Page 44 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

“Yes. No.” Jessica’s flat voice made me laugh. “You know you promised to come visit me this year.”

“It’s April.”

“Which means you only have eight months left.”

“Okay, okay.” I held up a hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Promise?”

This must be the real reason she’d called. She was lonely. Amazing how that could happen even being as busy as she was. “It may not be until the last day of December, but I’ll get there this year.”

“Good.” Jessica grinned. “Now, why are you hiding in the barn?”

She’d called because she was having a being-single crisis; should I really burden her with my own issues?

“I take it the plan to drive William away didn’t work?” Jessica said.

I could stick with this side of the story and not mention the little zings that ran along my skin each time I’d passed him a tool. “Not even close. He seems as fresh as a spring chicken and is going to be back here tomorrow mornin’.”

“He might be faking it,” Jessica said.

“Maybe.” I patted a soft muzzle and moved on to the next stall. “Why are you at the office so late?”

Jessica glanced over her shoulder, then scowled at me. “Danger Zone.”

Danger Zone was Jessica’s code name for her super-hot boss. “Big project?”

“Yup.”

I gave her a smile. “Just remember, you can look all you want, but no touchy.”

Jessica sighed. “I know.”

“Or, if you like him, ask him out.” I bounced my eyebrows.

She snorted. “I’ll do that when you decide to date William Harris.”

I forced a laugh. “As if.”

“As if,” Jessica repeated.

Chapter 12

-William-

What had I done to make my left pinkie finger hurt?

I’d cut my arm on barbed wire, crashed my shins into a low board in the barn, overused my shoulders mucking out stalls, and possibly strained a leg muscle trying to hold sheep—please don’t ask—but my pinkie finger?

Brooke had spent the better part of the past eight hours trying to kill me. I was tired enough to sleep for a whole day, but I refused to let that show. My mind made up for the stamina that my body lacked. Business deals and meetings were often grueling in a way that exercising never could be, and I was a master over my mental toughness. Which was the only reason that I could outwardly act like I was ready for more.

Inside, I was ready for a hot bath—with bath salts that I would normally steal from my mom or Courtney—and a glass of wine.

I was now in Robert’s truck headed for his house. Brooke had stayed at the barn, and it seemed as if she had had something to do inside. Was she as tired as I was? Or was this a normal day for her?

She didn’t always work this hard, did she?

If she did, and the ranch was still in as bad of shape as she let on, then this place really would be a bad investment.

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