Page 7 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy (The Billionaire’s Bidding #3)

OLIVER

A light hits my face, and I roll over, trying to get away from it. I shouldn’t have left the bathroom light on…

Wait. There is no bathroom connected to this bedroom. Because I’m not back home at my house in Houston. I’m in Miralena, spending my first night as a ranch owner.

Sitting up, I rub my face. Is that one of the lights from the barnyard? Wasn’t it off when I went to bed?

Yeah, it definitely was. Which means that some movement triggered it.

Tossing the covers off, I pad to the window and look outside. Nothing.

Lingering in the window, I bite the inside of my cheek. It was probably a wild animal. A coyote or a raccoon.

But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a person?

My stomach twists. Could a thief be down there?

No. I’m being paranoid. What are the odds that on my first night?—

There’s a crash from somewhere outside, a clattering like a bucket or something. I wait, frozen, trying to hear something else, but there’s nothing for another minute or so.

I can’t ignore it, though. My mother didn’t raise a fool, though maybe she raised a sucker, because I’m throwing on my clothes and getting ready to investigate.

I try to tell myself it’s nothing, just a possum or something.

But I’m already imagining how smug Carly will look in the morning when I wake up to find half my livestock gone, the stable’s front doors wide open.

She’d probably tell the whole town that Oliver Greer got robbed on his first night here. And I can’t let that happen.

Slipping into my shoes, I step out the door, afraid I’m too late and my horses are already halfway to Mexico. I take it easy going down the steps, not wanting to make the wood creak and alert anyone to my approach.

The darkness is so absolute I almost feel like I’m floating, like I’m in one of those sensory deprivation tanks. There’s a crescent moon but not enough stars to light the whole sky. Not even enough to light the whole ranch.

Once my eyes adjust, I still don’t see much. But what I do see makes me stop. There’s a car parked in the dark at the far end of the driveway. I’m too far away to tell if there’s anyone inside, but just the sight of it makes my chest tighten.

I reach into my sweatpants’ pocket, looking for my phone, and realize it’s not there. It’s still in the house, charging by the bed.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Should I go inside and call the police? What if the thief or thieves are already gone by the time they get here? At least I still have a chance of scaring them off.

Keeping low, I creep closer to the barnyard, my breathing quick and shallow. It occurs to me that I have no way of defending myself, no way of scaring anyone off. Don’t ranch owners usually carry firearms to scare off wolves and thieves?

I shake my head at my stupidity, but it’s not like I would be great at using a gun anyway. With my limited experience, I wouldn’t trust myself to brandish one.

There’s a light on in the stables, the kind you don’t see unless you’re looking for it. Or unless you’re a burglar and you turned it on. So I creep over there, hoping to surprise the thieves who already have a head start on me. Trying to use the element of surprise to get the drop on them.

I put my ear to the stable door, and there it is. Someone. Inside.

No voices, though. Just the sound of something — I can’t tell what — being moved around. Anger starts in my chest and ripples under my skin. It’s probably someone who heard Mack sold the ranch and now thinks they can pull one over on the new guy.

Well, they’ve got another thing coming for them.

“Hey!” I shout, pushing the stall door open and stepping into the stable.

It’s not people in ski masks, and no one is moving the horses out the back and onto a trailer. It’s Carly, wearing sneakers and yoga pants, mucking out a stall.

My jaw must drop nearly to the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

She pushes hair from her face and sets her pitchfork against the wall. “I, um… I came to check on the animals.”

“Check on them?” I repeat, trying to make sense of whatever craziness this is.

“Yeah.” Her face is flushed, and it doesn’t seem to be completely from working hard. She looks embarrassed. “I wanted to make sure you fed them.”

My jaw sets tight. “Yes. Why would I not feed them?”

Lifting her chin, she stares defiantly at me, like somehow, someway I’m the one in the wrong here. Like she didn’t just break onto private property and start doing chores.

“I fed them.” I cross my arms and glare back at her.

“You could have forgotten someone.”

“I didn’t,” I snap back. “And, by the way, what does shoveling out that stall have to do with feeding them?”

“So I guess you’re gonna tell me you mucked these stalls, too?” she shoots back.

“I was planning on getting to that tomorrow.”

Based on the judgmental look on her face, I could have let the horses sleep in my room tonight and it still wouldn’t have been good enough for her.

“Look, I get it.” She sighs. “You want to play cowboy. But this isn’t a hobby. I don’t care how rich you are. You can’t neglect these animals while you play house for a few weeks.”

“This isn’t a joke to me, Carly.” I can’t believe anyone would speak to me like this. “And I’m not giving up just because you think I’m some useless city boy.”

“You sure come off like a useless city boy,” she retorts. “Tell me one thing then. Do you know which of these horses is pregnant?”

I swallow hard and realize she’s got me. Even if I had known one of them was about to become a mother, I wouldn’t have been able to tell which one it was. It wasn’t in any of the paperwork.

“You didn’t know,” she presses. “That’s because you probably didn’t know what a horse looked like close up until today.”

“It’s… not obvious.”

