“Miss James, I understand, please, believe me, I do. But we just can’t hold your scholarship if you have less than a B average and you’re missing more classes than you’re attending.” I can see Mrs. Kennedy has sympathy. But sympathy won’t pay the bills.

Sympathy won’t put dinner on the table or a roof over our heads. Sympathy won’t help me keep my twelve-year-old brother, Luke in school. He’s been acting out more and more the past few months, and I’m at a loss for what to do.

Our mother doesn’t care, she just drinks and drinks some more. Even Luke doesn’t know how bad she gets with me. The violent and cruel outbursts. In some ways, I’m glad he doesn’t know. In others, I wish he did. I wish he could see her for what she truly is–a cold-hearted bitch.

The only reason I’ve stuck around since my eighteenth birthday two years ago is because of Luke. I don’t want him falling through the cracks. I want to give him a better life. Which was why I accepted this scholarship for assistant veterinary care in large animals at the local college.

I’ve loved animals my entire life. I’ve always been good with them. My teachers often joke I’m a horse whisperer because I can get the meanest of animals to let me inspect them.

“Adilynn, are you listening to me?” Mrs. Kennedy asks with a sad smile.

“Yeah, I’m being kicked out because I can’t manage my life.” Standing I go to leave when she calls me back.

“I’m not kicking you out Adilynn, you signed a contract. You’re doing this to yourself.” Her sympathy didn’t last long.

Leaving, I don’t bother to look back, what’s the point? I’ll only see yet another failure in my life. I haven’t succeeded at anything; why should this be any different?

I’m halfway glad my mother’s such a drunk. I doubt she even knows I won the scholarship or was attending classes. If she did, I know it’d be one more thing thrown in my face about finances. Even though I’m the one bringing in most of the money by working at the feed store and taking care of the horses we board for short periods of time.

She thinks it’s her though, she thinks she does everything when in reality she drinks until the whiskey runs dry or she passes out. I clean up her messes, I hide her true nature from Luke. I don’t want this abject negativity to define him.

Luke and I have different fathers. Mine left when I was three, I don’t even remember him, and mom threw out every picture we’d had of him. Essentially erasing him from our lives forever. We were alone for a couple years after that, and I don’t know if I was just too young to remember much or if I’ve blocked it out, but I don’t know if it was good or bad.

When she met Randy–Luke’s dad–I thought things would be better. But he was just as much of a drunk as mom, only he hit harder than she does. Luke was a surprise for us all, so I wasn’t shocked when Randy took off before he was born.

Until recently Luke was always a good kid. Smart, friendly, outgoing. All my extra earnings from the feed store and stables went to his football. He could have a real future in it if he would just kick this nastiness he has going on.

I’m actually quite terrified my mother has said something to him to make him change. She says all kinds of hurtful insults to me so I wouldn’t be shocked. But he was never a target for her. They used to talk and joke, now not so much. If one enters the room, the other will leave.

Leaving campus regret burns a hole of acid in my gut. Juggling school and two jobs just isn’t in the plans for me I guess. Climbing into my piece of crap car, my phone rings and I already know who it’s going to be.

“I’m on my way, Mr. Henderson,” I answer.

“If you’re late one more time Adilynn you’re fired.” He hangs up without letting me answer. He’s a cranky old man who didn’t even want to hire me, but his wife knew what went on at home–she used to be friends with my mom–so she made him give me a job three years ago. Like everything else in my life, until recently I hadn’t been screwing up so much.

I just can’t get a handle on things anymore. I’m not even sure I want to. I hate it here. I hate my mom. I hate how whiny I sound and feel. Any moment I’ll throw myself on the ground and kick and scream like some spoiled brat. At least that’s what it feels like.

I read about these strong heroine’s all the time from the books I borrow at the library, and I always envy them. Their class, their strength. I want that. I want to be strong and independent. I want a damn backbone.

Rattling in my car's engine pulls me from my self-pity, and now I want to curse a blue streak. “Don’t do it, please for the love of all that is holy, don’t do it.”

It’s just not my luck though. The smoke billowing from the hood, and the power shutting off on the dash tells me it’s done. She’s dead.

“I hate my life.”

* * *

For six generations this land, my land–The Running M Ranch–has been in my family. Handed down from father to son as the fathers grew older. Watching the casket lower into the ground, I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready to take over. I’ve been bred for this life. Lived and breathed it for as many years as I can remember.

Losing my father to a car accident on the highway when he was on his way home after buying a particularly unstable and probably psychotic Stallion, wasn’t how I was supposed to inherit the ranch. He was too young to go so soon, and I’m pissed as fuck about his stubborn nature and insisting we buy this horse.

