The Lucky One

Part 1

"I can't believe you hired a stranger off the street without even consulting me! I mean...he's not even from around here. He's a drifter from who-knows-where and he could be a...a serial killer or something!" you spoke emphatically, not quite a yell but nearly.

"What? You were gone, we need the help, he needs a job. What's there to consult about?" she shrugged innocently.

"Mother. I know you're not as...able as you used to be, but we were doing just fine! I'm perfectly capable of hauling the bales of hay and training the horses and dealing with owners and..."

"...and running yourself into the ground. Honey, you can't do it all by yourself. Not forever. You're stretched too thin. This James fella seems perfectly capable of doing the heavy lifting. I mean look at him throw those bales around with those muscles. And that jaw, yowzah.... If I were 30 years younger..." your mother swooned, craning her neck toward the window.

"Mom!" you laughed. She always was a pistol.

Parting the curtains with one finger, you peered through the window at the man your mother had hired. James. She was right, he lifted those 100-pound hay bales like they were nothing. From the house you could see he was tall and muscular with wide shoulders, longer brown hair peeking out from under a black baseball cap. His face was shadowed, but your mom always did like the handsome ones. Long legs clad in denim and wearing a dark green jacket with a glove on each hand, James finished unloading the truck and hopped from its bed down to the ground in one swift motion.

"If you don't want him here, then fire him yourself. At least meet him, Y/N. I think he'll be a welcome addition to the stables."

Exhaling loudly, you knew she was right. You did need the help and you could at least give him a chance. Grabbing a jacket from a hook by the front door, you slipped it on and stepped out onto the porch. Descending the steps, you made your way across the lawn toward the stables where the pickup truck was parked. James raised the truck's tailgate and slammed it into place, brushing the hay off his clothes.

"James?" you called out as you got closer. He responded to your voice and turned.

Covering the last few feet between you, you were finally able to see his face under the hat. His stormy-grey eyes met yours, rendering you speechless for a second. A 5-o'clock shadow speckling his chiseled jaw, the man nervously chewed on the inside of his lip as you neared.

"Hi. I'm Y/N, owner of (Y/L/N) Stables," you introduced yourself, extending a hand toward the man.

James held your gaze, hesitation in his eyes. After a moment, he removed the glove from his right hand and clasped it around your own. His handshake was firm, but gentle. Letting go, he buried his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he spoke, a huskiness in his voice.

"Please, call me Y/N. So, how did you hear about us?" you asked.

"Um...ad in the paper," he said quietly, lowering his eyes.

You smirked, "My mom still insists on placing that ad once week, no matter what. I keep telling her we need to update it..."

The newspaper ad covered half of a page in the Local section. The photo was of you ten years younger in front of the stables sitting astride Thunder, your favorite horse, with a giant grin on your face.

"No, I...I liked it. Very...effective," he assured you, then clearing his throat.

"What brings you to our neck of the woods?" Curiosity got the better of you, hoping not to sound too nosy.