Cowboy Strong. Stacy Finz
she was still seeing Danny Clay. Whether they were in love or just having sex.
Cheating sex.
“She seems nice,” Cash said.
Sawyer just shrugged and changed the subject. “Any news on Beals Ranch?”
Randy Beals, their neighbor, was upside down on his cattle spread. The Bealses and the Daltons had been friends for generations. But like everyone else who ran cattle in the Sierra foothills, the struggle to keep afloat during drought years was slowly killing them off. Unlike Grandpa Dalton, Randy had borrowed against his land to keep his operation alive instead of culling his herd. Now he couldn’t afford to pay the monthly mortgage bills.
“Haven’t heard anything,” Jace said. “I expect one day we’ll drive by and there’ll be a sold sign on the gate. What happens after that is anybody’s guess.”
“Anybody’s guess?” The vein in Sawyer’s neck pulsed. “What’ll happen is a big-ass development. You know it, Cash knows it, everyone on Dry Creek Road knows it.”
Cash let out a breath. “Not much we can do about it, Sawyer. It is what it is.”
“We can buy the damn place ourselves. Randy said he’d give us first dibs when he was talking about selling last winter.” But even as he said it, he knew how unrealistic it was. Beals Ranch was twice the size of Dry Creek Ranch and twice the price. They could barely afford the bills on what they already owned.
“Let me know when you win the lottery.” Jace sandwiched the burgers between buns and brought the tray to the trestle table, calling, “Food’s up.”
The kids raced over and Sawyer grabbed the medium rare burger and brought it to Gina. The steaks followed and everyone helped themselves to sides.
“Nice spread.” Gina sidled up next to Sawyer. “Does your family do this a lot?”
“Most Sundays, as long as everyone’s here. Jace is the county sheriff and Cash is an investigator for the Bureau of Livestock Identification, so they get called out fairly often.”
“What does a livestock investigator do?”
“Among other things, solve cattle rustling cases.”
“Is that even a thing outside of old Westerns?”
“Like I told you, beef is a billion-dollar business in California. So, yeah, stealing livestock is a thing.”
“No need to get huffy about it.”
“Huffy?” Sawyer quirked a brow. “There was nothing remotely huffy about that statement.”
“Good, then can I borrow your kitchen tomorrow?”
At least this time she was asking. “Why? You planning to go into the catering business now that you’re unemployed?”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I’m testing a new recipe and it took me two hours to bake a simple sponge cake in the cabin’s poor excuse of an oven.”
“Don’t show up before one. I’ve got writing to do.” If she was testing, he was tasting. A guy had to eat, right?
Chapter 4
Gina awoke to loud whoops and barks. For a second, she thought she’d died and gone to hell. Then she remembered where she was and realized she hadn’t died. But the rest of it was true.
It’s temporary, she reminded herself.
She crawled out of bed, padded to the window, and peeked through the blinds. In the distance, past the creek, close to a hundred cows lumbered across a field. Three men on horseback rode in formation, driving the cattle forward, whistling and shouting to keep them in line. Two dogs zigzagged in and out of the herd.
It was a sight to behold, even if it had roused her from a sound sleep. She stood at the window, watching. It was beautiful the way the cowboys seemed to have a sixth sense about which way the cows would move, turning their horses to and fro to keep the animals from straying. She’d never seen anything like it.
Gina grabbed her phone from the nightstand and wandered out onto the porch to snap a few pictures. She zoomed in with the lens and noticed that one of the cowboys was Sawyer. He didn’t look so surly on the back of a horse. No, he was actually smiling. And the cowboy hat…it was hot.
She was just about to post the picture to her Instagram account when she remembered that Wendy had warned her to stay off social media. So many haters had come out of the woodwork that she didn’t dare even lurk on Twitter or Facebook.
Her mother was probably laughing in her grave. How did someone like me wind up with someone like you? Gina forced her mother’s favorite refrain from her head and snapped a few more photos.
For the first time since she’d gotten here, she took the time to look around. Really look. The cabin was a squalid POS, but the land was gorgeous. The creek, the gentle rolling hills, the trees, and the mountains in the distance. And so green. Southern California was a sea of brown in July.
She looked for a place to sit to take it all in, started to take a spot on the upside-down wine barrel and thought better of it. All she had on was a nightshirt and the wood looked like it was splintering. Judging by the bottle rings on the oak, someone had been using it as beer rest, not a chair. Later, as soon as she showered and dressed, she’d do a little shopping on the Internet. Maybe buy a rocker.
The sun had made a full appearance, shining like a big orange ball in the sky. Gina went inside to look at the time. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. She thought about getting back in bed but was already wide awake.
She put a filter in the Mr. Coffee, scooped in some ground Starbucks, and flicked the switch. Another thing on her to-do list: Get a decent grind and brew and a bag of Italian beans. At least her trip to the Dry Creek Market would sustain her for a few days.
She searched through the cupboard until she found the powdered-sugar doughnuts she’d bought. They were a secret pleasure of hers, rooting back to when she was a kid and used to stash junk food under her bed.
While waiting for the coffee to brew, she jumped in the shower and dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. She mentally added jeans and a pair of sturdy hiking shoes or boots to her shopping list.
Last night, she’d felt like a colossal idiot in her Helmut Lang skirt and Fendi sling-backs. Had she lived in her own little bubble so long that she no longer knew how to dress appropriately to a family barbecue?
Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
Yet, everyone had been extraordinarily nice, especially Aubrey and Charlie. The two women had been kind enough not to mention Danny Clay and kept the conversation to cooking and ranch life. It was a relief to talk about something other than her imploding career.
The truth was Gina was so over herself that talking about Charlie and Jace’s upcoming wedding, about the women’s stepchildren—even about the weather—was a welcome relief. By the end of the evening, she’d so enjoyed herself that she’d forgotten to be miserable. Even Sawyer’s insistence that he drive her the short distance home hadn’t killed her buzz.
For all his dickness, he could be charming when he wanted to. She supposed a man who looked like Sawyer Dalton didn’t have to try too hard. He could scowl and hurl snarky one-liners all day long and still have women fawning over him like he was God’s gift to creation.
She hated men like that.
The coffee was done and she pulled out a mug she’d scoured after finding it hiding in the back of a cabinet. That was another thing she needed, dishes.
She sat at the table that had been left behind, dunked her doughnut in her coffee, and scrolled through her email.
So far, there weren’t any fires to put out. Then again, it wasn’t even nine yet.
She eyed the sad little cabin with distaste,