The Rancher Next Door. Cathy Gillen Thacker

than she’d already spent. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked in trepidation.

      “The wood is breaking down in places.”

      She cocked her head. “You had your cattle in there.”

      His lips twitched. “Circumstances are different now. We’re going to have my thousand-pound steers on my side of that fence, and your one-hundred-pound alpacas on the other.”

      “Are you saying your cattle are going to bother my alpacas?”

      His hazel eyes glimmered seriously. “Not under normal circumstances, but we have to be prepared for the unusual.”

      She wished she could say he was joking. “Such as?”

      “Predators getting in the pasture with your alpacas.”

      She would have laughed at the statistical absurdity of the statement had it not been for his warning expression. “Are you trying to give me a hard time?”

      “I’m trying to explain to you that even a stray cat or dog could spook your alpacas, and if they get spooked and start running and upset my cattle, we could have a stampede on our hands.”

      So it was back to the alpacas and cattle don’t mix theory of ranching. An old wives’ tale if she’d ever heard one. She planted her hands on her hips. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

      He let his gaze drift slowly over her before returning to her face. He leaned down so they were practically nose to nose. “And I think you need mesh fence on the inside of the split rail borders, for safety’s sake.”

      She dropped her hands and stepped back. “I can’t afford to do that right now, Trevor.”

      He shrugged, as unconcerned with the financial details of the situation as she was obsessed. “Then I’ll help you out.”

      His matter-of-fact offer sounded like a mixture of pity and charity. If she accepted either, word would get out, and she would never have the other ranchers’ respect.

      Rebecca shook her head, promising, “I’ll get to it as soon as I can, but until then we’re just going to have to make do.”

      Silence ticked out between them. “You sure that’s a chance you want to take?” he asked eventually.

      What choice did she have? She was on such a tight budget as it was, at least for the next month or so, the slightest catastrophe could catapult her into bankruptcy. Once she’d attracted outside investors, though, her situation would ease quickly.

      Gulping around the anxiety rising up within her, she tried to smooth things over while still stubbornly holding her ground. “Look, Trevor, the rest of the herd won’t be here for another ten days or so. As soon as I get past the Open House I’m having for potential investors, a week from Sunday,” and get past the balloon payment that is due on my operating loan, “I’ll take care of the fence. I promise.”

      Trevor looked like he wanted to continue debating her, but when he finally spoke it was only to ask, “Where are you going to house your herd at night?”

      “In the stalls in the barn. Which reminds me. I’ve really got to get cleaning if I want Blue Mist and that cria she’s carrying to have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

      Trevor took the hint, and left to tend to his own herd.

      Three hours later, Rebecca had scrubbed down the central cement corridor and two of the ten wooden-sided stalls. She was filthy from head to toe, and bone-tired to boot. Deciding to check on Blue Mist, she walked out to the pasture, and stopped in her tracks at what she saw.