Derrick set that file down and raked his hands through his hair. His father had fired Hal? He pressed his lips together and briefly considered going to the old man's house and apologizing on his father's behalf. Maybe even try to explain that it wasn't his father's fault. That the erratic moods and the impulsive behavior were part of the condition that eventually took his life. The condition Derrick had only found out about years later.

  But Penelope had quietly righted that wrong. Just like she'd righted so many other wrongs. She'd made it so he could return home to a prosperous, popular, well-run business, rather than the slipshod, debt-ridden place he remembered. He ran his hands over the reams of paper in front of him, all the evidence of her skill.

  She was leaving. Would he be able to do the same kind of job?

  He had no idea. And they were moving into one of the most crucial portions of the ranching year. Fall birthing season was almost upon them. He well remembered the long nights, the constant visits from the veterinarian. Birthing time required long hours, a steady hand, and the ability to think of every contingency so you could be ready to switch gears at a moment's notice. But mostly you needed to know your herd like the back of your hand. Which he didn't.

  But Penelope did.

  He frowned and pulled another file toward him. This one contained all the accounting records for the ranch, all neatly arranged in a very pretty Excel spreadsheet.

  Shoot, he'd need to learn Excel, he realized, and squinted and took another look at the columns.

  Then looked again. “This ain't right,” he muttered and pulled out his father's ancient, clacking calculator. A quick summation of the debits column showed that the ranch’s expenses should be almost double what Penelope had entered.

  A fine sweat broke across his hairline. Was Penny fudging the numbers? If so, she hadn't bothered to hide her tracks. Everything seemed to be accounted for, and yet the totals seemed absurdly low across the board. Almost as if she'd subtracted fifty percent off the top.

  In fact, it was pretty much exactly like that.

  It hit him all at once and he sat back with a gasp. The discounts. She'd told him about how Daisy had given her discounts at the feed store as an engagement present—and that there were other discounts, as well. That was what he was seeing now. She'd dutifully marked the full price of everything in the ledger, but when it came to the final tallies, the difference made sense.

  With everything costing less, she'd put them solidly in the black for the year, and it was only June.

  Damn, he thought for the millionth time this morning. If only she hadn't left. He wished now he'd been less of a hard-ass about the whole thing. Sure she'd been wrong to lie like that, but he could have at least ended things on a better note. If nothing else, he wished he’d gotten her number—what would he do if he needed to call her up in an emergency?

  Like asking her how the hell to do his job?

  Goddamn, he was a real idiot.

  “Hey there, son.”

  Derrick looked up with a smile. “Mornin', Mr. Dole.”

  His father's mentor shook his head disapprovingly. “How many times I gotta tell you to call me Tom?”

  Derrick smiled. “At least fifty more, Mr. Dole. How are you?”

  “Same ole same ole. But who cares about me?” The older man's eyes glinted. For all that he seemed like the prototype of the stoic Western cowboy, Thomas Dole was a notorious gossip. Derrick always wondered why he didn't open a hair salon instead of riding the range. “So where's the wedding gonna be?” Tom demanded, sliding into the booth across from Derrick and taking his hand like an old granny. “Is Penny being all Bridezilla on you? Nah, she wouldn't be like that. That girl's got a good head on her shoulders. And damn can she negotiate.” His handlebar mustache wobbled as he whistled through his teeth. “Wooheee, let me tell you, she damn near talked me into giving her the shirt off my back. I'm gonna make next to no profit on that job and I ain't even mad about it, because it's so damn impressive. One hell of a firecracker, that one.”

  Firecracker. That had been Derrick’s name for her. A strange surge of possessiveness took hold and he slid his hand away.

  The old cowboy noticed. “I mean no disrespect. She's your lady, ain't no question about it. You sure know what you've got, that's why you finally got a ring on her finger. Smart guy, wifing her up like that. She's something special.”

  “I know,” Derrick blurted, before he could think. “Um, thank you.”

  Tom took the hint. “Welp, you look plumb strung out. I just wanted to wish you well.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dole.” Derrick felt bad all of a sudden. “Say hi to Mrs. Dole for me. And let her know I've been dreaming about her peanut butter pie the past two years.”

  “She'll have you set in no time, son. Careful what you wish for, you'll be eating pie for the next two years to make up for it.” The old cowboy chuckled and stood up, dusting imaginary dirt from his boots and striking a pose like he was about to ride off into the sunset.

  But what he really did was scurry over to the next booth to gather more gossip.

  Derrick let out a long sigh and looked at the papers fanned out in front of him again. What Mr. Dole had said only confirmed his worst fears. There was no getting around the fact that Penelope had clearly worked some magic on the ranch. He might have been born to it, but she was the one who kept the place running. He hadn’t worked on the ranch since he was in high school—and he’d never been the one in charge. She knew all the ins and outs that he had no idea were even part of the operation.

  How the hell was he going to manage without her?

