Page 19 of Wrangling Nash

“I’m surprised he had the time to worry about you if he was out on a date,” I remarked casually.

Clay waved his hand dismissively. “Nash might go on dates here and there, but he’s never serious about the girls and doesn’t ever bring them home. I think he does it to appease Wylie and Lana who always want to double date. Most of the time, Wylie and Lana end up dumping Nash and his date before the first bar.”

Interesting.

“Has he always been that protective of you?” I asked, finding myself increasingly interested in the enigmatic Nash Cameron. I cracked four eggs into the frying pan that I warmed up and arranged bacon on a tray for the oven. I pressed the coffee maker causing it to come to life in the hope it would ease our hangovers.

“Just since Mom passed. I think he kicks himself for not moving back to Lonestar Junction sooner, but we all dealt with her passing differently. I understand why he wanted to stay away.”

I nodded, absorbing Clay’s words. I realized, there was still a lot I didn’t know or understand about Nash Cameron, but I hoped I’d find out soon.

“I’m going to go shower and try to sober up. Thanks for making breakfast, Jovie.” Clay spoke as he kissed my cheek and retreated to the guestroom.

The rest of Sunday passed with less chaos as Clay and I shared breakfast and lunch, nursed our hangovers, and then spent the day lounging by the pool getting to know each other better. The youngest of the Cameron brothers was funny, witty, and charming. Despite his youthfulness, I could tell we’d become fast friends.

That night, I went to sleep feeling excited for the week ahead, eager to learn from Clay and grateful for the distraction of his friendship that had made me feel a little less lonely in my new home.

Chapter 16: Jovie

5 o’clock on Monday morning rolled around, and I was up, dressed, and waiting for Clay by the gator to kick off our first full week together. Clay arrived thirty minutes late, looking even less like a morning person than I did. His face was unshaven, and he was wearing dark sunglasses though the sun had not yet risen.

I handed him a cup of coffee and attempted to muster a smile.

“I take it mornings aren’t your thing either?”

“Not in the least bit,” he groaned.

“So, what’s on the plan for today, Clay?”

He took a long sip of the coffee I’d given him before responding. “I’m taking you through harvest management. I’ll show you the crops Clarence had set up for the year, the rotation plan, and where things are stored and managed before they go out for sale.”

Once Clay got some coffee in his system, Monday unfolded in a series of humorous antics, with Clay guiding me through my grandfather’s crops and introducing me to Henry, the overseeing expert in crop management and rotation on Ashwood ranch.

Henry, a kind, older gentleman, had worked for my grandfather for over thirty years, recalling me as a child, though I couldn’t reciprocate the memory. He offered his condolences at my grandfather's passing and reaffirmed his commitment to the Ashwood ranch. The day concluded back in my grandfather’s office, where Clay demonstrated how the software management tool tracked Henry’s inputs and provided analytics on the successful yield of each crop we planted. My mind was once again swimming with information by the time we decided to call it quits for the day.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Clay asked, settling back into the chair across from my grandfather’s desk and stretching his arms overhead.

“Wanna eat the roast beef Gloria made and then hang by the pool with some wine?” I suggested.

“You’re through with my moonshine already, huh?” Clay teased with a cheeky grin.

“Just not on a night where I have to get up before the sun."

We headed to the kitchen to prepare our meals and then made our way out to the pool. It was 6 in the evening at this point, and the sun still hung high in the sky. We shared laughter, stories, and later, Clay suggested building a bonfire to roast marshmallows.

In the brief time I'd spent with Clay, I couldn't help but sense that his brothers treated him like an annoying little brother, even though he was now a grown man. Living on a vast, rural ranch with only his dad and two mostly indifferent brothers sounded like it would get lonely. Despite this, I liked Clay—he was kind, didn't give me a hard time, funny, and easygoing—so spending some extra time with him after a long day of work was a no-brainer.

As I rose to fetch some wood from a nearby pile perched next to a shed, a black figure darted out from under a log. Before I could react, I felt the attacker's sharp sting and shouted in pain.

“Shit!” I yelled, dropping the wood as a small black scorpion scurried away.

Clay rushed to my side; concern etched across his face. “Scorpion,” he said, examining the sting mark on the top of my foot. Next thing I knew, strong arms had enveloped me, and I found myself staring directly into Mitchell’s eyes.

“I heard the screaming and knew that was the sound of someone who'd been stung. Let me take you inside, and we'll get it cleaned out. I’ve been stung a time or two and the quicker you treat it, the better. Did you see what kind it was, Clay?” Mitchell inquired as he carried me inside.

“Looked like a small, non-venomous one,” Clay replied following closely behind him.

Mitchell nodded. “They like hanging out in debris piles, and the wood I’m sure attracted them. We should be able to easily treat it here without a trip to the hospital.”

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