Page 7 of The Rancher's Code

It took all of my strength to avoid interacting with him, still wanting to correct him about the way he’d spoken to me earlier. Instead, I tried to focus on the meal in front of me, helping myself to more salad to go along with my steak. I’d stolen a few glances at what was on Dylan’s plate, seeing if there was an opportunity to mock him for being a city boy at the table, only loading up on carb-free options.

But to my dismay, Dylan’s plate looked a lot like mine. The main difference was that he had a little less wine in his glass, as he seemed to take a sip nearly each time my sister pitched him a different wedding idea. I smiled to myself at the realization: Dylan appeared so calm on the outside but had a tornado of emotions hidden underneath his measured expression.

“So? Did your dad tell you yet?” My uncle, Virgil, was on my other side. Virgil had always been an eccentric in our family, still proudly wearing his rodeo championship belt buckle from 1983. Having a conversation with him was always an adventure, never knowing where it was going to end up. Once, he’d floated the idea that the government had microchipped all the cattle back in 1999, but when I tried to ask him what that meant for our ranch, he’d muttered something about how I was probably in on the plot, and he’d said too much already…

Even though I was ten years old when we’d had that conversation.

“Did my dad tell me what?” I asked, as I handed Virgil the butter.

“Who he’s going to pick for CEO?”

“I don’t think he’s decided yet Uncle Virgil?—”

“How do you not know? It’s plain as day.” Virgil shook his head. “I thought you were sharper than that, Cole.”

“Who do you think it’s going to be?”

“Someone completely unexpected. But someone we all saw coming,” he murmured. “Someone who’s been waiting in the wings but loves the spotlight. A mystery and no mystery at all…”

“Can you pass me the potatoes, please—” Dylan’s voice interrupted our conversation. “Sorry, I wouldn’t ask but they’re right there?—”

“Didn’t you already have a potato?” I asked.

“Are you potato policing me right now?” Dylan pressed. “Are you potatoshamingme right now?”

“No, it’s just… I assumed city boys, like you, didn’t really eat a lot of carbs.”

“Why do you care what I eat and don’t eat?”

“Who said I care?—”

“Listen, Cole, we don’t have to like each other. And we don’t. But I’m just here to do a job, okay? I just want to make your sister happy, and then, we never have to talk to each other ever again. Deal?”

“Deal.” I didn’t like how the word came out of my mouth. It felt like it landed wrong.

“Great. Potatoes, please?”

I wordlessly handed Dylan the potatoes as he turned away from me and back towards Amber.

“Interesting…” Virgil muttered. “Real interesting…”

“What’s interesting?”

But Virgil didn’t answer, instead returning his focus to his plate, scooping a pad of butter directly into his mouth.

3

DYLAN

“You just don’t getit, Dylan!”

“Amber, I promise you?—”

“You need to embrace ranch life! You need to ride a horse! You need to breathe the air!”

“I’ve been breathing the air this whole time?—”

Amber and I were going back and forth, as we stood in front of one of the barns on the ranch. I couldn’t even remember how this conversation started, maybe something about how the horses couldn’t be trained to dance in time for the reception. This was typical of my wedding planning discussions with Amber, though. She’d say something way out of left field, and I’d go chasing after it, trying and failing to explain what was possible and what wasn’t.

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