Page 10 of Sinful Sharing

There it is, that snotty attitude again.

“Look at it this way. The time will pass so fast that you won’t even notice. Plus, you’ll leave here knowing you learned something.”

“Speaking of ‘learning something’,” I chime in as Taylor produces another magnificent eye roll. “You can start after breakfast. We need an extra hand with mucking those stalls—“

“Mucking?” He says the word as if it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“Yeah. You use a pitchfork and a shovel to remove manure—“

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not doing that.”

I count to ten in my head, then arrange the calmest expression I can muster. “There are plenty of other tasks, Taylor. You can help with stacking hay, or handle the repairs on—“

“I didn’t exactly go to school to learn to repair anything,” Taylor interrupts. Again. Another thing I hate.

Biting my lip, I jerk my head toward Jude. “That’s why he’s here. I hope you’re a fast learner.”

“But—“

“Interrupt me again,“ I snap through gritted teeth.

He huffs, folds his arms across his chest, but says nothing.

“As I was saying, Jude is prepared to show you the ropes. If you have questions about anything, ask him.”

“Not you?”

“Definitely not me.”

Taylor frowns, his arched eyebrows almost becoming one. “I get the feeling you don’t want me here.”

Jude snorts. I throw him a dark look. He shrugs as if saying, ‘Well, it’s the truth.’

“Why did you even bother taking me in?” Taylor presses. “What’s in it for you?”

The question gives me whiplash. I think of the vow I made to his mother. It didn’t make a lick of sense to me, but a promise is a promise.

“And I know you’re used to a particular lifestyle, but around here, you won’t get that kind of special treatment,” I remark, as if his questions blew right over my head. “Lunch is at noon if we’re near the house. Otherwise, you eat wherever we are working. You’ll clean up after yourself. You’ll stay out of restricted areas unless one of us is with you. Do you understand?”

Taylor’s expression hardens with every word. I know exactly what he hears. Avoidance. The chair screeches across the floor. “I’m not hungry.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. His boots thud down the hallway, then the front door slams hard enough to rattle the windows. Silence settles over the kitchen once more. Jude sighs into his cup. I grind my teeth, bracing for whatever bullshit he’s about to spew.

“You know,” he says, “it’s easier to catch flies with honey. Being a little nicer might actually get more out of him. Less resistance.”

I push my empty plate away. “I don’t need him to like me.”

“Maybe not,” Jude replies. “But we could use an extra hand. You need him to work.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that being nice has never done me any favors. Once upon a time, I believed kindness meant something. I believed love meant something. I gave everything I had to someone who smiled as they hollowed me out from the inside. I trusted someone who left me with a ranch that is barely hanging by a thread.

Every mistake I made started with fucking being nice to people.

Now, guest bookings have dwindled to 50%, and every year leaves me wondering whether I should keep going. Hell, I can’t even hire a team to repair the damage before the season opens.

The ranch isn’t failing because I wasn’t hardworking enough. It’s failing because I was crazy to think being decent would get me somewhere.

So, no.