Page 4 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

If I were a betting man, I would gamble that someone in the County is sabotaging it. This must work, or everything I have put in for years on those hills would be for nothing. The future of my entire family is riding on this ranch.

Turning again, I winced at the lump pushing into my back. “I have to tell Laura to turn this sorry excuse for a couch into firewood.”

Coming to town always tore me apart. I was a part of this place, yet not one of them. The town's amenities were great, but I could not fully enjoy them as my mind was always on the ranch. What if something went wrong on the ranch, and I wasn’t there to stop it? What if something collapsed, a steer died, or a machine blew up?

Concrete jungles were not my thing. I didn’t like the smell of fuel exhaust, the glint off glass and steel…there was nothing a town offered me…well, not anymore. Not since the accident that ended my rodeo riding days.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

With a grunt, I sat up and rubbed my face.

Moving from the couch, I yanked the satchel from the corner where I had placed it and took out the folders inside. Going to the kitchen, I switched the lamp on and started working on the organization for the upcoming annual Silver Ridge rodeo.

My eyes flickered to the door where Zara slept.

Well, I assumed she was sleeping.

She didn’t like me, and it was my fault for thinking she was a call girl. Would she forgive me for it or not? I didn’t think she would.

Maybe if I apologized? Would that get me anywhere?

Probably not.

With one eye on the clock and another on the papers, I tried to focus. I was getting a pretty penny for being a consultant for the town’s rodeo, but it didn’t stop me from not liking it. I wasn’t bitter about losing my rodeo life—I was numb.

If I thought about it, I could feel the moment I’d been launched off the back of that beasty bull and landed on my leg wrong, almost snapping it in half. The pain…

I thought of the X-rays, the one showing my knee socket shattered to splinters, ghostly fragments of bone floating like wreckage from a sinking ship. And then there was the other X-Ray a week later, the one with the imperfectly reconstructed joint, the pins and screws, bold against the bone. The injury that had ended my lucrative bull riding career.

When the doctor had said I’d torn it to shit, he hadn’t been joking.

Reflexively, I reached down to touch my femur and felt the iron rods inside it.

“It was all for the best anyway,” I muttered, shuffling the papers. “I was on the verge of retiring anyway.”

I liked lying to myself; it made it easier.

As for this problem with Zara, I had to sort out this temporary living arrangement as soon as possible. I was not one to get too familiar with my employees—I didn’t get familiar with anyone at all.

I’d intended to meet Zara at the ranch, but now that she was here, I had to take her over the rodeo set-up, too. I needed to organize the rounds and put the riders in groups according to their history and experience.

“I guess I can arrange it like PBR teams, the teams going head-to-head, 5-on-5 games against a different opponent each day….” I tapped the pen on my temple. “I’ll have to scale it down for the days and the opponents, though.”

Twelve riders meant a four-day festival, meant four per night, and, on the last, the winning round.

After reading over the bios, I put the riders into their teams without having to worry about the judges. They were already lined up.

Then, there were the live entertainment, bands, food sellers, and safety regulations to consider. We had to get their permits, food lists, and prices and ensure the city got its tax cut.

Sagging into my seat, I groaned. “Why the fuck did I agree to this?”

Ten thousand dollars—that was why.

It was a pretty penny to push paper around, and it would inject some well-needed cash into the ranch. All I needed to do was set things in place, collect my check, and return to the ranch with my bulls, my men, and my big ol' slobbery Newfoundland, Bagel.

“Coffee, I need coffee,” I sighed, pushing away from the table to go to the kitchenette. With the kettle on, I searched for the packets and dumped them in a cup, then rummaged for milk and sugar in the fridge.

“You’re up early.”

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