Page 8 of A Cowboy Holiday
None of that had happened overnight. We’d more than quadrupled in size since I’d opened a tiny dairy operation with my brother, Jax, fifteen years ago—shortly after I’d graduated with a degree in agriculture and animal husbandry.
Jax and I had grown up on a thriving strawberry farm in Kern County that had been in the family for generations. Fruit had always been a Spade family tradition—harvesting, preserving, and selling it. We’d picked berries as kids and spent our spare time in high school working the fields with the hired crew in between football practice and studying for exams.
That farm was long gone now. Bad business decisions, drought, and a recession—ultimately too many hits. Dad had been forced to sell a portion of the business to stay afloat, then another portion, and another…until there was nothing left. Dad had died of a heart attack five months after the last deed was signed to the bank, and Mom had passed away two years later.
Losing our parents and a piece of our heritage had been the driving force behind Oak Ridge.
Jax and I had switched from berries to milk, and with some savvy investments had turned a small farm with three Jerseys, a field of lettuce, and a few pistachio trees into a large, diversified, and well-respected working ranch.
Our name and single oak tree logo were a nationwide symbol of quality. Oak Ridge sold produce, cow’s milk, and goat cheese throughout the country; operated a luxury dude ranch catering to wealthy clients who wanted to play cowboy for a week; and a couple of years ago, we opened the winery and began selling the Pinot Noir we’d been harvesting and bottling for over a decade.
It was a lot, and it required constant care, grit, determination, and excellent management. Jax handled finance and marketing, Waylen was dairy operations and sales, Mills headed the vacation destination program, Santiago ran the winery, and Hudson and I were in charge of the livestock. As CEO, I had my nose in everything, but we had a large, competent staff and I didn’t hesitate to delegate as needed.
However, cows, bulls, horses, pigs, chickens, and yes, goats were my daily companions. It might not be glamorous work, but I loved it. For the kid who used to sleep in cowboy boots, it was a dream come true.
Okay, so dairy farming wasn’t really a cowboy thing, but it was cowboy adjacent. Close enough for me.
See, I’d always been a fan of the cowboy mystique. A stoic tough guy on a valiant steed riding into the sunset with a cool hat, dusty boots, and a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate? Yeah, sign me up. And if they were big and a little mean-looking like the grumpy vet, even better.
Damn it!
See? I had a problem.
“Maaa.”
I chuckled at the well-timed interruption and crouched to pat Nelly’s head. “How are you this morning, sweet girl? Did your babies keep you up all night?”
Nelly nuzzled each kid in response. They were both brown, spotted, and super fluffy…like adorable stuffed animals.
“Hey, Tanner. I thought I might find you here.” Janey, one of our college student assistants sailed into the barn, her long black hair swept into an untidy bun.
“Just checking on the princess and her babes.”
Janey squealed. “Could they be any cuter? OMG! What are we going to name them? Hudson says he’s giving you till tomorrow before he lets Moody do the honors. And sinceMoody’s already gearing up for the holidays at his bookstore, I hope you don’t mind Rudolph, Blitzen, Comet?—”
“All right, all right. Message received. I’ll give it some thought,” I promised as I straightened, towering over the petite woman by a solid foot. “Did you need something?”
“Yes, you have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“The new vet.” Janey widened her eyes expressively. “By the way, he’s enormous. Like part giant or something. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to send him out here.”
I frowned. Axel was here? Now?
“Uh, yeah. That would be…yes,” I stammered. “Thanks.”
Janey flashed a quizzical smile. “You got it, Boss.”
Axel didn’t have to say a word. I felt his presence before I spotted his shadow filling the doorway. With the sun behind him, I couldn’t make out his features at all.
I held one of the kids to my chest and stepped forward to greet him, my pulse racing so fast, I felt dizzy.
Get your shit together, Tanner.
“Hi, there. Good to see you again.”
He grunted a response that might have been a neutral “You too,” or a sarcastic “Is it?” Not exactly socially graceful, though after our first encounter, it was almost expected. But his sheer largeness was another matter.