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you’d know a thing or two about living on a ranch.”
    Before Beth could respond, he stalked away. The other two men already had the horse from the yard back in the pasture and stood waiting at the gate to help get the other two horses in. She gathered every ounce of self esteem she had and forced herself to walk up the drive, eyes straight ahead. The four ranch employees watched her from the gate. The stocky ranch hand with a shock of thick dark hair spit tobacco juice on the ground just as she reached them.
    She turned to face the four, her own jaw set now. "I made a mistake, but I am still your boss." She kept her gaze steady until they looked away, then she marched towards the house. One mistake would not set the tone for the coming year.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    B eth hid in her father’s library the rest of the morning, jotting notes, sketching dream plans for the ranch, and licking her wounded pride. She wasn’t used to failure, and she hated making mistakes. Particularly mistakes as ignorant as leaving the gate to the horse pasture open. Even worse, her employees had a front row seat for her screw up. Dealing with people in general was difficult, more so when they don't think you're competent.
    She sighed. That was why she liked being a transactional lawyer. She sat in her neat, organized office and dealt with research and words. With the law, you could check your work and know it was right. If you make a mistake, money can fix it.
    Beau had looked at her as if she were the stupidest person on the face of the earth. The contempt in his eyes cut her to the core. He carried himself in a confident manner, and for good reason. Her father had trusted him completely, and she hoped she could eventually earn Beau's trust. Earning his trust would be the next best thing to earning her father's.
    The memory of him finding her after the accident kept flitting through her mind, how safe she felt with him, how comfortable she felt with him, the strength in his arms as he lifted her into the truck . . .
    She jumped when someone knocked on the door.
    “Come in,” she said. Before she looked up from her sketches, she smelled the beef stew and fresh sourdough bread. Charlotte set the serving tray on the desk and motioned toward the leather guest chair.
    “Mind if I sit?” Charlotte asked, one eyebrow raised.
    “Please do. And thank you. I was starting to get a little hungry.” She eyed the older woman, curious as to the intent of this visit. Perhaps the woman was sucking up to the new boss. Maybe she was scoping out the competition. Then again, maybe she wanted to chastise her for the morning screw-up.

“Go ahead and eat, child. I’ll stay and talk, if you don’t mind.” Charlotte pushed the tray across the desk with strong, tanned hands, then sat back in the chair. Beth scooped a spoonful of stew up and took a bite, not surprised to find it was delicious. Chunks of potatoes swam in the spicy stew. She closed her eyes and savored the flavors.
    She couldn't even remember the last time she’d had anything close to home cooked food. Even when she’d lived with her mother, most meals had been quick and ready-to-eat or they’d gone out. Then she and Quinn had practically lived together, but they both worked long hours, so they usually had take-out.
    Charlotte cleared her throat, and Beth snapped back to the present. She opened her eyes.
    “You had a tough go of it this morning.”
    Beth opened her mouth to speak, but Charlotte held up her hand, “Let me finish, child. Seems to me that you came in here wantin' t'make a good impression on everybody, and to make sure that everybody knows what the peckin’ order is.”
    “First impressions are so very important,” Beth said as she cupped her chin in her hand and sighed.
    “They are. Which is why I’m suggestin’ that you back off a little. You’re like a hen on a hot griddle, just like your father. Can't wait for nothing. Well, sometimes it’s better to hang back a