3. Porter
3
PORTER
T he sun was just rising the following morning when I headed out to assess the damage from yesterday’s storm. My muscles ached from sleeping on the bunkhouse cot, but it was nothing compared to the weight in my chest every time I thought about Cici’s face when I’d mentioned her father. I supposed I had a similar expression when someone talked about my mother, but even then, it wasn’t with the same love and admiration she conveyed.
On approach, it appeared the main barn had weathered the storm nicely enough, but the smaller outbuildings hadn’t fared as well. Shingles littered the ground, and one of the storage sheds was tilting dangerously to one side. I made mental notes as I walked the property, cataloging everything that needed to be repaired. The list kept growing, and not all the damage was weather related. It was clear that much of it had gradually happened in the time since no one was here to fix it. Cici was capable, of course, but some things needed money. A lot of it. And it was abundantly clear that was in short supply.
A light flickered on in the ranch house’s kitchen, and through the window, I caught a glimpse of her moving around, probably starting coffee. Part of me wanted to offer to help with the morning chores, but after last night’s confrontation over Thunder Cloud, I knew better.
Instead, I headed for the roughstock pens. This was where Morris Ranch’s real problems would present themselves. Sure enough, the first thing I noticed was the poor condition of the fencing. No self-respecting rodeo would contract with an outfit that couldn’t properly contain their animals.
Later, once I’d completed an initial plan of attack, I’d call Buck to see which hands the Roaring Fork could spare for a few days. If I had my pick, I’d ask for three, all of whom hailed from Gunnison County.
First, Bullet Simmons, an NFR bull-riding champion who came to work for us once he decided he’d had enough of climbing on the back of one-ton animals to prove he could stay on for eight seconds. Second, Stetson Hamilton, also an NFR champ, but on bucking broncs. His father had developed the equine breeding program we used on our ranch. Lastly, Nash “Thorn” Roseman, who was the assistant ranch foreman. That decision would be up to Bridger West, who took over managing the roughstock operation when Cord and I were forced to leave because some asshole had decided to fuck with our inheritance.
“That bad?” I turned to find Cici standing behind me, arms crossed against the cold. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe braid, but a few strands had escaped to frame her face. Even angry, she was beautiful.
“Pardon?”
“By the look of disgust on your face, I assume you’re looking for more things to criticize.”
Since I couldn’t explain that what I was really disgusted with was a nameless, faceless control freak fucking with the lives of my siblings and me, I gestured to the nearest section of fence. “These posts won’t last another month.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Her voice was sharp. “You think I haven’t tried—” She stopped, pressing her lips together.
“Tried what?”
“Nothing. Just stay out of my way.” She started to turn away.
“It’s too late for Fort Worth and San Antonio, but the RodeoHouston is a possibility, especially if someone drops out,” I said. “You planning to submit a bid?”
That stopped her. “I already did, but after the accident…” She shrugged, trying to look like it didn’t matter. “They don’t want us there.”
“Wrong. They don’t want an outfit that won’t deliver as promised,” I corrected. “But I’ve already talked to the board. They’ll reconsider if you let me handle the stock.”
She spun around. “You what ?”
“I sent some messages last night. They know me, trust me. Or they did. Anyway…” I scrubbed my face. “Look, this could be your chance to rebuild your reputation. Our reputation.”
“Our reputation?” She laughed bitterly. “There is no ‘our’ anything, Wheaton. And I don’t need your help with the board.”
“Really? Because last I heard, you were down to three major contracts for the year. That won’t cover your operating costs, let alone the bank loan.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”
More than you realize, I thought. But I couldn’t tell her I’d spent the last six months tracking Morris Ranch’s decline, watching helplessly as everything Hank Morris had built crumbled after his death. Then, I told myself it had been out of concern for another roughstocker in the area, not because my heart beat harder every time Cici crossed my mind. Which was far too often. I’d wake at night, remembering how her naked body had felt under mine. How there was no greater pleasure in the world than burying myself deep in her heat.
“RodeoHouston could change everything. The total purse is over two million dollars,” I said, hoping she hadn’t noticed the redness that crept up my neck, thinking about her that way. “But you need better stock than what I’m seeing here. Half these broncs look past their prime.”