As the only child of Lance and Christine Marbury, there was never a doubt I would inherit the RMR. My parents met and had me before they were twenty. Complications arose, and my mother was never able to get pregnant again. I know they wanted more children, but I was never made to feel like I wasn’t loved.

Pops is all I’ve got left now. My gaze strays towards him as he watches with rapt attention while his youngest son is put into the ground. His oldest son, Darrell, a man I’ve never met, might as well be dead to Pops.

Darrell had never been interested in ranching, dealing with cranky mares and horny stallions weren’t his thing. It was dads, so when Pops handed the reigns over to Lance instead of the eldest sibling, Darrell was none too happy about it.

After a not so long legal battle, Darrell took off. No one has heard a thing from him since. Not when Grams passed from a complication during open heart surgery when I was ten. Nor when mom passed from a shocking–undiagnosed–brain aneurysm that ruptured one day while she was in the garden when I was sixteen. I have a gut feeling that once he learns of Dads death, he’ll be around though. It’s only a matter of time.

What he won’t know is there’s an iron clad will that has been in place since the day I was born. Over my dead body will anyone but me be running this ranch for years to come.

The memory of that day leave’s a bad taste in my mouth as we begin wrapping up the breeding season and even after two years since my dad passed away his pain in the ass stallion still hasn’t given me a single foal. If it weren’t for the heavy sum, we paid for the bastard I’d likely shoot him myself.

Pops keeps telling me I need to let my anger go and connect with the animal. He’ll give me what I want then. I doubt it. The stubborn dick.

“You keep scowling like that boss, and the girls will keep running.” My ranch foreman, Wayne, laughs as he passes me. The old fool knows I could fire his ass, but he won’t quit because he knows I won’t. He’s more like family than an employee.

“Get back to work you old fool!” I call before he’s out of sight around the side of the barn.

The smell of manure and grass dew is high in the air as the sun rises in the fields. It’s my favorite time of day. The peace and quiet before everyone else is up and making a ruckus, gives me a sense of calm.

“Hey boss man!” I hear Wayne calling. Walking over to where he’s standing by the feed locker, I raise an eyebrow in question. “Missing five bags.”

It’s not especially a big problem, but I have a feeling he’s pointing out another screw up from our new hand, Brock. He doesn’t check the inventory before he leaves the feed store, and it’s not the first time he’s done this.

It’s also not the first time one of Henderson’s employees have tried to shorthand us feed. “Whose name is on the inventory signature?” I ask. After the fifth time we were shorted in less than a month, I require a signature for every pickup and delivery.

Grabbing the order sheet, Wayne runs his finger down the page until he finds it. “Adilynn James.”

“Madison’s girl?” I ask, I barely see her around anymore. I don’t actually think I’ve seen her since she was all pigtails, knobby knee’s, and half-way to puberty. He nods, and I half joke, “Doesn’t Henderson know girls are only there for the eye candy yet?” I ask, curious if she’s like her mother or not.

There’s one other girl there, Jessica, who’s always trying to get me on a date with her. What she has yet to realize is, I’m not interested. No matter how many times I’ve said as much. This is likely another ploy to get one of my guys in there.

It’s no secret I run one of the highest paying breeding ranches in the state, or that it’s the most successful breeding station in the south. We only breed the best. Hence me not killing–or selling–this bastard stallion of mine yet.

“You deal with Brock, I’ll go back to town and settle this shit once and for all.” Stomping away, I’m angrier about the inconvenience of the entire thing more than the hours’ drive into town.

I’ve always found the drive into Hixson–a small farming town of about 30,000 people–to be relaxing. The scenery is nothing spectacular, but it’s calming watching other ranchers do their thing. Seeing their cattle graze the land. This is the life I’d always wanted. The smell of fresh hay, plowing fields, a rooster call at dawn.

It’s not an easy life, most give up when they don’t succeed. My ancestors were nearly among the failed. But with one lucky buy and a successful summer, we’ve been in the black ever since.

I hope to expand the business into steer breeding in the next year or so. After the next culling auction in September. There’s a Texas Longhorn–Big Al–being sold off the bull riding circuit from old age. I’d rather the big bastard didn’t get slaughtered. He’s more than put in his weight of work over the last decade and deserves the chance to give off offspring.

Arriving in town, I’m not shocked to see Main Street beginning to open. You can drive from one end of Hixson to the other in under ten minutes it’s so small. We have every service you could need without going to the larger cities. The feed store–right in the middle of town–has even got western wear. Boots, spurs, chaps, thick coats, anything a rancher might need.

Slamming my truck door as I hop out, I see a young woman rushing around inside the store like her hairs on fire. As the doorbell ding announces my arrival, I hear Henderson yell, “Adilynn! Get back here and fix these bags!”

