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Mason's grin spreads slow and wicked. "Well, go on, then."

"Go on what?"

"Go meet your three-hundred-thousand-dollar woman."

"We've got a fence to finish."

"This fence has been standing broken for two days. It'll survive another twenty minutes while you go make sure the woman holding your entire racing season in her hands didn't get eaten by the cattle guard on the way in."

I want to go. That's the stupid, humiliating truth of it. There's a restless part of me lighting up at the idea of walking up to that guesthouse and laying eyes on the person who might actually get Renegade and Two-Step back on the track. But I'm not admitting that to Mason.

My phone buzzes again.

Dad: Part of the north section is down. We've got cattle wandering toward the county road.

Me: How did that happen?

Dad: Storm. Get over here before these cattle get hit.

"We've got cattle on the road. North fence got hit, too," I shout at Mason, already climbing into the truck.

"Fuck." He sticks the tool in the ground and gets in the truck. He grumbles, "We should have replaced these fences a long time ago."

"Don't say that to Dad," I warn.

He grunts. Then adds, "Can't catch a single break on this ranch even with three hundred thousand dollars' worth of good news three-quarters of a mile away."

"Shut up," I threaten.

He chuckles.

I drive across the ranch, and it takes us the better part of two hours to get eight head of cattle off the county road and back through a gap in the fence we should have replaced a few years ago.

By the time we're done, my hands are raw enough that I can barely feel them, and my patience is worn.

"Did she perform her witchcraft yet?" Mason asks, checking his phone as we climb back into the truck.

"Knock it off."

A corner of his mouth lifts. "Well, you are paying three hundred k for her."

I defend her, stating, "Alexander says she went straight to the barn, didn't even unpack first."

"Dedicated," Mason taunts.

We're not two minutes down the road before my phone buzzes again, and he grabs it before I can. He reads, "Looks like your new gal's already got Two-Step standing square on that bad leg."

Hope lifts in my chest along with some professional relief. "Good. See, Roy's right. She's good."

"You want to swing by the barn instead of finishing this last stretch of fence?"

I do. God help me, I do, bad enough that I actually slow the truck for half a second. But I'm not giving Mason the satisfaction. "No. We have a job to finish."

"Oh, go on. We can take a quick detour. All the animals are contained."

My curiosity wins. I turn toward the barn.

"Three hundred thousand," Mason mutters.