Page 3 of Trails of Temptation

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile into my voice. “See ya.” I hung up, tossing my phone into the passenger seat. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment.

Had I really just agreed to go home, back to Hot Springs?

I got out of the truck and went inside the gas station, thumbing through the snacks and drinks as I mulled over the decision I’d just made.

Shit, I was really going home.

Maybe, just maybe, things would go my way this time.

ChapterTwo

George

“Look at you,” I said, smiling as I ruffled the top of the newborn calf’s head. She shook out of my touch, mewling as she looked up at me with those big, absent eyes. Cows were strange creatures—smart, but only in their own way. I had a soft spot for the newborns, though. Everything they saw was new, fresh, and unexplored. I could tell by the look in their eyes whether they were going to be the type to follow and behave, more than happy to spend their days grazing in the sun and lounging in the grass.

Or, like this little gal, they’d cause all kinds of chaos by getting stuck in fences and wandering too far from the herd, and their mothers.

“She’s the last.” I turned to the vet, who was scribbling on a clipboard as he inspected the calf, who was now walking a clumsy circle around us while her mother grazed nearby.

“Another successful season,” the vet remarked, giving me a soft smile.

I smiled to myself, nodding my agreement. Twelve healthy, well-bred calves had been born in the last month and were all doing well. Grant was setting himself up as the most successful rancher in the state, maybe even the region, and our breeding stock showed it.

I watched the vet get back in his truck and drive away, the young ranch hands ready at the gate to let him out of the pasture. I still had work to do, a lot of it. Being a rancher meant your days were full of nothing but keeping creatures with no way to defend themselves alive. I glanced over at the herd of sheep Moira had been adamant we purchase. I sighed, watching as one of them stuck its head through the fence, then panicked, even though all it needed to do was back up a step to free itself.

I’d never get sheep of my own, that was a promise.

The rest of the day passed without a hitch. Every animal was fed, safe, and healthy. I sent the ranch hands home, watching as they got into their nearly identical beat-up trucks and drove away. Then, I headed home, walking the quarter mile road back to my own house.

Early summer was always my favorite time of the year. Spring rain had made everything green and cut down on the dust. Grass peeked through the gravel driveway leading up to the white-washed farmhouse original to the property that I bought from Grant some years ago. It had been built in the early 1900s—two stories, three bedrooms, a single bath. I’d refinished the entire place, bringing it back to its former glory with its original wood floors and curving, narrow staircase in the back of the house off the kitchen. Grant had sold it to me with ten acres, which were now used my own cows and chickens, as well as three acres dedicated to my garden.

I had fresh milk, eggs, vegetables, and fruit every day. I had a comfy chair and an old TV with nothing but local channels, but I could still catch the game. I had beer and the best porterhouse steaks in the country in my fridge.

I didn’t need anything else…

I tossed my dirty work clothes in the laundry basket in the corner of my room, glancing through the doorway leading into the darkened upstairs hallway. Across the hallway, one of the two snug bedrooms was dark, the door slightly ajar. It was empty, just like the second bedroom. Just like the right side of my bed every night.

I told myself I liked it this way—being alone. Being forty, and alone, with no responsibilities but my animals, my garden, and my job as the head rancher at the Hallston Ranch. I was used to being alone. My dad died when I was a teenager, back when my mother had been forced to sell our ranch on the other side of Hot Springs to developers just to keep us afloat. I’d graduated from high school, joined the military, and spent some time overseas seeing and doing things I was forced to relive in my dreams. When I finally came back to Hot Springs I fell back in with the old crew from high school, sticking close to Pete and working at his bar until I got my big break working as a ranch hand on a property owned by one of the good ol’ boys in town. I even married a girl I’d gone to high school with, thinking it was the right thing to do. Everyone else was getting married, having kids, settling down. But we weren’t in love, not really. And when she died, I… Well, I decided I was better off just being alone.

After that, I worked myself to the bone through my thirties, until roughly five or six years ago, when I met Grant Hallston.

I took his job offer, bought the land and the house he offered me, and had been working for him ever since. It had been a dream, especially since Grant and I were cut from the same cloth. We’d both spent our twenties and thirties working hard, jumping from place to place, never putting down roots or building an environment conducive to settling down and raising a family. I’d been fine with it. The thought hadn’t ever crossed my mind. I’d expected him to be an eternal bachelor like me, but then Moira and Day came into the picture.

Watching Grant put down roots had me feeling like I’d missed out on something sacred, something I wouldn’t have the opportunity to experience.

I’d been close to it once, just about a year ago. I’d been drawn in and totally bewitched by a woman. I’d dreamt of her and only her ever since.

But she was totally off limits. She’d been off limits before, too.

I had a few days with her, at least. I could still smell her honeysuckle and vanilla scent. I could still feel the warmth of her touch on my shoulder from the night we danced at Grant and Moira’s BBQ two summers ago. I still felt like the sun was beating down on me every time I thought about her beaming, perfect smile.

She was off limits, forever. I needed to be comfortable with letting the thought of her, of what could have been, go.

I pulled a steak out of the fridge and set it on the counter next to my phone, noticing the blue notification light blinking incessantly. I grunted, leaning my weight on the counter as I looked through my messages. Mom was at it again, causing drama at the ridiculously expensive retirement community in Florida where she’d been living for the past ten years. She had her own condo near the beach and drove her old bones around in a hot pink golf cart, harassing her neighbors on a daily basis. She was just a lonely old woman, and I didn’t visit her as often as I should. But I called her daily, and she’d learned how to send emojis and voice memos, so my phone was constantly going off.

I texted her back, telling her to go to bed, and then opened the text from Grant, which said nothing more than to come over for dinner tonight.

I frowned, looking over at the damn near perfect steak I’d just pulled out of the fridge. Moira had gotten into the habit of serving rabbit food for dinner—nothing more than some sprouted greens, bland chicken, and the occasional sweet potato—because it was good for the baby and she’d been forced to sit or lay down for most of the day recently and was supposed to be watching her ever-expanding figure.

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