Page 33 of Cattle Stop

“And I think you were right,” Whit says.

Cooper freezes. Slowly, he turns around to look at Whit. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Whit blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. It strains his damp shirt along the lines of his body, the flat plane of his stomach and the bulge of muscles in his arm. Cooper frowns at the sight, annoyed all over again.

“Drew asked me to keep the farm running this season while he works on the house and does his cheese, and yeah, I’ve just been going about things the same way we always do.” He looks at Cooper and then away, out the windows where the grass is dancing in the breeze and the lupins are starting to bud. “I, yeah, I do that a lot. Just keep on going with what I’ve been doing. So.”

Cooper wants to jam his finger into his ear and work it around until he can hear Whit right. “So?”

“So okay, the farm needs to make more money and spend less. And that means things have to change.”

Cooper squints at him. “So you don’t hate the cattle stops?”

“Hate the cattle—no, Cooper, this isn’t about that.”

“Is it about the gates, then?”

“No, it’s—I do hate the cattle—but it’s not—look, we gotta help Drew, right? So how’re we going to do that? You said you’d figure it out, so what’ve you got?”

“Um.” Cooper leans back against the counter. Sadie presses forward, tongue swiping like if she just stretches enough, she’ll reach the entire pile of grated cheese.

“You do have ideas, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Cooper pulls open the refrigerator again. Think, think, think. Though the only thing filling his brain is Whit still standing there, handsomely sweaty and so fucking distracting.

“Cooper?”

“Just, you know, turning all my plans over in my head.”

Fix this whole place. Combine every working, profitable idea he’s seen in his years bouncing from farm to farm, implement them here, and pat himself on the back when he’s done.

His stomach grumbles. Fucking hell, Whit’s probably delighted Cooper doesn’t have a spreadsheet and presentation ready to go, complete with handouts and a diagram on a whiteboard. He doesn’t even know what he’s putting on the pizza tonight, let alone any type of actual, solid plan. Winging it, he’d say if it weren’t Whit standing there, Cooper’s neck burning.

Asparagus.

Right, he can do this. He already got asparagus out. There’s some sausage in the fridge, too. And early spring onions. That and the cheese. He’ll just drown the pizza with way too much cheese and that’ll solve all their problems. Deliciously gooey and perfect.

Which…huh.

“Pizza,” he says.

“What?”

“Artisan pizza shop. Perfect outlet for cheese, yes or yes?”

“Pizza?” Whit says slowly. “Your plan is to help the farm by starting a restaurant?”

“C’mon, it’s great.” Cooper leans toward the open window above the sink and calls, “Drew! I fixed it!”

“One low-profit, high-capital enterprise with a second one attached to it?” Whit asks.

“Never mind, you’re not invited to dinner,” Cooper says. “Sadie’s getting your pizza.”

“I’d tell you it’s the worst idea you’ve had, but frankly, it’s a competition at this point.”

“Drew!” Cooper yells again, and ah, that worked, because Drew pushes the kitchen door open, stamping his feet and looking between them. “See, Drew heard me.”

Whit huffs a breath out his nose. “Well, when you shout like that.”