Page 5 of Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

“Sure thing.” I nod.

The engine roars, and the truck moves off, the tires crunching over the stone gravel of the track. A plume of dust rises in Marty’s wake, and after a minute, I slip my hands into my jeans and blow a long breath out. There’s always something when you run a ranch as big as mine, and right now, I’m worrying about losing my oldest horse.

“Come on, Elsa. Let’s go back and see how Greta’s doing.”

Passing the four other horses I have in the stables, I get to Greta’s stall. The mare is still lying down, and crouching down next to her, I talk to her gently.

“It’ll be alright, girl. Don’t you worry. We’re going to fix you right up.”

Elsa has a good sniff and then sits obediently beside me. I glance between my two girls and shake my head. “Did you hear what Marty said? Like I could ever have anyone replace either of you two.”

There was someone once, but she hiked it off to New York, never to be seen again. I’ve had dates here and there, but I’m not interested in commitment. Not after what happened.

What do they say? Once bitten, twice shy.

Well, it was some bite. It was so deep that I’ve still got the teeth marks.

An hour after Marty left, my phone rings, and seeing the caller ID, I pick up.

“Hey, Joey.”

“Hey,” he replies, sounding miffed.

“What’s going on?”

“Sheila’s pregnant again,” he huffs.

“Wow!” I gasp, a little taken aback at the blunt news.

“It’s not ‘wow’ for me,” he grumbles. “I thought I was done with screaming babies and sleepless nights. Now, we’re going to have to do it all over again.”

I grin. “You did have some part in that, you know.”

“Shut up, Jake,” he bites back.

With a chuckle, I say, “Well, congratulations.”

My brother already has three children, all girls and all under the age of ten, so he’s pretty outnumbered. But my nieces are beautiful, if sometimes a little hard work. They love coming out to the ranch, and I know Sheila and Joey love bringing them. By the time they’ve run around and spent hours seeing all my four-legged companions, they’re pretty exhausted and fall asleep in the truck on the way home.

Katy, the youngest, was supposed to be the last child my brother and Sheila had. They’d given up trying for a boy. Or so they told me.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky this time,” I say, still smiling.

“Three was bad enough. How the heck am I supposed to cope with four kids?”

“Oh, come on, man. You’ll be fine. Besides, let’s be honest. It’s Sheila that does the lion’s share of the work.”

I can hear Joey sigh again before he says, “Yeah, I suppose so. Still, it’ll be another mouth to feed.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” I quip.

Joey laughs then, and I can imagine him nodding at the other end of the line. “Yes, maybe I am. And like you said, maybe we’ll get lucky and I’ll finally have a son.”

“Exactly.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “what’s new with you?”

“Marty just left. I was out riding yesterday, and Greta’s injured her leg.”

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