Page 8 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

Okay, fine. The drive was long, but I did enjoy the scenery. North Jersey was lush and green, with forests, hills, valleys, and huge tracts of farmlands, though not as big as those in the southwestern part of the state.

My new house and lands, courtesy of a huge chunk of my trust fund, sat just beyond an enormous wrought iron gate that held a weathered sign with the lettersMi l r R nhbarely visible.

I had no idea what they once said, and furthermore I did not care. This place was a mess. A veritable fucking dump even though I was pretty sure it was supposed to be a large ranch style house.

Right off the bat, the roof was sagging, the porch missing a few planks of wood in the steps. There was a broken window on the second floor, covered by plywood. And who knew when this place last saw a coat of paint?

The fences looked held together by chicken wire, and fuck me, yeah, I spied some metallic gray Duct tape, too.

My supernaturally enhanced senses allowed me to cast my sight beyond the homestead to the various tracts of land beyond the huge eyesore marked off by more wire and wood fences, most of them broken.

An unattached, two car garage sat to the left of the house, but further away, I noted a barn-like structure, a silo, or a granary and a couple of smallish cabins beside what appeared to be animal pens.

It all needed fixing.

But what surprised me most were the fresh scents of manure, fur, feed, and hay. They hit me hard in the face. I stopped and turned my head in disgust.

I was a city boy at heart. I mean, I’d attended an ivy league school, for fuck’s sake. After that, I spent a lot of my time fucking around in clubs and restaurants. Rubbing elbows with high society.

Right now, I felt like I just got slapped with my new reality. And it stunk.

Grrr.

“Are you pouting, Max?” Mrs. O’Hare asked.

“No, I’m not pouting,” I growled, but was.

Who could blame me? The fucking place looked to be one step away from total condemnation. As it stood, I wasn’t sure if I should even attempt to step inside.

I drove up the long gravel driveway and stopped in front of the somewhat collapsed porch.

“I’m going to kill my cousin,” I said out loud this time.

I could just imagine Avail laughing his ass off at my new home and country bumpkin lifestyle. I didn’t go to Princeton to end up ankles deep in mud andsniffgoat shit.

Great. I own a fucking goats farm.

Fucking hell.

“Let’s go, you big baby. Get out of the car,” Mrs. O’Hare chided.

I supposed it could be worse.

Face it, Max, you haven’t found happiness no matter where you’ve looked. This could be your shot.

Fuck my inner voice. Apparently, even subconscious me was an asshole. I growled deep in my throat, annoyed at his inner voice’s logic.

Fuck.

The thing about being born to a wealthy, albeit nosy as fuck family, was that I hadn’t really been pressured or trained to do much of anything. So many things were just so easy for me.

But this time, I felt like Grandmother and Avail had set me up for failure. I mean, what the hell did I know about running a place like this?

You can learn. You can make it yours.

I stepped out of the vehicle, crouched down, and huffed an angry breath before popping back up again.

“Shit!” I yelled.

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