels, whatever other inventive idea she came up with. Rachel could hem a pair of pants and stitch a seam closed, but that was it. I only used a needle and thread if an animal was injured. I doubted I could sew anything.
The room had sat empty for a long time until we cleaned it out and I began using it as an office. There was a lot more paperwork now than there had been in my dad’s era. He used to have an old accordion file box he kept all his papers in, and he would sit at the kitchen table at night with my mom and do anything required, then file it away or give it to her to deliver or take into town to copy. Nowadays, a computer was a must, plus a printer. And still, my filing wasn’t done. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
I sat down at my desk, feeling tired and far older than my forty years. I looked around the room—the walls needing painting, the boxes of unfiled papers overflowing. Instead of agreeing to Rachel’s idea of using the ranch as a tourist destination to bring in extra revenue, I should have sold some of the land and used that money to hire an assistant and purchase some more dairy cows.
Except the thought of selling land that had been in my family for generations sickened me. Knowing the land would be turned into housing or, worse yet, industry, destroying all the peace and tranquility of the area and upsetting the ecosystem—I simply couldn’t do it. I had to figure out a way of making it work. Keeping the land, the ranch.
For whom? a small voice in my head whispered, but I ignored it. Rachel was getting married, and I knew they planned on having children soon. Her fiancé’s farm butted up against our land on one side. The ranch would go to their offspring, and they would keep it going. They would be part Adler, and that was good enough. I doubted I would ever marry or even settle down. Children were not an option. That chance had come and gone, and my life was the ranch and running it. Saving it for the next generation.
A noise brought me out of my thoughts, and I lifted my head.
Sammy was in the kitchen, no doubt getting something to eat.
What the hell was I going to do about her?
She was right. I had signed a contract. I sat back, rubbing my face in vexation. Maybe leaving her stranded at the airport hadn’t been the best move. Or being rude to her. My mom always said you attracted more flies with honey than vinegar. Perhaps if I sat and talked to her, calmly, we could reach an understanding and she would agree to leave.
I would have to apologize. That was something that didn’t come easily to me. Stubborn, my mom used to say. Pigheaded, Rachel insisted. She was probably more accurate.
My phone rang, and I answered it when I saw it was Rachel.
“Hey, Rachel. How’s Tyler?”
“Out of surgery and in recovery. Stable,” she replied, her voice strained with relief.
“Good.”
“I’m staying here.”
“I understand.”
“I need you to handle Sammy.”
Handle her? I doubted my sister would want to know how I wanted to handle her.
I drew in a deep breath. “Do we really need her, Rach? Is this idea solid? I mean—”
She cut me off, sounding exasperated. “Yes, we do, and yes, it is. It’s expand what the ranch does, or sell some of the land or the entire thing, Luke. You agreed to this. Why are you being so obstinate suddenly?”