A Son For The Cowboy. Sasha Summers
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on her porch enjoying pie. He loaded his toolbox into the back of the truck, frustrated all over again.
They headed to the vaccination shed next. Toben’s uncle Teddy, owner of the entire ranch, had plans to vaccinate the cattle next week. It was no small undertaking, something that required working chutes, sturdy pens and all hands on deck. Safety was a top priority on the ranch—for the animals and the employees. A faulty chute or damaged pen could cause disaster. Between him and Deacon, they tested every fence, chute and gate latch that afternoon.
“I’m calling it,” Deacon said, pouring water over the back of his head.
“Tired already?” Toben teased, smiling. They’d worked hard. Uncle Teddy would be happy.
“Damn straight,” Deacon answered. “And hungry. Those were some sad sandwiches you packed.”
Toben laughed. “I didn’t hear you complain when you were eating them.” He climbed in the truck as Deacon made the engine roar to life. He wiped his face with his bandanna and hung his arm out the window. He glanced at the dash. It was only six thirty-five. Not too late to stop by for a visit.
“You going over there?” Deacon asked.
“Thinking about it,” he murmured. All damn day. He’d had a welcome-enough reception the night before. But now that another man was in Poppy’s house, would that still be the case?
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