“They’re experienced.”
“They’re tired. And your bulls…” I gestured to the pen, where three massive animals huddled against the cold. “When was the last time you ran a genetic testing? Because that red one has the same markings as?—”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here telling me how to run my own program?”
I sighed. “He has the same markings as his grandfather, Cici. You’re breeding too close to the bloodline. It’ll affect their performance. Maybe it already has.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “So now, you’re an expert on that too?”
“I’m sure your father taught you about?—”
She held up a hand. “I told you not to talk about him.”
“Fine.” I pulled a folded paper from my pocket. “But at least look at this. It’s a preliminary contract for the Houston. All it needs is your signature.”
She stared at the paper like it might bite her. “You filled this out last night?”
“Consider it a peace offering,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on me not answering her question.
“I don’t want peace with you.”
“Then, consider it business. The ranch needs this. You need it.”
For a moment, I thought she might actually take the contract. But then, she stepped back, shaking her head.
“I’m late for feeding.” She started toward the barn, then paused. “Fix the fence if you want. But stay away from the bull-stud program. That was my father’s pride and joy, and I won’t let you ruin that too.”
I watched her go, the contract still clutched in my hand. Hank Morris had been more than proud of what he developed—he’d been innovative and forward-thinking. He would’ve seen the problems I saw and would’ve already been working to fix them. My guess was Cici had been forced to sell her best stock, figuring what was left would be good enough. If I was right, it was the worst thing she could’ve done. Instead, she should’ve focused on breeding fees, including negotiating that some of the stock born would go to Morris Ranch.
When I set out to develop the program at the Roaring Fork, I talked to as many of the contractors in the area I could, including her father.
But I couldn’t tell Cici that. I couldn’t tell her the real reason I’d approached him in the first place. How I’d hoped to get one glimpse of her. To know she was okay. Or about the many hours I’d spent with him, learning everything he knew about roughstock. And I couldn’t tell her that the last time I saw him alive, he’d asked me to look out for his kids if anything ever happened to him.
It was as though he’d had a premonition, and I’d failed him spectacularly.
A sound from the ranch house caught my attention. Maverick stood at his bedroom window, watching me. When our eyes met, he quickly disappeared behind the curtain.
The kid was carrying as many secrets as I was. And if we both weren’t careful, they’d eventually come crashing down around us.
I shoved the contract back in my pocket and headed for the tool shed. The fence wouldn’t fix itself, and right now, it was the only thing I could control.
At the top of the list of things I couldn’t was how in the hell, at the end of the first month, I’d be able to convince Cici that I needed to stay eleven more. If I didn’t, my brothers, sister, and I would lose everything. Telling her that wouldn’t earn me any sympathy, though. She was already of the mind that everything I touched turned to ruin. I doubted she’d listen long enough to clarify or even care that what my family faced wasn’t my doing. The only thing that was, was my reason for landing here, and that, I could never tell her.
After a long, hard day, ticking off the list of things that needed to be fixed without taking as much as a break to eat, I fell on the cot, hoping exhaustion alone would help me sleep.
Instead, after placing the call to Buck I’d intended to earlier, I lay on the lumpy pad that was supposed to substitute for a mattress and stared at the ceiling. I’d ask God, a higher power, or the universe how the fuck I ended up here, but that answer was abundantly clear. I’d lived a shit life and got what I deserved.
After a couple of hours, my muscles already ached and harrowing thoughts continued swirling in my head.
Morris Ranch’s rapid decline weighed heavily on me as I got up, turned on a light, and pored over the records I’d already read enough to have memorized. Numbers swam before my eyes—genetic markers, performance ratings, bloodline charts. I recognized Hank Morris’s innovative touches being slowly eroded by necessity and mismanagement. Each page reminded me of time spent in his office, learning his methods. It was invaluable knowledge I hoped I could share with Cici one day. Tell her how many times I was here when she wasn’t. Hank had been careful about that. God, I wanted to talk to her about the fond memories I had of a man who’d treated me far better than my own father ever had.
