“Wait, where are we going?” I ask when I finally reach his side. I stumble on my heels and press my palm against his corded arm to steady myself. He tenses at my touch. Keeps trudging ahead. “You want a job. You can work on the ranch.” My stomach drops. I stop in the middle of the gravel road. “The ranch?” For my first real-world job, I was thinking of something less harrowing. Inside. Comfortable. I’ve never worked outdoors, let alone squatted behind the backend of a cow. “Funny enough, I’ve been assigned the job of being your babysitter,” he says as if it’s the most painful thing in the
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