  He rubbed the back of his neck. FiFi, seemingly sympathetic to his frustration, topped off his mug. He glanced up at her in thanks, and then blinked at the apparition over her shoulder.

  FiFi followed his gaze, and her plump face broke out in a wide smile. “Oh, there she is, your lady-love,” she trilled. “I'll leave you two alone,” she hissed, loudly enough that the people in the table across the way all turned and craned their necks to see who it was Derrick needed to be alone with.

  But he barely noticed that, too busy staring at Penelope. Had the force of his wishing somehow summoned her here?

  He was so happy he leaped to his feet. She took a startled step back.

  “Hi!” he blurted.

  “Uh—” She looked around, catching a glimpse of the rapt audience they'd attracted. “Hi,” she squeaked.

  He bent down. Engaged couples kissed, right? So it would be totally normal if he just—

  “Ow!” She turned too fast and their noses collided. For a moment, Derrick saw stars.

  “Oh god, I'm sorry, uh, here.” She dabbed at his face with a napkin for some reason. The onlookers all turned away, probably embarrassed for him and wondering how he'd managed to land a girl like Penelope in the first place with smooth moves like those.

  Oh wait, he hadn't landed her. But that was the whole problem.

  “Have a seat,” he urged her.

  She hesitated. “I just wanted to talk to you about the handover,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It was…unprofessional of me to just walk out like that. Of course, I’ll make sure you have all the info you need to take over before I leave. I came by to discuss it with you, and one of the hands said he saw you here when he came by to check on the repairs. Do you want to set up a time for a meeting?”

  He swallowed. The handover. She was leaving.

  Birthing season.

  “The handover. Right,” he said slowly. “Uh, would you sit down? Please?”

  She blew out a sigh, but she sat down, folding her hands primly on the table. “What's up?”

  He swallowed again. “I'd like to know if you'd be willing to stay on a bit more.”

  She shook her head immediately. “No thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  She frowned at him and leaned in. “Well for one, I don't really want to be here once everyone knows I lied to them. That’s going to be…pretty humiliating.” Her lips twisted into a pained expression and she shook her head sadly. “And Derrick, your mom backed me up, remember? I can handle being called a liar ’cause I deserve it. But I really don't want it rebounding on to her, too. She doesn't deserve it. Oh, goddammit,” she breathed softly and Derrick got the feeling she wasn't talking to him anymore. Her voice faded and she looked out the window. “I can maybe write a letter and leave it with you, taking all the blame?”

  He sat back. He hadn’t realized this would blow back on his mother, too…but really, he hadn’t realized a lot of things. “I don't want either of you getting fallout from this, if I'm being honest, Pen.” Licking his lips, he tried again. “What if we don't break up, then?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You could stay, like you planned to in the beginning.”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea anymore—us working together, I mean.”

  Damn, he’d really screwed this up. He needed her to be willing to work with him. What could he say to change her mind? A plan started forming in his brain. “You were trying to get a loan, right?”

  She nodded.

  “How about... your fiancé applies with you? If I co-sign, you're bound to get it, right?”

  She blinked at him. Her mouth softened. “You'd do that for me?”

  “For a price.”

  Her face fell and she scowled and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Settle down there, firecracker, it's nothing you can't handle.”

  “What is it?”

  “Stay on. Be my fiancée, live at the ranch, until birthing season is over. By then I'll know the ropes. That's all I'm asking.”

  “You say it like it's not much. I've got a job waiting for me, Derrick. I started packing my apartment.”

  “So throw the packed stuff into a truck and move onto the ranch. It's what an engaged couple would do anyway, wouldn't they?”

  Her mouth twisted, and he knew he had her. “You're about to laugh,” he said.

  “I am not.”

  “I know that look.”

  “No you don't.”

  “You're thinking about it.”

  “Okay, I am,” she said, standing up and slamming her hands down on the table so that the silverware rattled.

  The onlookers all twisted in their seats. Derrick saw her throat tighten as she swallowed hard, and suddenly he felt like an ass doing this here, in front of all these people, when he knew how afraid she was of looking foolish or dishonest in front of everyone.

  “FiFi?” he called, “Can I get the check?” He gathered his papers.

  Penelope watched him. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to talk about this in private, and there's only one place I knew of where you and I can be private.”

  Her little pink tongue flicked out. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Yes you do. You know exactly what I mean. I'm heading to the bleachers, just like old times.” He grinned at her. “Come with me?”

  Four

  The sun shone through the bleachers, sending zebra stripes across the rutted, pitted grass and bare earth underneath. It was cooler under here, always was, and strangely secluded too. Like their own little world, hidden away from the prying eyes of the town, the school, anyone who wasn't them.

  That's how it felt back in high school, anyway. Right now, though, leading Penelope to their old spot under the bleachers felt downright ridiculous.

