Page 5 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

"Don't you start," I muttered to him, unclipping the lead rope from his halter once we were safely inside the paddock. "Just for once, could you not be such a⁠—"

Mystery didn't wait for me to finish my sentence. He trotted away, tail held high like a banner of superiority, deliberately moving in the opposite direction from Sassafras. The paddock wasn't small, but somehow these two managed to maximize the distance between them, positioning themselves at perfect diagonal corners.

I sighed, leaning against the wooden fence. Attempt number fifteen was already looking like attempts one through fourteen.

"Come on, Mystery," I called, pulling a sugar cube from my pocket. "Show the lady what a gentleman you can be."

Mystery glanced my way, clearly tempted by the treat, but a nervous whicker from Sassafras seemed to remind him of his dignity. He snorted and resumed his proud pacing, occasionally stopping to tear at the grass with performative nonchalance.

I tried a different approach, walking over to Sassafras with slow, measured steps. "Hey, Sassy," I said softly, stroking her neck. "That's a handsome boy over there, isn't it? Champion bloodlines. Perfect conformation. Just think of the babies you'd make."

Sassafras pressed her head against my chest, seeking comfort. I stroked her mane, trying to soothe her obvious anxiety. "I know, I know. He's intimidating. But trust me, he's all bluster."

From across the paddock, Mystery watched our interaction with what I swear was jealousy in his dark eyes. For a moment, I thought he might approach—this was new, a potential breakthrough—but then Sassafras shifted nervously, and the stallion's ears flattened again in response.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, gently pushing Sassafras’s hind quarters, urging her toward the center of the paddock. "Go on, girl. Give him a chance.”

The mare took two reluctant steps forward before freezing, then bolting back to my side like I was her only lifeline in a sea of predators. Mystery, apparently offended by this rejection, turned his back on us both and began grazing with exaggerated indifference.

My shoulders slumped as I watched another breeding attempt circle the drain. I'd been so sure that today would be different. The vet had confirmed both horses were in perfect health. Sassafras was in heat. The weather was ideal. Yet here we were, in a standoff that would have been comical if my entire future didn't hang in the balance.

I left Sassafras and walked to the opposite side of the paddock, leaning heavily against the sun-warmed wood. My hand instinctively went to my back pocket, pulling out the worn leather wallet that had become increasingly lighter over the past months. Inside, nestled where cash should have been, was the final notice from First Kansas Bank. The paper was creased from repeated folding and unfolding, the words practically burned into my retinas by now.

"...regret to inform you that without payment in full by June 30th, foreclosure proceedings will commence..."

June 30th. Three weeks away. And here I was, banking everything on two horses that couldn't stand each other.

I did the math again in my head, the numbers proving no less depressing than they were yesterday. Feed for all three horses came to about three hundred a month—only that low because the guy in town took pity on me. I budgeted another hundred monthly for the vet per horse for routine care and I kept an emergency slush fund since that amount didn’t include if any of the horses got hurt. Mortgage payment came to fifteen hundred. I was several months behind on that, with red-stamped overdue notices from the bank piling up on my desk. Property taxes were due in July; that would be around two thousand and hurt like hell to pay. Then there were all the necessary, irksome, smaller bills. Electricity, crap satellite internet, insurance policy on top of the homeowner’s wrapped into the mortgage. I hemorrhaged money every damn day and soon, my veins were going to go dry.

The numbers swirled like vultures, circling what remained of my savings… and my pride… and my sanity.

Even if by some miracle Mystery and Sassafras produced a foal tomorrow, it would be eleven months before the birth, and at least another year before the colt or filly could be fully sold. The timeline was impossible, unless I found the right buyer and asked for half up front as deposit. I'd known it was a long shot when I'd bought the horses, but I'd been so convinced I could make it work. So determined to prove Derek wrong.

Derek. The memory of his mocking laughter bubbled up unbidden.

We’d run into one another at a small auction a couple counties over, not long after I’d bought Mystery. I’d thought going that far would be safe, that I wouldn’t possibly run into Derek there, but I’d been painfully wrong. God, I was still recovering from when he’d come to the ranch and thrown his weight around. Seeing him again… had been horrible. While an owner was showing off an American Warmblood about sixteen hands tall in the auction ring, he’d stood uncomfortably close. I’d been so anxious by his proximity, that I’d told him all my grand plans which absolutely didn’t include him. Sunflower Hills Ranch was mine. I’d gotten Mystery. I was hoping to snap up a reputable broodmare. I’d had my heart set on Sassy already, but I’d had the good sense at the last moment not to say that, for fear he’d buy her just to spite me.

The look on his face as I crowed about how great life was without him wasn’t anger or surprise or disbelief. It had been complete derision, as if I was the biggest fool in the world, just asking to be mocked.

"You'll fail spectacularly," he'd said, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “You can't even break a horse, let alone run a ranch. This is just another one of your little rebellions. Remember that time you decided you were going to be a gourmet chef? Or a professional photographer? The day you tried to paint a wall that God awful shade of yellow. Like piss. How long did those phases last? How successful were you?"

I’d wanted to scream at him.

Every one of those ‘failures’ had been his doing. Tossing my camera. Deliberately leaving cuts of beef out to spoil. Throwing my beautiful paint out to splatter across the garage floor.

I'd stood my ground, chin lifted. "This is different."

"No, it's not," he'd countered, his voice softening into that patronizing tone I'd grown to hate. "You're just not cut out for this life, darlin'. Come back to the house. Put on that pretty blue dress I like. We'll forget this whole silly conversation."

The rage I'd felt in that moment had propelled me through many disheartening months. Pure spite saw me through every step forward, followed by twenty steps back, through bringing Sassafras home and watching Mystery flat-out reject her in the rudest, horse way possible (giving her his backside and kicking out at her when she dared step closer). I’d clawed my way back to standing every time I’d gotten knocked down. Every time I’d mucked out a stall or mended a fence or stayed up all night because I was too damn anxious to close my eyes.

To bolster my resolve, I often imagined the look on Derek's face when Sunflower Hills became a premier breeding operation.

Now, watching my hopes literally trot away from each other in the paddock, I wondered if he'd been right all along.

"No," I said aloud, startling Sassafras. "He doesn't get to be right about this."

Mystery wasn't as hostile toward her now, and that was progress. It had to be. I couldn’t think otherwise.