The SEAL's Secret Heirs(18)

The ranch manager, Danny Spencer, watched Kyle approach and spat on the ground as he contemplated his new boss.

“You pick out a horse yet, son?”

Kyle’s hackles rose. He was no one’s son, least of all this man who was maybe fifteen years his senior. It was a deliberate choice of phrasing designed to put Kyle in his place. Wasn’t going to work. “First day on the job.”

“We ride here. You skedaddle on over to the other barn and come back on a horse. Then we’ll talk.”

It felt like a test and Kyle intended to pass. So he climbed back into his truck and drove to the horse barn. He felt like a mama’s boy driving. But he was in a hurry to get started and walking wasn’t one of his skills right now.

Maybe one day.

Liam was already at the barn, favoring an early start as well, apparently. He helped Kyle find a suitable mount without one smart-alecky comment, which did not go unnoticed. Kyle just chose not to say anything about it.

A few ranch hands gathered to watch, probably hoping Kyle would bust his ass a couple of times and they could video it with their cell phones. He wondered what they’d been told about Kyle’s return. Did everyone know about the babies and Margaret’s death?

Sucker’s bet. Of course they did. Wade Ranch was its own kind of small town. Didn’t matter. Kyle was the boss, whether they liked it or not. Whether he had the slightest clue what he was doing. Or not.

The horse didn’t like him any better than Danny Spencer did. When he stuck a boot in the stirrup, the animal tried to dance sideways and would have bucked him off if Kyle hadn’t kept a tight grip on the pommel. “Hey, now. Settle down.”

Liam had called the horse Lightning Rod. Dumb name. But it was all Kyle had.

“That’s a good boy, Lightning Rod.” It seemed to calm the dark brown quarter horse somewhat, so Kyle tried to stick his boot in the stirrup again. This time, he ended up in the saddle, which felt just as foreign as everything else on the ranch did.

The ranch hands applauded sarcastically, mumbling to each other. He almost apologized for ruining their fun—also sarcastically—but he let it go.

Somehow, Kyle managed to get up to a trot as he rode out onto the trail back to the cattle barn. It had been a lifetime since he’d ridden a horse and longer than that since he’d wanted to.

God, everything hurt. The trot was more of a trounce, and he longed for the bite of rock under his belly as he dismantled a homemade cherry bomb placed carefully under a mosque where three hundred people worshipped. That he understood at least. How he’d landed in the middle of a job managing cattle, he didn’t.

Oh, right. He was doing this to prove to everyone they were wrong about him. That he wasn’t a slacker who’d ignored messages about his flesh and blood. That Liam and Grace and Danny Spencer and everyone else who had a bone to pick with him weren’t going to make him quit.

When he got back to the cattle barn, Danny and the cattle hands were hanging around waiting. One of the disappointed guys from the horse barn had probably texted ahead, hoping someone else could get video of the boss falling off his mount. They could all keep being disappointed.

“One cattle rancher on a horse, as ordered,” Kyle called mildly, keeping his ire under wraps. Someone wanted to know what he really thought about things? Too bad. No one was privy to what went on inside Kyle’s head except Kyle. As always.

“That’ll do,” Danny said with a nod, but his scowl didn’t loosen up any. “We got a few hundred head in the north pasture that need to be rounded up. You take Slim and Johnny and ya’ll bring ’em back, hear?”

“Nothing wrong with my ears,” Kyle drawled lazily. “What’s wrong is that I’m the one calling the shots now. What do you say we chat about that for a bit?”

Danny spat on the ground near Lighting Rod’s left front hoof and the horse flicked his head back in response. Kyle choked up on the reins before his mount got the brilliant idea to bolt.

“I’d say you started drinking early this a.m. if you think you’re calling the shots, jarhead.”

Kyle let loose a wry chuckle, friendly like, so no one got the wrong idea. “You might want to brush up on your insults. Jarheads are marines, not SEALs.”

“Same thing.”

Neither of them blinked as Kyle grinned. “Nah. The marines let anyone in, even old cowhands with bad attitudes. Want me to pass your number on to a recruiter? I’ll let you go a couple of rounds with a drill sergeant, and when you come back, you can talk to me about the difference between marines and SEALs all you want. Until then, my last name is Wade and the only thing you’re permitted to call me is ‘boss.’”