Page 13 of Last Chance for Her Rancher Boss

With neither of them saying anything else, Meg went to the cabinets and started preparing the sandwich that she didn’t really want. Nash had told her, in one of their microscopic interactions on her first day, to help herself to whatever was in the kitchen, and she hadn’t been shy about it. She wasn’t going to starve for this idiot, so she pulled out bread and cheese and was determined to set the world record for how fast someone could make a sandwich.

Nash, meanwhile, kept his back turned to her, poking at his chili at random intervals, his shoulders perfectly square and perfectly still. Meg slapped her sandwich onto a plate, put the bread and cheese away, and promptly walked out of the kitchen without another word from either of them. Crisis averted. But next time she was going to be listening at her door much more carefully to check if Nash was downstairs, and she didn’t care one bit how much of a lunatic that made her.

Meg dozed for a bit, waking up with her phone face down on her chest, the open window dark, and her stomach grumbling in protest.

She was starving, which wasn’t at all a surprise. She’d eaten the cheese sandwich out of spite and determination, but it really hadn’t hit the spot after a full day’s work. Checking more carefully this time, she was certain that the house was quiet and there hadn’t been any footsteps through the hallway. Taking extra measures, Meg peeked her head out to check if the coast was clear. She felt like a meerkat, surveying for predators before she tiptoed down the hall.

At this point she couldn’t even be bothered to cook; she was just going to make three more sandwiches and take them back to her room. She didn’t care what she ate as long as she wasn’t hungry anymore and could fall back asleep with a full belly. She’d certainly filled up on worse throughout college.

Back in the kitchen she flicked on the light and froze. Sitting on the kitchen counter was a dish covered in aluminum foil with a bright yellow sticky note on top.

Help yourself, it read in chunky block letters.

Meg peeled back the foil, half expecting some sort of booby trap to jump out at her. Instead, it was the leftovers from the dinner Nash had cooked, complete with a bread roll on the side.

Meg thought about whether to eat it way longer than she probably should have. Because if Nash thought that this was some sort of olive branch, then it wasn’t going to work.Absolutely not. Except itwasworking, just a little bit, even though Meg wouldn’t admit it under torture. He didn’t have to do this, leave food out for her. But he’d done it anyway.

It was Meg’s hunger that made the decision for her. She reheated it in the microwave and sat at the table, alone, to eat. It was annoying how good it was, and she wiped the plate clean with the roll, enjoying every last morsel despite herself. With the dish washed and the note in the trash, she scurried back to her room before she was caught accepting Nash’s offering of leftovers. If she left no evidence, then at least she could deny this ever happened.

She fell into bed with sleep, as always, acting as the perfect way to escape for just a few hours.

“Meg?”

She had been so deeply asleep that there hadn’t even been space to dream. There had just been a deep blackness, empty and silent. But even then, the voice calling out her name cut through all of it.

“Meg?”

“What? What’s up?”

Meg blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to get them to open. Her feet were tangled in the blankets and there was a weird cramp in her arm from lying on it, but so many years of being on call overnight left her no choice but to wake up. It was pure instinct at this point.

Nash was standing a few feet from her bed, fully dressed, boots and all. He was using the flashlight on his phone, pointing it at the ground instead of turning on the big light.

“It’s Tilly,” he said, voice soft.

“Who?” The name rang a bell, but all of Meg’s brainpower was focused on sitting up and pulling her hair out of her face.

“My mare,” Nash said patiently.

“Oh yeah. Gray, grumpy. Got it.”

“I think she’s giving birth. She’s all out of sorts. I’m worried…”

His face was all wrinkled up in a frown, making him look ten years older and also childlike at the same time. Meg rolled her shoulders and stood up.

“All righty, let’s go check on her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s what I’m here for. C’mon.”

It seemed to surprise him that she was so willing, but there was a big streak of relief there as well. She might want to avoid him at all costs, but that was when everything was running smoothly and she could afford to ignore his existence. Hearing there was an animal that needed care instantly switched Meg’s brain into work mode. Personal grudges didn’t count in work mode. So she hit pause on all those emotions, shoving them back into the corners of her brain. She’d follow him out and check on the horse because she’d meant what she’d said. It was what she was here to do.

There was no real point in changing out of her pajamas, so she pulled on her socks and boots, grabbed her coat and trailed afterNash out of the house towards the stables. They followed the bob and sway of the phone’s flashlight in silence. But for the first time since Meg had arrived here, the silence wasn’t awkward.

Nash was clearly worried; that certainly wasn’t hard to figure out. His footsteps were quick as they walked through the dark. It was quiet here, with the rest of the world asleep around them. When Meg was called out on the industrial farms, there wasalwaysnoise: fences rattling and cattle lowing, the crunch of footsteps, both animal and human. Out here there was a sort of peace that Meg hadn’t felt for a very, very long time. So, no, she couldn’t find it in herself to be cranky about being woken up in the middle of the night.

Even if she was going to be grumpy about it, it was her literal job while she was here as part of the evaluation. No amount of sleep deprivation or decades-long grudges was going to keep her from doing her job. Not to mention, seeing a newborn baby foal? She’d wade through volcanic ash if she had to. A stroll through a field at two in the morning was hardly a challenge.

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