Page 9 of Wrangling Nash

I nervously hoped it wasn’t Nash.

“Ah, that’d be Wylie, my oldest. He’s great with his hands and the animals though don't tell him I said that." He shot me a wink. "He’s going to take you through herd management tomorrow. I’m not sure what else he has in store for you this week, but I trust he’ll take good care of you.”

I nodded my head.

“Let’s hop on one of the gators, and I’ll take you around some of the property to show you where you’ll be working for the next year.”

Chapter 7: Jovie

Four hours and a detailed tour of the property later, I found myself secluded in my grandfather’s office nestled off the living room of his rancher, sorting through stacks of paperwork to attempt to comprehend how he managed everything.

Rig had mentioned that grandpa left me a meticulously crafted binder containing all accounts payable and receivable for the ranch, along with a list of weekly meetings he'd attended and duties that needed completed.

Fortunately, his organizational skills, a trait I inherited from him, proved beneficial. While the binder covered everything needed for ranch operations, I still lacked a comprehensive understanding of how all the elements interconnected, the answers to which I hoped were somewhere in his office or would be revealed to me during my training with Wylie this week.

I stood up to pour myself a glass of liquor and rummaged through the fridge for something to eat. Luckily, Gloria had prepared a few extra meals for my arrival this weekend. She had also left a sweet note expressing her excitement to meet me. I heated up a dish of penne and poured myself a glass of scotch from my grandpa’s personal stash.

Though not usually a scotch drinker, tonight, sitting at my grandpa’s big wooden desk, in his empty home, it felt like I was closer to him while I sipped it.

As I delved into the binder, focusing on a section detailing the rotational grazing plan, a noise from outside in the living room made me jump. Slowly, I stood up from my desk, walking towards my grandfather’s door and cracked it open. It was quieter now as I strained to listen.

“Hello?” I called out into the darkness, wishing I had a weapon in my hand. I knew living alone was going to be a problem, but I hadn’t anticipated an intruder on my first night here.

Suddenly, one of the back guest bedroom doors flew open, revealing a tall figure.

“Who the hell are you!?” I shouted, “There are security cameras in here!” I had no idea if my grandfather had security cameras in the home.

The man looked me up and down as a slow grin spread across his face.

“Oh, calm your tits, little Jovie. I know there aren’t cameras in here and I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” I stammered.

“Yes, scaredy pants, you’re just as jumpy as you were when you were five years old, and I threw that snakeskin on you.” He stated as he crossed the space and brushed past me into my grandfather’s office, plopping down in one of the seats.

What the hell?

“I’m guessing you’re one of Rig’s sons?” I sighed.

“Sure am, and the most handsome one out of the bunch. I’m Wylie,” he said, reaching his hand across the desk from where I now sat.

I placed my hand in his, assessing the oldest brother of the Cameron family. Wylie had deep brown, almost black hair, and bright green eyes with the slightest scruff on his cheeks. He was certainly handsome just like Nash, but there was something devilish behind the smile he wore and twinkle in his eyes.

“Um… hi. Rig mentioned you would be helping me this week, but I hadn’t expected to see you so soon. It’s still Sunday night.”

He grinned. “Our ranch is over 30 miles away, and even going 100 miles per hour in my truck, it still takes 15 minutes to get here, and frankly, I’m not waking up any earlier than I already have to wake up to help you. I’ll be sleeping here during the weeks we work together. I figured you have a couple spare bedrooms and wouldn’t mind.”

I guess that makes sense, and it will be nice not to stay here alone.

“Sure, I suppose that makes sense.” I responded.

“Whatcha drinking?” He pointed to my glass.

“Johnnie Walker, you want a glass?”

He stood, grabbed a glass from the kitchen, and sunk back down into the chair as I reached across the desk and poured him some.

“So, what time do we start tomorrow?” I asked.

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