Page 50 of Taming the Wild Cowboy

Well, fuck.

He leveled a weary look at his uncle. “Let’s table the matter until calving is done.” This was not a battle he wanted to fight right now.

“Jordan’s coming home.”

“Eventually.” They’d spoken that morning and while things were finally moving along, his brother wasn’t going to be able to come home as early as expected. Leaving a project in the lurch wouldn’t do his reputation as a potential independent contractor any good.

“Hayes will be back in a matter of months.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me.”

“You have a job. With a future.” His uncle scowled at him. “Do you hate it or something?”

“I don’t hate it.”

Wade rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, like he used to do when he was trying to figure out how to deal with whatever trouble his boys had stirred up. “If you decide to quit, it’s none of my business, but”—he leveled his infamous dead eye at Trev—“I won’t have you doing it on my account. I—”

“Can manage. I know.” Trev pulled off his hat. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

“So am I, and right now I’m going to sit down.”

Wade started through the kitchen doing his best to walk with an even stride because Trev was watching. When he sat in his recliner, Barney the cat jumped onto his lap and Wade began to idly stroke the cat’s ginger fur. Trev, in turn, headed down the hall to his room. Wade was stubborn as hell, but that was why he was able to raise three boys with no help. He’d given them a work ethic. He hadn’t cared if they’d run wild as long as they didn’t hurt anyone, and chores were completed on time. He’d encouraged them to find careers that weren’t ranch-related once Trev started down the computer science path. Earn some real money. You can always come back, he’d said.

Judging from his last glimpse of Wade’s obstinate expression, Trev decided now was not the time to remind him of that.

Chapter Ten

The Dawson Meadow Arena was located at the base of the Bridger Range north of Bozeman. Maclyn had, of course, heard of the facility, but she’d never visited. As she parked near the covered arena, she decided that had been an oversight on her part. It was a gorgeous setup with stables, hay barns, indoor and outdoor arenas. The owners did not live on the property, but there was a manager’s house and a pavilion for events.

The place smacked of money, in an understated sort of way, which made her think of the Sweet Grass. But any feared similarities between Mike Hersey and the Benningtons were quickly put to rest when a tall man in his mid-thirties emerged from the house that served as the office, wearing dusty jeans and a white shirt with a grass stain on one sleeve.

He waved in a friendly way and a few of Maclyn’s nerves subsided.

“You must be McClane?”

Mac couldn’t help but smile. “Maclyn.”

“Mike Hersey. Pardon my dust,” he said, slapping at his jeans. “I’ve been moving feed and didn’t have time to clean up for the interview.” He grimaced at the grass stain on his sleeve. “I have no idea where that came from.”

They started toward the covered arena and when Mike pushed the door open, the young horse tied to the center post lifted her head.

“Here’s how I start my interviews. I’d like to see you handle this filly.”

“Okay. What outcome are you looking for?”

“I just want you to approach her like you would any unfamiliar horse that you’ve been hired to start. When you get her tacked up, we’ll assess.”

Maclyn pulled in a breath, then started across the sandy arena stopping several yards away from the horse who dipped her nose as she studied Mac.

“Hey, girl,” she said softly, wondering what kind of animal she’d been given for this test. She had her answer shortly after she’d led the filly to the round pen, a green horse with a decent attitude. Mike wasn’t going to risk having one of his more challenging animals further traumatized by someone who didn’t know what they were doing, and he wasn’t going to have his interviewee get hurt.

At the end of the round pen session, which included groundwork, foot handling, saddling and mounting, she’d untacked the filly, then brushed her down. She was used to being judged on her actions thanks to her Equine Studies classes, and at times completely forgot that Mike Hersey was watching. When she led the filly back to the post, she glanced at the man, who gave an approving nod.

“You probably have questions, so we should head into the office and see what you’d like to know.”

“Sounds good.” It also sounded hopeful.

After Mike released the filly, he showed Mac the way from the arena to the house that served as an office and gathering spot for classes and such. He explained the facility and operations as they walked through the light rain, giving Mac the feeling that she had indeed aced the tryout. Mike opened the door, and she started through, hesitating for a split second as she spotted a woman with long dark hair striding from the stables to a low-slung car, her head bent against the rain.