Page 3 of Take a Chance (Blue Creek Ranch #1)

Crew

I inspected the fence post, trying to decide whether it needed to be replaced immediately or if it could wait until we redid this whole section.

It was on our very long list of things to do.

Since we needed to complete it before the broodmares finished foaling—we’d be swapping pastures so the mamas and babies would have a bigger space—it was high up on the list. Another kick to the post, and I decided it could stay.

Shooter suddenly went on alert, gaze focused and ears forward.

A moment ago he’d been grazing and following along behind me as I walked the fence.

My eight-year-old gelding was so bomb-proof he acted like a dog most of the time.

I didn’t have to worry about him spooking and taking off.

So if he was alert and wary, I knew something was going on.

A second later, I heard it. Juanpablo was braying at the top of his considerable lungs. I wasn’t too far out from the house but I was sure he could be heard for miles. Despite having the run of several pastures, Juanpablo usually stuck to the paddock next to the house, acting as an alert donkey.

Anyone who said donkeys weren’t protective and territorial had never met one.

Gathering up Shooter’s reins, I tossed them over his neck and climbed back in the saddle. I wasn’t worried, since it was likely some sort of visitor, but Juanpablo wasn’t quitting and I thought I should check out what was going on.

With the barest squeeze of my legs, Shooter moved and after we passed through the gate, he settled into an easy canter.

The motion was second nature to me—I’d been riding since before I could walk—and Shooter and I were one.

I knew when I saw him at the auction as a three-year-old he was something special.

He might have failed at being a show horse but he was damn good under saddle.

The house came into view before I could really see what was going on.

I slowed Shooter to a walk when I noticed Mom and a man standing by Juanpablo’s fence.

Since the donkey had stopped braying, Mom had either bribed him with a carrot or Juanpablo was just happy to have his favorite human’s attention.

The truck was unfamiliar, an older model with faded paint and more than a few dents, but that meant it was well used. As were the man’s faded and well-worn jeans. Both he and Mom turned at the sound of approaching hooves, and while Mom’s face lit up, the man reached down.

That’s when I noticed the little boy, clutching a stuffed bird. When the man, who I could only assume was his father, touched his shoulder, the boy looked up and his mouth fell open. He stepped back, nearly causing his father to stumble.

“Whoa,” I murmured and Shooter instantly stopped. I dismounted and left the reins over his neck. Shooter nosed my shoulder and followed behind me as I walked closer. I stopped a few feet away from the group and Shooter stayed at my side.

“Crew! Perfect timing. I was just about to call you.” Mom wiggled the two-way radio. Cell service could be spotty sometimes out on the property, so we usually carried the long-range radios when we were out. “This is Malachi Trevino and his son, Tony. Mal is here for the interview.”

I was about to open my mouth to ask my mom what the hell she was talking about, but she made her blue eyes wide. I took the cue for what it was and shut up. Later I’d find out why she’d set up an interview for a position we weren’t hiring for. At least not yet.

“Nice to meet you.” I pasted on a smile and held out a hand. Mal had a hearty shake that spoke well of him. “And you too, Tony.”

The boy wrapped one arm around his dad’s leg. “That’s a big horse. Like Jaina.”

“He’s sixteen three hands,” I confirmed with a single nod. Tony’s brow crunched together. It took me a second to realize he didn’t know what I was talking about. But then again, he was probably no more than four so I wasn’t surprised. “He’s big because he’s gotta carry me around.”

Tony considered that for a second then tucked his face against his dad’s knee. “You splash paint on him?”

I couldn’t help the chuckle and Mal answered before I could. “That’s his coat color. It is called paint, so good job. But his hair comes in like that, in patches of white and red. It’s pretty cool, huh?”

Tony didn’t look so sure about that. Shooter chose that moment to snort and nudge me hard enough that I had to take a sidestep.

Tony let out an “eep” and jumped behind his dad’s legs.

My boy was tired of being ignored. Or more likely, mad we’d stood here this long and he hadn’t gotten a treat.

The house usually meant carrots or apple slices. Mom was a sucker that way.

