“I did not!” Diesel scowls and takes off running after Grayson, who’s way too fast for him. I remember being pretty much the same at their age.

Diesel bends over and picks up a rock and throws it at Grayson. It nails him right in the back of his head. Wanting to retaliate, Grayson starts throwing them back.

“What in the fuck are you two doin’?” Jackson yells.

I cross my arms and watch them chase each other like kids.

“Nothing!” Diesel says, finally dropping his ammunition.

Jackson looks at me and shakes his head. In that split second, Grayson nails Diesel in the forehead.

“What the hell!” Diesel screams and starts the chase again.

Jackson claps his hands to get their attention, but they’re lost. Seconds later, he puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out the loudest ear-piercing whistle I’ve ever heard. They both stop moving.

“Get your asses in the truck and get the hell outta here. Actin’ like rowdy children,” he demands, but he’s smiling.

“Learned it from you!” Diesel pops off, and Jackson rears up like he’s going to charge them.

It’s enough to scare the shit out of them, and they climb into the truck without hesitation. When I see the look on their faces as they back out of the drive, I chuckle. They’re giggling like schoolkids, and so is Jackson.

I shake my head, and Jackson pats me on the back. “Guess it’s time to get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” I confirm, then head to the barn. One thing about working on the Bishop ranch is that there’s never, ever a dull day around here.

Chapter Nine

MAIZE

I can’t believe today’s the competition. I’ve been counting down to this ever since I got that phone call, and now it’s finally here. My nerves have gotten the best of me all week, and I’ve been a wreck, trying not to overwhelm myself. I know what winning could do—give me the opportunity to jumpstart my business.

When I was in culinary school, it was very competitive. I received job offers from many of the chefs who taught me after I graduated. I could’ve gone anywhere—San Francisco, New York, Dallas, or Chicago—and worked for upscale restaurants and fine dining experiences only, but the stress would’ve been too intense for me to handle. Instead, I explained I’d be working for the family business. Though it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, it was respectable, and I don’t regret my decision. Being under pressure like that isn’t for me, which is why I don’t enter cooking competitions.