I was still awake well after midnight, rereading the same things again and again and knowing disaster loomed if someone didn’t intervene soon. The only saving grace, as I saw it, was that Buck had agreed to send over the three men I asked for and, more importantly, keep them on the Roaring Fork payroll for however long they were here. They’d arrive first thing tomorrow morning and would bring some of our other hands, all of whom would be prepared to get right to work.
I stood, thinking about attempting to get some rest, when a flicker of movement caught my eye through the window—an orange glow reflecting off the northwest barn’s metal roof.
I jumped up, stuck my feet in my boots, grabbed my coat, and raced from the bunkhouse. The acrid smell of accelerant hit me before I’d fully processed what I was seeing. This was no accident. The flame pattern was too deliberate and spreading too fast.
I slammed my hand on the emergency alarm on one of the closer outbuildings, pulled my cell from my coat pocket, and called one of the ranch’s few remaining hands, who was likely fast asleep in the other bunkhouse. My voice cracked when the man answered. “Johnson, fire in the northwest barn! We need everybody! Wake up Martinez and Shaw, and get the trailers to the back alley doors. Now! ”
The night air bit through my shirt as I sprinted across the yard. Heat blasted my face when I wrenched the front door open. Inside, the animals had worked themselves into a frenzy. Smoke curled along the ceiling beams, and flames licked up the far wall. The horses screamed—high, terrified sounds that made my skin crawl.
Past experience from fires at the Roaring Fork, along with Hank’s training, kicked in. I moved methodically despite the chaos, things I’d learned echoing in my head. “A scared horse is a dangerous horse. You gotta be their calm,” Cici’s father said in my head. I started with the nearest stalls, leading them out in pairs, one hand on each lead rope. The frightened animals fought me at first, but I kept my movements unhurried, my voice low. “Easy now. That’s it.”
Embers rained down, burning holes in my coat and searing my exposed skin. I ignored the pain. Six horses out. Eight. Ten. The smoke grew thicker as sirens sounded in the distance, still too far away, in my estimation. What the fuck was taking them so long to get here?
Then I heard it—a familiar whinny through the roar of flames. Thunder Cloud. The stallion was trapped in the back corner, a fallen support beam blocking his stall. The horse’s bloodline alone was worth more than most of the ranch’s contracts, but it wasn’t just about money. This was Hank’s pride and joy, the cornerstone of his equine program.
I wrapped my bandanna around my face and crawled under the worst of the smoke. The beam was heavy, but fear and adrenaline gave me the necessary strength. My shoulders screamed as I heaved it aside. Thunder Cloud’s eyes rolled white with terror, but he knew me. When I reached for his halter, he didn’t fight.
We burst out of the barn together just as Cici pulled up and leaped from the cab of her truck. The light from the fire painted her ghost-white face as she ran over.
Our eyes met, and in them, I saw relief warring with suspicion. Before I could say a word, fire trucks pulled in. They weren’t just from Parlin; units from Gunnison, Crested Butte, and Montrose arrived minutes later, but by then, her crew and I had saved what mattered most.
I wanted to tell her my suspicions, that the fire had been set deliberately, but there was no time for that now. Instead, I joined the hands Johnson had roused, along with those from nearby ranches he must’ve called for support. I focused on treating the horses and cattle for smoke inhalation, checking each one for burns while trying to ignore the stinging of my own.
When Kaleb arrived to take statements from us and the fire chief, I couldn’t help but notice the looks Cici shot me while we answered the sheriff’s questions. That her expression of gratitude was mixed with distrust burned worse than my injuries.
When she approached Thunder Cloud, running her hands over him, I saw tears in her eyes she quickly blinked away.
“Thank you,” she whispered so quietly I almost missed it. “You should get those burns looked at.” I nodded, watching her lead her father’s prized stallion to safety to the smaller pasture that was closest to the house.
“I smell gasoline,” Kaleb said in a low tone of voice when he came to stand beside me. “The chief is calling in an arson investigator.”
The ranch’s problems went deeper than bad fencing and poor breeding choices. Someone wanted Morris Ranch to fail, and they were willing to burn it to the ground to make that happen.