Grump’s City Girl (Boots and Heels #2)

2. Beau

Chapter 2

Beau

A Month Ago…

Crash !

The horrendous explosion had me lurching out of my sleep and grabbing at my chest to calm my heart. When the panic subsided, I got out of bed, grabbed my jeans and a shirt, shoved my feet into boots, and sprinted outside.

“What the fuck happened?” I groaned.

It didn’t take much time to find the cause of the crash, and as I stood ten feet away from what was left of the old barn, I felt my gut sink to my feet. The older barn—the one my grandfather built back in the fifties—had needed some refurbishing, but I’d been putting it off… and off… and off.

Now, though, there was no getting around it. The place was rubble.

“Christ on a Cracker.” Ron, my foreman, came to my side, whipping the baseball cap from his head and ruffling his graying hair. “This is bad.”

“Bad?” Bran, one of the five ranch hands on the ranch with me, grunted. “We’re looking at bad in the rearview mirror, Ron.”

Tilting my head up to the gibbous moon, I sighed. “I don’t know if this is a blessing or a curse. I’d planned on fixing this up.”

“I wonder how much time the guest house has got?” Freddy, the fourth guy, mentioned.

Clenching my hands until my nails bit into my palms, I let out a long breath. Freddy was right, though—that was the worst. The little one-bedroom cottage on a hillock had plumbing problems, rotten floors, infested walls, wiring problems, and a weak shingle roof.

For as long as I could remember, nobody had stayed in it.

Still, I’d thought it would be an excellent spot to market to honeymooners because, despite its condition, the location was prime, with shade trees, rolling grassy hills, and a brook close enough that it provided the perfect susurration to make the place idyllic. There was no excuse for letting it go like the shed.

But the way things were going—it would be next.

“I’m going to call Carl up tomorrow,” I said tonelessly. “Get him to haul this shit away.”

I turned to the main house, which, luckily, was still standing, even after seventy years of wear and tear. I didn’t need the encroaching sunlight to show me how run down and ragged my family’s ranch was.

My ranch, since my brother and dad wanted nothing to do with it.

I bypassed my bedroom—there was no reason to go back to bed anymore—and headed to my dingy office. I avoided the ever-growing pile of bills while getting my ledgers and going down the numbers, seeing what funds we had to pay Carl to haul the rubble away and hack down the rest.

It pained me that the place's legacy and history were gone, and I felt like I’d failed my grandfather, Eric, who had built that shed with his own hands.

The funds were not there.

I slumped over on the table and caged my face with my scarred, callused hands.

Ranching is dead. Beau, give it up.

That land is cursed. Sell it and move on.

You’re wasting your life on something that will never get better. Can’t you see that?

You’re beating a dead horse, Beau. Move on and do something with your life. Your brother is a lawyer and is better off. You’re still young. Do something sensible with your life.

The dozens upon dozens of derogatory remarks my family had told me over the years echoed in my head nonstop.

“No.” I forced the words out of my mouth. “Grandpa left me this land for a reason. He knew I was the only one to see what this land was… I-I can’t let it go…”

I had plans for this place, but dreams didn’t turn into funding.

The main house wasn’t bad. No one would claim it was an architectural gem, with its 1950s exterior with a new paint coat. Structurally, it was in good shape; its bones were solid with enough rooms to hold seven people, and with the attic open, two more.

I wanted to do a little tweaking, touch up the place, and so much more, but the lack of funds hamstrung me.

With the hazy sun slanting in through windows, my gaze landed on the guest cottage. I saw the dirt, the brokenness, the ruined moldings, the disrepair. Around it was a fantastic view: oak and elm trees, wildflowers, and off in the distance, the mountains and hiking trails led right up to Hunters Peak.

“This ranch is fifteen thousand acres…” I murmured, “I could sell off a few and use the money—” but my heart wrenched at the thought. This, too, felt like a betrayal to my grandpa.

Pulling up my cell, I scrolled through the contacts and called Carl Bachman, a friend who worked as a caretaker at a big estate up the highway. He knew construction guys and plumbing guys, landscapers, and interior designers.

“Yello?” Carl answered.

“Hi, Carl,” I said, holding back a grimace. “We’re going to need your help. The old shed decided to give up the ghost. The damned thing fell in on itself at four am this morning.”

“Well, damn,” he grunted. “Wasn’t that the very shed your old man had built?”

“The very same,” I replied, holding back a grumble. “Listen, it's going to be another IOU, Carl, but?—”

“No worries, Beau,” he cut in. “You’re a good man, son. I know you’ll follow through with your commitments. I’ll be over by midday or early afternoon with two of my guys.”

“Thanks, Carl,” I replied, my gut twisting with shame. “I owe you one.”

“See you,” he replied, then hung up.

I returned to my desk and jotted down another note in the ledger about Carl, leaving space to add to his cost.

Then, I went on to shuffle through the bills, wondering which was the most important one to pay. I hated robbing Peter to pay Paul, but it would be this way for a while until the ranch picked up and we got some more income.

A knock on my door made me look up as Freddy entered, his face twisting. Oh God, was he going to quit on me?

"Hey boss, I need to run something by you…” he began, his eyes dropping to the bills in my hand. “Trying to figure out what bill to pay, huh?”

The tension that had shot up my spine began to ease, and I dropped my hands. “Yeah. But what do you want to talk about?”

“The ranch,” he replied. “I know you’re trying to figure out what to do with it, but this might be the only option?—”

“I’m not selling,” I grunted. “I’d die before I sell this place.”

