Page 19 of Embracing Hope

These two words would adequately describe Isaac’s experience at Sagebrush Rose Ranch in only forty-eight hours.

A part of him ached to sayfuck itand head back home. If CJ wanted the damn merger to go through then he should come here and deal with it. Yet, Isaac couldn’t do that to his brother. He needed to be at the farm doting on his wife, who was taking the loss of their child in a bad way. Isaac loved his sister-in-law. She’d always been good to CJ and kind to Isaac.

Readjusting his hat for the third time, he strode toward the barn where his wonderful hostess told him to meet her. The newly built construction was as remarkable as the rest of the ranch. Isaac had to admit that despite all the drama, everything seemed to be running as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. On one side of the structure was an enclosure with the grass worn down to dirt, and on the other side, more fencing contained the cows.

From every angle he looked, he saw a hand working. One was elbow-deep in a tractor cranking on the engine. Another group was on horseback and looked to be discussing an important plan for the day although by the look of their dirty clothing they’d already struggled with something. Further away, a cowboy worked with a horse in the arena, gently guiding the mare.

As far as the eye could see, the land belonged to Sagebrush Rose. Lush fields as green as the sun was yellow ran all the way to the fence that separated the mountain from the ranch. He appreciated the peace on the land—almost as peaceful as Marcum Livestock.

He heard thesloshingof muck boots and looked over his shoulder to find Hope approaching. A sharp stab of awareness struck him right in the center of his chest and pivoted straight for his balls. He felt like he’d been caught in her feminine snare. Usually, he could bury any desire for someone off limits, but Hope did something to his defenses. She looked stunning even in the red ballcap that shadowed half her face, the loose-fitting flannel tied at the waist showing off part of her stomach, and the close-fitting jeans that hugged every enticing curve, down to the tips of her dirty boots.

A sliver of a smile pushed up the corners of her lips. She slid up the bill of her hat, and looked up at him, her blue eyes catching the rays of the morning sunlight popping through the dew-misted trees.

“Good to see you are punctual,” she said.

“At least one of us is,” he said smartly.

She blinked at him and then checked her phone. “Dock me the ten minutes for being late.”

“I don’t pay your salary,” he said moodily.

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and hooked his thumbs into his front pockets. “Now that we have that established, what are we doing today? Brushing each other’s hair and making mud pies?”

She laid her hand on his arm, which caught him by surprise. “About our conversation yesterday. I’m sorry that…you know, what you told me about your brother and his wife’s loss.”

He looked down at her long fingers and short nails. A familiar zing ricocheted through his body. He wasn’t used to having someone showing him affection. He pretended to swat at a fly to remove her touch. “I wasn’t fishing for pity.”

“I don’t feel pity. I understand—”

He cut her off with a clipped, “How could you?”

She sighed as if understanding, yet she didn’t let it drop. “It is possible to feel compassion for someone even when we haven’t shared the same experiences.”

“I want to check out the barn,” he muttered, pulling up his wall, and stepped toward the building, leaving her alone. He’d woke up last night in a sweat, sitting on the edge of the bed sobbing. He didn’t like feeling out of control.

She caught up to him but she didn’t say a word as he pushed through the double sliding barn doors. He found the inside of the structure to be as pristine and modern as the outside.

“You must be our guest.”

He swung around to find who was speaking to him. A tall, lean man with silver threaded hair sticking out from underneath his dusty cowboy hat that had seen better days. He had a slight limp.

Isaac greeted him with a nod. “Isaac Marcum.”

The cowboy wiped his hands on a rag hanging out of his pocket and thrust his hand out, “Jinx Weathersby.”

Isaac recognized the name. “The cowboy who took the bull’s horns?”

Something flashed in the man’s eyes, like a memory he wished he could forget.

“The one and only. The important thing is, I lived to talk about it.” He stuffed the old, worn rag back into his pocket. “Mornin’, Hope.” He touched the brim of his hat.

“Morning, Jinx,” Hope responded.

“I hear you’re interested in how Sagebrush Rose operates,” Jinx said, his smile returned.

Isaac started to grab the container of tobacco pouches from his pocket but remembered he didn’t have one. The act was purely routine because he’d quit the habit when returning home. “I’m curious. Nice structure here.” He scanned the inside of the space, pleasantly surprised to find it developed.

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