“You can’t get fired. We like you too much!”

“Who is we?” I ask, loading the dishwasher. And I freeze momentarily when his response is, “My dad and me.”

I will not burst his bubble by telling him that his dad does not, in fact, like me. He just needs my help and is stuck between a rock and a hard place.

A hard place where I’m literally his last and only option.

I shrug. “Okay sure, why not?”

Hillbilly shit it is.

* * *

I take the top off my Jeep, and we cruise to the grocery store blasting some of my favorite ’80s hits. Luke cackles maniacally from his seat in the back when I do my best Billy Idol imitation.

I rolled my eyes when I saw the booster seat already installed in the back seat. I told Cade I could handle it, but he went into my vehicle while I was sleeping and did it anyway.

Control freak.

In town I easily find the grocery store. I took a bit of a detour on my way out to the ranch and gave myself a pep talk. I considered turning my ass around and heading back to the city where I could stick to what’s comfortable, but I’ve never been one to say no to new experiences. So I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and got a lay of the land so I wouldn’t be totally useless without someone showing me around.

“How many are we getting?” I ask Luke, who is strutting through the grocery store like a tiny king. Cowboy heir to the deer antler throne. Or something equally rustic.

“Ten,” he replies decisively.

“Ten? That’s a lot.”

“It’s just the right amount.”

I stare at the section of iceberg lettuce before us. If we take ten, we’re clearing out more than half of what’s here. “Five.”

His head shoots in my direction so quickly, little brows furrowing. He instantly looks like his dad. “Seven.”

I press my lips together so hard it almost hurts. This kid is too smart. “Five, final offer.”

A little spot on his jaw pops, and I am dying. He is a miniature Cade. Take away eye color and the resemblance is uncanny. Hilarious. “Fine.”

“You’re going to be bored after three,” I supply, while reaching for the first head of lettuce.

“I am not!”

I turn and quirk a brow at him. “Luke. I may be new here, but I’m going to tell you what I told your dad. Mind your tone. You and I aren’t going to talk to each other like that. Or I’ll put you back to bed for a nap.”

His baby blues widen. “Naps are for babies.”

“Agreed. But if you act like one, I might get confused.”

He sighs heavily and offers me a brief nod before reaching for another head. “I’m sorry.”