Two hundred acres wasn’t much, but in this situation it’d be ideal because the elk herd could easily be contained by a combination of fencing and natural barriers. Much as ranchers lamented the lack of water in high plains desert, this was one instance where the lack of water would be a benefit. Hauling water meant he controlled placement of the tanks. It also meant animals wouldn’t wander off in search of water because they’d know exactly where to find it.
Putting his truck in drive, he followed the tire tracks downhill, stopping every once in a while to mark off where the sections of fence would need to be higher.
The topography was a mix of rolling hills and deep crevasses. He’d have to get out at some point and study the raised ridge. But for now he stopped to add notes to his crude drawings and returned to inching across the landscape.
After traveling the last three years and living in the mountains for over a year of that, he’d forgotten the sparsity of the area. Several clumps of trees grew at the lowest points of the draws, providing more diversity in vegetation than he’d remembered. Also a point in his favor for an elk habitat.
Dalton spent hours traversing the land, checking the condition of the fences and possible problem access points. When he finished he understood how labor-intensive this project would be—work he’d be one hundred percent responsible for. But what else was he supposed to do with his time? Hang out in the hospital? No way. Or tag along opening fences for his brothers as they did chores? No way on that, either. He didn’t have a burning desire to raise elk, but he did have a burning desire to convince Rory they were meant to be. That meant living here.
He flipped through the pages of regulations. No new surprises—he’d studied up on other states rules. There wasn’t a huge difference between Montana stipulations and the proposed regulations in Wyoming.
As he headed back, he tried to take in anything he might’ve missed on the first pass. At the gate he installed the new paddle lock with the heavier, shorter chain and locked it up.
On the drive back into Sundance, his thoughts strayed to Rory. Sweet, sexy, funny insatiable Rory. They’d burned the sheets up and then some the last five days. As much as he loved that her desire, need, passion and obsession almost matched his, he realized he needed to slow things down. He had to show her this relationship was so much more than just hot sex.
Which reminded him that first lunch date he’d sworn to romance the hell out of her. And what had he done besides the candlelit seduction?
Not. A. Damn. Thing.
He needed to rectify that.
But how?
Then the perfect idea occurred to him.
She’ll think it’s lame. How can you even consider that romantic?
Better to try and fail than not try at all.
Dalton made a mental note for the additional items he’d need from the hardware store.
Four sharp knocks sounded on Dalton’s door at three fifteen.
At least the kid was prompt. Dalton yelled, “Come in,” and pulled his box cutter out of the yellow and brown linoleum before he rolled to his feet.
Kyler stood by the front door, ill at ease and Dalton couldn’t fault him. Even before Dalton had left town, he and Cord’s oldest kid hadn’t spent time together besides attending McKay family gatherings. The odd thing? The age gap between him and Kyler was the same age gap between him and Cord.
“Hey, Kyler, what’s up?”
“Not much.” He looked around, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.
“How’d you get here?”
“I walked. My mom gets done around six so I gotta be at her massage studio then so she can give me a ride home.”
“No problem. I’ll leave it up to you if you want me to drop you off or if you wanna walk. We’re workin’ in the kitchen.”
“Should I take my boots off?”
“Not unless they’re covered in cow shit.”
Kyler ditched his coat. “Wearing shit covered boots to school—not cool.”
Dalton returned to the kitchen. “When I went to school some guys wore their barn boots to class, tryin’ to prove they were real cowboys.”
“Still got a few of them guys. It’s worse when ranch kids try to be gangsta. Give me a freakin’ break. Nothin’ gangsta about livin’ in Wyoming.”
“You want a soda?”
“Sure. If it’s no trouble.”
So polite. But he didn’t expect less from Cord’s kid. Dalton passed him a can of Coke and cracked one open for himself. “So, I have to ask what you told your dad about why you’re helping me out.”
Kyler grinned. “A version of the truth. You gave my truck a jump and when I asked how I could repay you, you mentioned needin’ a little help over here.”
“Smart.”
“Besides, Mom and Dad bust me every freakin’ time I lie so it’s not worth it. Most of the time.”
“But this girl?”
He grinned again. “She is so totally worth a lie or two thousand.”
Dalton laughed. “I remember them days. Hell, I remember them girls.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t think my dad remembers what high school is like. He’s got all these crap rules.”
“I’d guess the crap rules are in place for you because Cord remembers exactly how he was in high school,” Dalton said dryly.
“That’s what Hayden thinks too. I swear my dad and Uncle Kane are way stricter than Uncle Cam is…and he’s a cop.”
“I imagine it doesn’t do you any good to complain.”
“Mouthing off just gets my phone and my truck keys taken away so I’ve learned to have all the arguments in my head. That way, I always win.”
“I might’ve saved myself a lot of grief if I’d adopted that attitude at your age.” Except Casper saw silence as an admission of guilt. He saw arguing as defending guilt. Dalton had been screwed either way. He noticed Kyler staring at him, waiting for further instructions. “We’re stripping linoleum today. Don’t know if we’ll get to the point where we can move the appliances. I’ll warn ya it’s tedious stuff.”
“Dang. I was hopin’ we’d be bustin’ cabinets with a sledgehammer or something.”
The kitchen flooring had three layers of linoleum. The second layer had been glued on the first layer, which meant the flooring had to be removed in small sections, a layer at a time. Dalton showed Kyler how he wanted it done, handed him a box cutter and let him be.