Page 11 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

So was William.

What could it hurt if he had my number? I could always block him.

Victoria:???

Brooke:Send him my number.

Victoria:I want ALL the details from this.

She wasn’t the only one.

Brooke: I’m sure you do.

I could practically hear my friend laughing from Alaska.

Instead of wondering if or when William would contact me, I jumped out of my truck and headed into the bank. No matter the reason William wanted to talk, it wouldn’t change the fact that I needed a loan to take my ranch to the next level.

***

The bank took much longer than I’d anticipated, and by the time I drove back onto the ranch, I had a slew of chores to do and not much time to get them done. I spent the next few hours feeding animals, repairing a break in the fence, looking over the fields we needed to plow, and watching the dark clouds get closer.

In all that time, William didn’t call or text. I hated to admit that I’d kind of been looking forward to it, but it might be better if he waited until after our family meeting tonight. Right now, I had butterflies in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with a handsome man.

Normally I would walk to my dad’s, but with the looming clouds and being behind schedule, I decided to drive Lance over.

My two nephews heard me coming and ran from my dad’s house to meet me. They liked to hang on to the bed of my truck as I came into the driveway. Their mom hated it, but it’s something my brothers and I had done, and we’d lived through it. So I slowed down and crept forward at a snail’s pace as the boys split up and dangled off the sides of my truck. I’d convinced them that it was harder to hang on behind the rear tire, so there was no danger of them getting run over.

Falling off was their problem.

Both boys held on until I stopped, then they hollered, and Conner, the older of the two, opened my door. He had blond hair like his mom and had gotten my dad’s height. He gave me a wide smile, showing off a missing tooth.

“Did you get kicked by a horse?” I asked as I got out.

“Nope, I pulled it out myself.”

“Did not!” Xavier, the eight-year-old, shouted as he came around. He was spindly, but short, with hair the same brown as mine. Both boys had green eyes. They each wore superhero T-shirts and jeans that had likely been clean ten minutes before.

“Did so!” Conner folded his arms, and for a moment, he looked fifteen instead of ten.

Sometimes I was so glad I didn’t have to live with these two.

“Mom helped,” Xavier said.

“No she didn’t!” Conner yelled.

Something must have been brewing between them all day because a small scuffle broke out, which I broke up by grabbing their ears. “Come on, kids, let’s not get blood on grandpa’s furniture.”

“He wouldn’t care,” Conner said.

“Grandma would,” Xavier said.

A lump rose in my throat when he called Kathline grandma. For these two, my mom had been gone longer than she’d been with them, and once in a while, that reminder hurt.

“Would you be mad if we bled on your furniture?” Xavier asked.

“Duh.” I scowled down at them. “You know my rules. If you bleed on it, you clean it up.”

They both nodded sullenly. They knew the rule because they’d had to abide by it more than once.

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