“Tony’s gonna hang out with me while you and his dad talk,” Mom said brightly, redirecting the conversation. She glanced up at me. “You going to use the house office or yours?”

I contemplated that only for a few seconds. Dad was over at the training barn with Hawk and Gemma today, so the house office would be empty. And I was sure both father and child would be more comfortable if they were closer to each other. “House. Gimme a sec to turn Shooter out.”

I led my horse over to the next paddock.

Shooter wouldn’t care if he was sharing with Juanpablo, but the donkey certainly would.

He got along better with Shooter than some of the others, but he still didn’t like his territory being invaded.

I unbuckled the saddle and set it on the top rail, dropped the saddle pad in the dirt because it needed to be cleaned anyway, and then removed his bridle.

Shooter stood still, only his tail swishing, and when I was done, he moseyed through the gate and started grazing immediately.

The little group had waited for me, and we all trouped into the house together. Mom kept up a constant stream of chatter, asking Tony what he would like to do and if he needed a snack. I took off my battered ball cap and hung it on one of the hooks, before jerking my chin in the opposite direction

“This way.”

Mal gave one more glance toward his son where Mom was already getting the boy settled at the island in the kitchen.

The farmhouse used to be all closed off, but that had changed when we were little.

The renovations had been a pain in the ass, but Mom wanted to be able to see her whole brood at any given time, so it was an open floor plan now.

I led the way down the hall. While the kitchen, living room, dining room and parlor were all open concept, my parents had built additions over the years.

It had been a must with ten children. To the left there was a hallway where a fourth bathroom and office had been built.

There were also two full bathrooms on the second floor and a half-bath on the third.

I left the door to the office cracked open, knowing we wouldn’t be disturbed and settled behind the desk.

I gestured to the empty seat across from me with one hand and woke up the computer by jiggling the mouse with the other.

I was greeted by a split screen; Mal’s email open in one window, his resume in the other.

I skimmed the information and saw everything I needed to know.

Good job, Mom .

“Thanks for coming in today,” I said, to get the ball rolling. I had to get my brain in the right frame of mind. “How’d you hear about us?”

Mal answered after a second’s hesitation. “I saw your site. You have quite the operation here.”

“We’re proud of it.” I rested my forearms on the desk. “Tell me about your experience.”

He fidgeted with a worn spot on his knee but caught himself and looked me dead on. “I’ve worked the land since I was born. We had Simmental. And grew our own orchard grass, timothy, and alfalfa.”

“Beef?” I asked and Mal gave a single affirmative nod. I figured as much. There wasn’t any other reason to raise Simmental. “How many head?”

Something complicated ran over his face, but he answered quickly. “Usually upwards of two hundred. We weren’t a large operation, but we did all right.”

Again with the past tense. I sensed a story there and had to decide if I wanted to push.

I had to walk a fine line here. As his potential employer, there were things I couldn’t ask.

But by the same token, there were things I needed to know.

I looked over his resume again, such as it was.

A whole lot of skills, not so much on employers. It clicked.

“Family farm?”

“Yes.” His voice was tight, and he glanced back at the door. After a second, he added quietly, “My dad passed and we had to sell.”

I held up a hand and nodded. I understood how it went.

I’d seen more than one, and heard of plenty more, of farms folding for just that reason.

It spoke to the fickle nature of the business more than the caliber of the person running the place.

Sometimes you could do everything right and things still went to shit.

“Your list of skills is pretty impressive,” I said, redirecting. “Horsemanship, cattle, mechanic, and, oh. Farrier. Are you certified?”

Mal shook his head. “I took some classes, but it was so I could take care of our own stock.”

“Still, a good skill to have.” The certification wasn’t necessary to be a farrier, and if I hired him on, it wasn’t like I would suddenly put him to work in that capacity.

We had a farrier we’d been using for years.

But it could come in handy. I did all right myself, but I wasn’t that good at it.

“You said you looked at our site. I assume you read our mission.”

For the first time, Mal gave me an actual smile. “You make stewardship of the land and health and wellness of your animals your top priority. Trust me when I say that’s a mission I am fully behind.”