The same girl from the window rushes past me–seemingly not noticing my presence–and I’m struck in awe of her scent. A mix of leather and lace, if lace had a scent. I don’t see much of her as she passes me by, and Henderson comes from the back with a nasty look on his face.

“Henderson,” I bite out. I’m not in the mood for any shit.

“Brantley!” His entire demeanor changes upon seeing me. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, Hank, Brock was in a couple days ago for feed and supplies. We were shorted five bags. I’d like those bags now.” My voice is cold, and he knows I’m pissed.

“Who signed for it?”

I look to the doorway the girl had walked through, “Adilynn James.”

“That girl”–he shakes head– “dumb as a brick I tell you.” As I’m about to scold him, a loud crashing sound comes from the back. He shoots me a look like she’d proven his point.

While he slowly ambles his way back there, I pick up the speed in my step and find Adilynn sprawled out on the floor, with three bags of feed on one leg, and a toppled ladder just feet away. That’s little Adilynn? Damn, she grew up nice. For the first time in years, I feel my cock twitch.

“What the hell happened now, Adilynn?” Hank barks out.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Henderson,” her gaze barely meets ours, but I see the tears she’s holding back. “I’ll clean it up right away.”

“No, you won’t.” I scold her, bending down to help remove the fifty-pound bags. “You’ll get your sweet ass over to Doc Collins before this knee swells up any more.” Her hiss of pain as I remove the last bag proves my point. As she draws her legs up to her chest, I get a really good look at her.

Long blonde hair, equally long legs that are only covered by a pair of skimpy shorts. A checkered shirt that is way too big for her small frame. What worries me though is the heavy bags of exhaustion under her tear-filled hazel eyes.

“I’m fine.” She brushes my hands away and tries standing. Her knee immediately buckles, and I catch her in my arms, so she doesn’t face plant again.

“You’re fine alright.” My sarcasm is missed as Hank scolds her again.

“Those broken bags are being docked from your pay girl. Same with the five you shorted Brantley here.” I can’t believe this dick.

Her face goes ashen as she likely calculates the total in her head. “My bags are paid for Hank, and frankly you shouldn’t have her climbing this fucking ladder with these bags. Where’s that son of yours?” The bastard is the laziest person I’ve met in my life.

“I pay her to do the heavy lifting, and she probably stole those bags for her boarders.” His accusation is uncalled for. I may not know the girl, but he’s being uncharacteristically mean today.

“I didn’t sell him no feed.” Adilynn whispers.

“Your signature is on the paperwork girl. Don’t lie.”

“It wouldn’t have been me,” I tell her softly, still holding her in my arms. “Would have been a young guy, dark hair, cocky ass attitude from the Running M Ranch, a few days ago.”

“That describes every cowboy to walk in here. But I haven’t signed a delivery for the RMR in over two months.” Her stare meets mine, and I’m lost in the little flecks of green floating in her iris’s as she silently begs me to believe her. Oddly enough, I do.

“Well, Hank, looks like someone’s been lying on deliveries then.” I pull out my cell phone and send a quick text to Brock, knowing by now Wayne has him up and running around, asking which of the girls was here that day.

“Don’t matter, she’s been screwing up too much lately. You’re paying for these.” Hank points to Adilynn.

My phone vibrates, and my suspicions are confirmed. “Jessica is the one who was helping Brock load the bags Hank, not Adilynn.” Amused, I watch the old man’s face turn red as he blusters his way out of an apology. “Tell you what Hank, I’ll take these three bags that fell with her, and the two left over in the corner. Then you don’t have wasted feed, and she doesn’t have to pay for something that wasn’t her fault.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just get them out of here.” He waves his hands at the bags. “Adilynn finish with the stock quickly, it’s rodeo week, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of customers soon enough.” The man walks away before I can tell him again that she needs to see a doctor.

“You need to stay off this leg,” I command the little nymph in my arms as she pulls away.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got some cooling gel in my bag I can put on.” It’d be more believable if she wasn’t leaning on things as she walks away from me.

“I’m Brantley Marbury by the way!” I call after her. She doesn’t turn around. Fuck do I wish she would have needed my help a little more. Her soft curves against my sharp angles was the sweetest agony. She had to be a good seven inches shorter than my 6’3 frame, fitting perfectly into the crook of my arm.

She may be slight in weight, but she has some muscle tone in her fine ass legs and slender arms. Whatever she does outside of the feed store is definitely more hard work. The more I think about her, the more I notice how tight my Wranglers are becoming as my cock grows. The mere thought of having her close again stirs a desire in me that’s been absent far too long.

After carrying the bags of feed out to my pick-up, I don’t get to see my little nymph again before I leave, and I realize I’d like to. See more of her that is.