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“Do you think I was thrilled that he left?” she asked. “I have my own issues with my dad. You aren’t going to offend me. Or shock me.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not interested in having the discussion.”

“If you won’t discuss it, then how do I understand? My dad aside, what could Four Corners do, what could they have done, to make people trust us?”

Nothing. That was the truth. He’d been too mired in his own stuff to really give a shit about the giant ranching collective next door, and he wasn’t overly concerned with them now. His niche was his, and it worked well for him.

But he’d worked hard to get here, and he had reservations about making changes again.

“I can work,” she said. “I can give you a whole week’s worth of work. I can give you whatever you need, but my sisters and I have worked so hard for this, and I don’t want it to fail because our customers don’t want to drive eight miles on a dirt road to get to the store, and I don’t want to fail because a bunch of crusty men at the county think they know what’s best. And I really, really don’t want to fail because my dad doesn’t have the same level of integrity I do.”

“Maybe you should apply for work at the county,” he said, and he was half-sincere.

“Conflict of interest, plus I have a job. It’s at my ranch, on my land. You understand that—I know you do. This life chooses you. And I went out and I made myself as qualified as I could, but this is... This is escaping me. I learned all of these things and now I’m having to ask a bunch of men for permission for my business to succeed, and I hate it. So I’ll work for you. I’ll show up every day. I’ll sort through your paperwork, do anything for your business I... I know I can help you and I know we can make this work, and I know I can make you trust me.” She took a deep breath and kept on going. “You assumed the worst of me, and that isn’t fair.”

“Guilty by association, I admit it. But also, because you think that you should be allowed to show up and flash your fancy degree and have my trust. That isn’t reasonable, Quinn. The degree means something to you. It means nothing to me. I don’t need a degree to run a ranch.”

She looked down. “Then why...?”

“Here you go, honey,” said Sarah, setting a burger down in front of each of them, along with their drinks and an extra basket of fries.

“Thank you,” said Quinn, just as he nodded and said, “Thanks.”

“Why do you need help with your paperwork, then? If you have it all together.” She took a fry and stuck it in her mouth.

So she was opting to be a brat now that he’d refused to answer her questions. It seemed to be the Quinn Sullivan go-to.

“I don’t care to do my paperwork. It stresses my sister out. She thinks that I leave it too late, and that it’s not as organized as it could be. She’s a control freak, and she’s meddlesome. And that’s all you really need to know about it. Camilla’s anxiety about it is her issue. I said what I did to placate her. I didn’t say it because I needed it.”

“So you’re saying there’s no validity to her concerns?”

“None. Like you, I think she got a little taste of the broader world and thinks she knows better.”

“You don’t think another perspective might be helpful?”

“Not one I didn’t ask for. And I didn’t ask for yours, sweetheart.”

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have expected to show up and just have you respect me because I told you I went to college. It’s clear to me that we don’t speak the same language when it comes to education. However, you are being reductive. And you don’t have the right to underestimate me just because my credentials come from a school. And because I’m a woman. And small. Admit it, those things make you skeptical of me.”

He looked at her. He didn’t know how to explain to her that it wasn’t her gender or her size.

It had something to do with those little white socks. And the white shoes.

So he just went ahead and decided to agree. Better to have her think that he was a misogynist than a weird sock fetishist. That wasn’t even what it was. Probably. Maybe.

Hell.

“Yeah. I am,” he said. She angrily took a bite of her hamburger. And he could see her attempting to not respond to how good it was. He felt the corner of his mouth lift up into a smirk. “I told you.”

“Well, I didn’t get to sample the Caesar salad.”

“You’re welcome.”

They ate the rest of the meal in relative silence.

And when they were finished, he paid in spite of her protests.

“Why don’t you call it a day,” he said.