Page 8 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy (The Billionaire’s Bidding #3)

OLIVER

A ll I wanted was a twenty minute nap. That was it. Just a moment for my eyes to flutter shut, for this worn-out body to collapse into a tangle of sheets. But here I am, chasing a loose hen through the field, trying not to step in horse poop along the way.

It slows down at the tree lines, and I’m finally able to jump on it. “Gotcha,” I hiss, scooping the clucking bundle up in my arms.

Carly made this all look easy. When she was here, everything worked smoothly. She knew this place, knew every detail like she’d spent her whole life with animals. And maybe she had, it’s not like I spent much time getting her backstory.

My head pounding and my hands smelling like livestock, I walk the chicken back to the fenced-in area around the coop and reunite it with its buddies.

No more waiting around. I need help. Today, if that’s possible.

Grabbing my keys, wallet, and phone, I jump into the car. But I’m not even halfway down the drive before another hen runs in front of the car. Maybe the same one.

Groaning, I drop my head against the steering wheel. Seriously?

It’s like they know I’m about to give up and they’re taunting me, daring me to keep going, to see just how far I’ll fall behind. But I keep my cool, get out, chase down this chicken, and return it to its home. This time, I go along the chicken wire, looking for any holes.

There’s nothing, though. This chicken is a magician.

“I’ll figure it out sooner or later,” I tell it. “I may be new around here, but I’m not that stupid. I’ll find out how you’re getting out.”

Back in the car, I keep my eyes on the road, determined to get to town and find some help before I drive this place, and myself, straight into the ground.

As I drive, my mind is cluttered with the morning’s disasters.

The only thing I had planned was rest, but I couldn’t even get that right.

I’m thinking about how long it takes to find reliable help and what I’ll say to the potential ranch hands when I find them.

I’m thinking about Carly, too, wondering if she’s still mad.

Wondering if she’ll even talk to me if I run into her.

And wondering why I even want to run into her. After last night, I should be happy if we never cross paths again. Of course, that’s next to impossible in a town as small as Miralena.

I almost pull over to call her but stop myself.

I’m stubborn like that. I know I should admit defeat, beg her to come back, promise her a salary, benefits, my firstborn child — anything to get her back here so I don’t end up passed out in a barn from sheer exhaustion.

But the thought of reaching out to her makes me feel raw and vulnerable, two things I’m not comfortable with.

Anyway, she can’t be the only person in Miralena who knows her way around a stable. The whole county is probably full of capable ranch hands.

The drive to Miralena is shorter than I remember. Suddenly, little blocks are passing by, each one having seen better days. Finding a parking spot (which isn’t hard in this town) I hustle out of the car. Time to find my ranch hands.

Except… where?

The silence is almost mocking me. I glance around, half expecting to see a tumbleweed rolling past. I’m used to the constant hum of the city, a background noise that fills every empty space.

Here, there’s nothing but the sound of my own awkward presence.

A slow drip of music leaks from one of the shops, something twangy and unapologetic.

It should tell me where to go, but I’m at a loss.

This place is nearly a ghost town, with only a handful of people out on the sidewalks. I’m sure the whole population can fit into one city bus.

Maybe I’m in over my head, thinking I’ll waltz in and find exactly what I need. But there’s got to be someone around here that fits the bill, right?

Spotting a hardware store with its front door propped open, I cross the street and poke my head inside. “Hello?”

Inside is as empty as out. A sea of wooden shelves stretches in front of me, rows and rows of potential that I have no idea what to do with.

I pick up a hammer, then set it back down like it’s made of porcelain.

There’s no reason to be here except that it’s a starting point, and that’s something, I guess.

A white-haired man appears from a back room. “Can I help you?” he calls.

I wander toward him, careful to avoid eye contact with a menacing display of pitchforks.

“I’m looking for some ranch hands,” I say, getting straight to the point. “I’m new in town, and I was hoping you might know where I can go to hire people.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I see the question forming before he asks it. “Greer, right? The fella that bought Mack’s place?”

I nod, feeling an outsider’s reputation already wrapping itself around me. “That’s right. Know where I can find some help?”

“Well, you might try the bars.”

“They’re open already?” I stare at him, convinced I’ve heard him wrong. The look on my face must show my confusion, because he nods as if to reassure me.

“It’s nearly six o’clock.”

“It is?” I feel my eyes widen. Where did the day go? Did I really just spend over twelve hours chasing animals around?

No wonder I feel lightheaded. I didn’t stop for lunch. Didn’t take a breather. I’ve been going like a robot.

“Yeah, ranch hands usually hang out at one of the bars. Try the Ramblin’ Rose.”

“The Ramblin’ Rose.” I nod. “Got it. Thank you for your help.”

He nods. “You’re welcome. Just down the street. Take a right on Harrison.”

The bar is easy enough to find thanks to a neon sign, and its vibe is a mix of sports bar and small-town country spot. Judging by the pockmarks on the wooden bar and the photos of locals cluttering the walls, the spot is a well-loved one.

The bartender’s back is to me, her hair pulled up in a messy knot, and for a moment I freeze. Wait. Is that…?

