Page 75 of Dallas Rivals

Without thinking twice, I march downstairs, slam the door harder than I mean to, and climb into the Rover.

By the time I pull up near the fence, a wave of sudden, unreasonable anger already has me in its grip. I slam the car door shut, the noise sharp enough to draw everyone’s attention and make their heads turn toward me.

“Good afternoon,” I say carefully.

“Oliver,” Cala greets me with way too much enthusiasm. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she’s trying to hide how damn nervous she is. “Do you know Spenser? He’s Raúl’s replacement—the new vet.”

I turn to look at Spenser.

Too young to have real experience. Ash-blond hair, green eyes—but not like mine, darker—and a square jaw that could make Johnny Bravo jealous. Broad shoulders, tight black T-shirt, and shorts.

Shorts.

It’s forty degrees out.

Who the hell did Raúl send?

Just to be clear—Raúl’s our trusted vet, comes every six months to check on the animals.

“What happened to Raúl?” My frown deepens—hell, it’s more of a scowl now. My good manners? Gone.

Astro whines and sits at my feet, picking up on the storm brewing above my head.

Cala fixes her gaze on me, her voice steady as she explains, “Raúl had a family emergency.”

I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice as I demand, “And why the hell wasn’t I told?”

Without missing a beat, she shoots back, her tone sharp with defiance, “Because Raúl talked to me, remember? I’m the new manager of this ranch.”

For the first time, I really take a moment to look at Cala. My gaze is unwavering, cold and determined, but she meets it head-on—her eyes alight with a fierce fire, refusing to back down. The tension between us is palpable, a silent clash of wills that neither of us is willing to lose.

Off to the side, Spenser lets out a quiet chuckle, but it dies quickly when I shift my attention his way. My stern look wipes the amusement from his face, and the atmosphere grows even heavier.

In the background, Lis and Lucien decide to quietly head back toward the house, sensing that now is not the time to linger. Eliza follows their lead, making her way in the same direction, as if she can’t bear to stick around and witness whatever is about to unfold.

“Oliver Walker,” I say, extending my hand toward Spenser. The gesture is firm—deliberate—a silent challenge as much as an introduction.

Spenser takes my hand, and instantly, the unspoken contest begins. Our grips tighten, each of us determined to prove strength without a word, knuckles whitening as neither of us yields an inch.

With a polite smile, Spenser says, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Walker. I hope I can meet Cala’s needs with my work.” The words are professional, but there’s an edge to them—something just beneath the surface.

The hell did he just say?

What the… hell …

That possessive flare rises up in me, a fierce thought flashing through my mind—I’m the only man who gets to meet Cala’s needs, you son of a⁠—

Trying to keep my composure, I cut in, voice steady but laced with warning. “I’m the one who needs to be satisfied with your work, Spenser. Don’t get that part wrong.” Our hands remain locked in the test of will, neither ready to back down.

I force a tight, closed-lip smile, jaw set, eyes never leaving his.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Cala rubbing the bridge of her nose, exasperation clear on her face. I know I’m probably giving her a migraine with this little show of dominance.

“Oh, right. My apologies,” Spenser mutters, finally releasing his grip. He looks down at the grass, suddenly absorbed by its details, avoiding my gaze entirely.

That’s what I thought.

Cala’s eyes narrow at me.