“Yes, it is,” she says through tight teeth. “And what are you gonna do when she goes into labor, huh? Do you know how to deliver a foal?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She moves on to the next stall, heaving the pitchfork back up in her hands, and unceremoniously starts picking up clumps of straw and dung. Watching her, I can’t deny a sinking feeling in my gut.

“You should have hired help before coming here,” she mutters, still working, not looking at me.

My face burns. She’s right. And I hate her for it.

“I’m not abusing these animals,” I hiss.

“I didn’t say you were,” she counters, not missing a beat. “But anyone who knows animals can see you’re neglecting them out of ignorance. You really have no idea what you need to be doing.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then tell me how many times a horse needs to be groomed in a week,” she fires back, shoving the pitchfork into the hay with force.

“Well—”

“And do you know how often they need to be exercised? Or how to clean their hooves? When was this one last dewormed?”

Each question is like a battering ram hitting my very foundation. I’m cut down by her words, and the cold reality of it all strikes me hard. I don’t know these things.

I don’t know any of it.

Sweat pricks my brow as the weight of responsibility crushes down on me. This was supposed to be a simple escape, a retreat from my stressful life back in Houston, a way to avoid the next panic attack or an eventual heart attack.

Now it’s turning into possibly the worst decision I ever made.

“Why didn’t Mack tell me one of the mares is pregnant?” I mutter, saying the first thing I can think of.

She shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know. I only knew because I was here every day.”

We both fall silent then, her work the only sound in the stable.

After a moment, I scratch the back of my head. “You shouldn’t have come back here.”

“I care about these animals.”

“And I respect that, but it’s not your place anymore.” It’s harsher than I mean it to be.

Yes, I need help. But not from her.

“Fine,” she spits out.

She puts the pitchfork down, grabs her car keys, and heads for the door. But not before getting in one last word.

“You have your fun, city boy… I’ll be here to pick up the pieces when you fail.”

“Leave,” I hiss. “Now.”

I follow her out of the stable, making sure she actually walks to her car.

“You didn’t even trust me for one night,” I say as she opens her car door. “Not even a few hours.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” she shouts. Her car door slams, and then the wheels kick up dust in my face as she pulls away.

Sighing hard, I rub my face. What… the… hell?

I can’t remember the last time I was this pissed. Pissed and guilty.

Because Carly, as insufferable as she is, was right. I’m in way over my head.

My steps feeling heavy, I head back inside the stable and look around, but I don’t see what she was talking about. It doesn’t seem that bad to me. A little bit of a smell. Some mud.

But then I start to notice the piles. Some bigger than others. It was a job I really did plan on getting to tomorrow, but now that Carly started it, I feel bad for the horses. They’re looking at me expectantly, like they’re all hoping to be the next one to have their stalls cleaned.

Grabbing the pitchfork Carly left leaning against the wall, I get to work. The task isn’t too hard at first, but like everything else in this place, the closer I get, the more overwhelming it seems.

I remember Carly’s expression when I originally told her I’d take care of the ranch myself.

She didn’t even think I could get through one night without her — like the whole thing was a huge mistake.

She’s got some nerve, and maybe I’m crazy, but the ranch is mine now, and I’m going to make this work.

The second stall is even worse. At first, I think it’s a trick of the light. Then I realize I didn’t see how much I had to do.

Oh, well. Who needs sleep anyway?

Pushing myself harder, I try not to think of what I’ll face after this. Maybe I’ll have to bathe the goats… Is that a thing?

“Stupid Carly,” I mutter to myself.

One of the horses snorts.

“Yeah, I know,” I tell it. “I know you love her. She’s sweet to you. She’s pretty, and—” I stop myself right there.

Still holding the pitchfork, I turn to look at the horse, my eyes wide. The horse only gazes back, its expression unwavering and calm.

“I did not just call Carly pretty. Again.”

The horse doesn’t respond this time; it just keeps chewing on a mouthful of straw. I shake my head fiercely.

Carly is infuriating, stubborn. She barges onto my property in the middle of the night and calls me out for only doing an adequate job with her previous duties. Yes, she has a commanding voice and looks good in a pair of jeans, but that doesn’t make her pretty.

She’s… rustic. Strong-willed. Disruptive.

Not pretty.

Yes. I thought she was when I first saw her, but after tonight she’s nothing but a nuisance to me.

With newfound energy, I tackle the last of the stalls, but my thoughts are consumed by Carly and the way her eyes flash when she’s angry at me. There’s a spark there, something raw and unapologetic.

I don’t like it, but I can’t deny that her confidence has an odd appeal.

By the time I’m finished with all the stalls, my shirt is covered in sweat and my muscles ache with fatigue. But at least the stalls are clean.

Heading back toward the house, I hop into the shower, dry off, and walk toward bed, only to see the sun rising through the windows.

Twenty minutes. I’ll rest for twenty minutes and then?—

It’s like the whole ranch wakes up at once. The roosters crow. The sheep baa. The goats bleat.

And I collapse onto the bed face first. So much for a calming getaway.