And prove my folks right.

“—that ain’t what I was gonna say,” Freddy said. “You know how sometimes these reality TV shows need a place to film their stuff? There was an Ad from this company, Roseland Productions, looking for a ranch to set up their newest love match game show, and I thought?—”

“Oh, fuck no,” I grunted, “I am not pimping my ranch out to some tawdry mockery of the Bachelor.”

“Just hear me out,” Freddy added, unfazed about my grumpiness. “They’ve added in the Ad that they would cover all costs to spruce up the place if needed, and they'll complete renovations for the parts where they need to film.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I mean, if you get them to take a few things off your hands and, in the same breath, draw some publicity to this place, it might help us get out of this rut we’re in.”

The idea… sounded good, but… no. I wasn’t going to do it. I’d find another way to get this place up and running.

“Thanks, Freddy, but—” I shook my head slowly. “—I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

He shook his head and then stood. “Just think it over, bossman. There isn’t any shame in taking a little help here and there. And this offer is going to go fast.”

When he closed the door, I went back to looking over the bills, but Freddy’s words still echoed in the back of my head. Eventually, I grabbed my phone and began googling that company Freddy had mentioned.

There were more details about the AD on their website, and they were offering to rent the site for a hundred and fifty grand and would throw in fifty to spruce up the place, but they were direct in what they needed: a secure, rustic location, private rooms and land to set up obstacle courses and the likes.

Two hundred thousand in six weeks and repairs would be made. Pride did not pay the bills, did it?

Gritting my teeth, I pressed the call button and held it to my ear. Forgive me, Grandpa….

Present day…

“Hit me,” I told Cassandra. “Hard, I can take it.”

Her lips thinned, but she yanked her hand back, and with steel in her eyes, she cracked! My head snapped to the side under the slap. “You bastard ! You tricked me!”

Jesus Christ ! For a tiny little thing, she hit hard. My face felt on fire, and I knew the handprint was going to show, probably for days.

“Did you con my driver to come up here too?” she snapped. “You are a piece of work, Beau!”

I flexed my jaw, hoping she had not broken the damn thing. “Just calm down, Cassie… let me explain.”

“No,” she said, heading for the door. She twisted the handle and stepped out as I lurched forward and grabbed her arm—the cameras went off. She didn’t pay the crew attention and tried to wrench her arm away. “Let. Me. Go.”

I dropped my hand. “I’m sorry.”

She huffed. “I need some air.”

She stalked off. I forced a grimace and rubbed my face, ignoring the huge camera inches away from my face. Cassie brushed past Freddy and left, luckily, to the back porch where she could glimpse the cabin I’d told her about—one that the production crew had refurbished to brand spanking new.

Since I had called Roseland Productions and inked my name on the dotted line, they had tackled the ranch, got landscapers in, dug a pond, tamed trees, spruced up the fences, and fixed the outer buildings, especially that old cabin.

They had even revamped the barracks to house the film crew while the six contestants, me included, and hopefully, when I got us kicked off, Cassie would be living in that cabin in privacy.

They had adjusted the rooms, fixed the plumbing, got some large clawfoot tubs into the bathrooms, and replaced the old beds with newer ones. The place had gotten a facelift… and I’d cleared many debts with the downpayment, paid the guys, and still had some in the bank.

They’d done a lot, but they only needed to do what they needed to do. When they left, the rest was on me.

I asked the camera guys, “Can you cut the part with her, like her face? I don’t know what kind of trick you have, but she isn’t ready to be filmed yet, and I’m sure you heard about my trickery.”

Liliana, the production assistant, cocked her head, eyes shifting in thought. “We’ll keep the part where she calls you a bastard for the promo.”

“Fine with me,” I replied, then approached Freddy. “Where did she go?”

“To the swings,” he replied, jerking his head over to the side where large wicker basket swings dangled from thick rafters on the wraparound porch. There were a few of them, including some double egg chairs for the couples to use when the production guys decided to film out there.

She’d chosen one of the doubles, and I went to join her. In the semi-privacy, I told her, “You pack a punch.”

Cassie cocked a plucked brow. “You said you could take it.”

“That I did,” I replied. “Listen, I know we don’t know each other from Adam, but when we get some privacy, I’ll explain what is happening.”

She cocked her head. “…Does that knot in your brows ever loosen?”

“What knot?”

Her forefinger and middle fingers rested on my forehead and pushed down the knot. “That one.”

I froze.

Her warm, fleeting touch felt more than… a warm, fleeting touch.

What was that?

How could such a fleeting touch have such a profound effect on me? She held my gaze for a long moment, eyes wide, mirroring my emotions.

“I didn’t realize,” I said gruffly while looking at the new landscape. “What color hair dye do you need and?—”

“I’ll get Porter to grab those,” she replied. “Don’t worry about it. And by the way, he, too, is to be kept out of this.”

Little Miss Moneybags, huh?

“What did you say your name was again?” I asked, knowing I had missed her last name.

“Cassandra, or Cassie to my friends,” she replied.

I stood. “The production team will set you up in the rooms and things, but remember my promise, okay? You’ll have a couple of hours to figure out what you need to do, and if you can get out of this agreement, I will not stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Would you be able to send Porter in for me?”

“Sure.”

I headed off, stifling the urge to clench my hand by my side. I didn’t know when we would get a free moment to talk, but Cassie was in for a long, unusual tale, that was for sure… and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell it.