Carly turns around, her mouth dropping open at the sight of me. She looks amazing in a simple white shirt that hangs off one shoulder, revealing the straps of a lace tank top underneath.

Her eyes flash to recognition, then quickly harden with disdain. “What are you doing here? Did you come to apologize?”

“No,” I say, forcing out the words, “I came to find some ranch hands. What are you doing here?”

“My mom and aunt own the place. I work occasional shifts.” Her lips purse, and there’s a long silence.

The bar is almost as empty as the rest of the town, just a few old men nursing beers at the other end of the bar. All three of them are probably forty years too old for manual labor, so I’m out of luck there.

I take a breath and approach the bar, feeling the distance between us shrink and multiply at the same time. She stands there, wiping a glass, like she’s got all the time in the world and I’m not even worth looking at. It’s me who hesitates, pausing awkwardly at the edge of the counter.

“The workload already getting to you?” she asks, breaking the silence, her voice smooth and sweet as honeyed poison.

I give her my best unaffected smile, pretending her presence is as trivial as the dust on the shelves. “The plan was to hire help all along. I told you that.”

Her eyes flash with something I can’t place, but it isn’t pleasant.

“Funny seeing you working here,” I add. “I would have thought if you were to moonlight, it would be as something more fitting. An art thief or car-jacker — you know, something more illegal.”

Her eyes narrow. “Can I help you with something, or are you just going to stand here and make bad jokes?”

I could bite back. I could continue the fight that we had last night after she literally trespassed and broke into my stable.

But I know that won’t do me any good, so instead I do what I came here for and swallow the brick of pride lodged in my throat.

“I need help, Carly.” My voice is quieter than I’d like.

“So hire someone.” She shrugs.

“Can you, uh, give me a tip as to where I can do that? The man at the hardware store said I could find people here.”

She laughs. “It’s a little late in the season. Everyone already has a job.”

I blink at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“It’s my job to do that?” she volleys back.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Fine. I’m gonna do it. Despite our differences, it’s probably the best choice anyway.

“Will you come back and work at the ranch?” I ask.

“You know the place better than anyone else, and I… even if I hire someone else, they wouldn’t know the animals like you do.

Last night was not okay, but I know you can probably get the place running like a well-oiled machine, and I’m not too proud to admit that. So, please. Will you join me?”

I half expect her to laugh in my face, but she doesn’t. She watches me, and the silence stretches long enough that I start to worry, start to regret asking, start to think of a backup plan for when she tells me to get lost.

Her lips twist into a half-smile, and I can’t tell if she’s enjoying this or feeling sorry for me. Probably both.

“Are you sure you’re not bribing me so I don’t report you for animal neglect?” she finally asks, and it feels like a small victory. At least she hasn’t said no.

“I’m not neglecting them,” I remind her. “Everyone is fed and happy. And I’m serious. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone like you.” I hate the desperation that’s creeping into my voice. I don’t want to show her that I’m anxious about this, but I suppose it’s too late for that.

“Like me?” She’s still teasing, still testing, but her tone is softer. “And what’s in it for me, Oliver?”

Everything. I’ll give her everything if she’ll say yes and come back. But I’m not going to say that out loud. Not yet.

“I’ll pay you what Mack did, plus fifty percent more.”

I don’t miss the way her eyes widen, but she quickly collects herself and puts the indifferent facade back on.

“Fine,” she says, like she’s still the one doing me a favor.

Maybe she is.

Relief rushes over me, almost knocking me off balance. “Really? You’ll help?”

“Really,” she says, looking smug. She knows exactly how much power she has over me right now.

I should feel grateful, and I am, but the thought of working with her is its own kind of challenge. We couldn’t even get through a night without fighting. Now she’ll be back, and it’s only a matter of time before we butt heads again.

I’ve weighed the risks, considered the cost of swallowing my pride versus the cost of collapsing from exhaustion. Maybe we can make it work. Maybe we’ll kill each other trying. But if there’s even a small chance she’ll come through for me, it’s worth it.

“Thank you,” I say, the words awkward and a little too sincere for my own comfort.

She shrugs, a noncommittal gesture that says more than her words ever will. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

It’s my turn to be smug. “See you then. Don’t be late.”

She snorts. “City boy, I’ll be pouring out feed before you’re even up.”

I don’t doubt it. Once again, she has me beat.

It stings, but I also kind of like it. I’m not used to people verbally sparring with me. Back in Houston, most people are ingratiating, always coming to me hoping to get something out of the exchange, but Carly sees me as an equal.

No - as beneath her.

And I want to prove her wrong. I want to show her that, city boy that I am, I can still learn the ropes in her country.

I turn to leave, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease up for the first time today. I’m still not sure how this will all play out, but at least I have a shot now. At least I’m not going back to the ranch completely alone.

“See you bright and early,” she calls, and it sounds more like a warning than a promise.

I step out of the dark bar, the sudden rush of early-evening sunlight almost blinding me. The joke might still be on me, but I’m starting to see how this might work out after all.