  “You've brought me here to 'talk' before,” Penelope said, making air quotes when she said 'talk.' Her eyes held a hint of mischief, but she looked wary too, Derrick couldn't help but notice. And for good reason. He wasn't exactly sure why he thought it would be a good idea to tell her the rest of his brilliant plan in this particular setting. It was too strange being with her here and not pulling her body close to his. His hands ached with a kind of muscle memory, and he flexed his fingers to keep from reaching for her.

  “This time, all I'm going to be doing is talking, I swear,” he said, as much for himself as in answer to Penelope.

  “So go ahead and talk.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  He cleared his throat. “Stay. Just till the birthing season is over.”

  She pressed her lips into a flat line. “Like I said, I don't know if that's a good idea.”

  “Why not?” His voice sounded a little too high to his ears. He hoped she wouldn't notice the strain in it. He took a step back and gripped one of the crossbeams. Holding on to something solid seemed to ground him. “We might not be together anymore, but we can still help each other.”

  “By signing my loan,” she supplied.

  “Wouldn't that help?”

  She sighed. “It would. But Derrick... I would need to set some boundaries.”

  “So you're considering it?” He couldn't help pressing.

  She rolled her eyes. “Boundaries,” she laughed. “Number one, I need my privacy.”

  “Sounds good. Me too.”

  “I mean it. I'm not sharing a room with you.”

  His heart banged so loud he almost missed what she said next. “Sure.”

  “And I’ll only be available to you during work hours,” she went on. “The time I'm off the job is to do with what I please.”

  “What are you going to be doing?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

  Penelope's own brows slammed down. “That's the point. None of your beeswax.”

  He snorted. He'd forgotten how much he loved her sass. Firecracker indeed. “Okay, then I have a few of my own boundaries.” He raised his eyebrows. “So engaged couples kiss, right?”

  Her eyes widened a fraction before she caught herself. “Oh hell.”

  He couldn't help but laugh. “Don't sound so excited there, Pen.”

  “Fine. When there are people around…” She cleared her throat and her voice steadied as she nodded along with her terms. “When we need to make sure people are convinced, you may kiss me.”

  “You may kiss me too,” he intoned, just as formally.

  “Just to sell it?”

  “Why else?”

  “Exactly.” She nodded again, and he got the feeling she was nodding to encourage herself that this would work. “Any other boundaries?” she asked warily.

  “It's not a boundary so much as a request. I want you to teach me everything you know about the ranch.”

  “Done.”

  “And,” he cleared his throat before setting the most important boundary. “Don't ask me why I quit rodeo.”

  Her face clouded with confusion. “You're done completely?”

  “I said don't ask.”

  “But Derrick—”

  “Don't ask,” he repeated, a little more forcefully than he meant to.

  She startled. “Okay,” she said, putting her hands up as if to ward him off. “I agree.”

  “Good.”

  “But I have one more thing of my own.” She lifted her chin and gave him a serious look. “When we break off this 'engagement,' we say it's mutual, okay? No one is at fault, we just decided we're better as friends, we still treat each other with respect, all that good stuff.”

  For a moment, Derrick couldn't summon words. Why would she think she needed to spell that out? Of course he still respected her.

  But then he remembered all those fights before he left. The bitter accusations, the way they both talked to everyone else about their problems before talking to each other, and he realized she was right to spell it out. Sad, but true.

  He held out his hand. “It's a deal.”

  She looked at it for a moment. Then slowly, she slid her slim hand into his and they shook on it.

  He grinned and dropped to one knee. “Derrick, what the hell?” she gasped.

  “I didn't get to do this before,” he explained with a wink. “So now that it's official, Penelope, will you be my fake fiancée?”

  She laughed. “Get up, you goon.”

  “Not until you give me an answer,” he insisted.

  “All right, then—sure,” she said grinning. “Why the hell not, right?”

  Five

  Penelope turned back to glance at the building’s nondescript side entrance. For the past five years, she’d called the second floor apartment above the florist’s shop home, though to be fair, it hardly ever felt like it. Maybe if she had done something with the place—hung some curtains or some pictures on the wall—it might have felt more like ‘hers,’ but she could never muster the energy.

  Because the truth was that the Samson Ranch was her home in every way that counted. Not only had she grown up there, working alongside her father as soon as she was old enough to be hired, but she’d devoted all her time to restoring it once Mr. Samson made her forewoman. She was there before sunrise most mornings, and there had been plenty of times she’d just crashed in the guest bedroom rather than drag herself back to the sad, slapdash apartment she called home.

  The fact that the Samson Ranch was now going to be her home for real—even if it was just for a ruse—had her feeling… something. And that something was the reason she hadn't quite gotten around to breaking her lease yet. Maybe it was silly to keep paying rent on a place that was going to amount to little more than a glorified storage unit for her stuff, but it made her feel good to know she had it here, waiting. Just in case everything fell apart with Derrick and she found that she needed it.

  Penelope was a planner. She liked back-ups and plans B through H. She liked contingency plans and safety nets. Over the years she'd learned not only to envision the worst case scenario but to anticipate when it was coming and how she was going to deal with it.

 

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