Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ellis McIntyre coasted into the Roaring Fork at, like, two in the afternoon, heading for Snowmass and arguing with his half-brother on the phone. As usual.
“No, Rick. This is a real job. I mean, I’m doing this because you asked me to, but I ain’t a fucker. I’m not going to do the guy dirty. I’ll let you know what I find, and that’s all.”
“God save me from cowboys,” Rick said, laughing.
“Rick…”
“No, that’s cool. I mean, I’ve already heard stuff. My stepfather was a hard man to get along with, and God knows I want you to have a job. Just not with him.”
“Well, if you want the place, I reckon you’ll have to buy it now. That will was airtight.” He was no damn lawyer, but he’d seen copies of the will. Old man Johns had left it to his grandkids in trust. The son-in-law was the trustee until they were of age.
If that was him? He wouldn’t sell for all the gold left in Colorado. He’d fight tooth and nail.
“Yeah, and that’s complicated.” His brother sighed. “Just tell me how it’s going now and again.”
“Sure. Okay, I got to go. I’m fixing to get to the ranch, and I want to be ready.” What he hadn’t told Rick was what the Cowboy Wanted feller had told him. This was an interview. So he still had to actually get the job.
“Okay. Call me next week. Bye.”
“Same time, same channel,” he agreed, chuckling when Rick hung up on him. “Love you too, you asshole.”
He pulled into the Johns ranch, noting the sad state of the fence, signs of water erosion around the cattle guard. Lord have mercy. He started making mental notes about what would need to be fixed first.
The house, when it came into view, had real good bones. It sat in bowl valley, and the place itself was red timber with a metal roof and a wraparound porch. Not huge, but big enough for the family that had moved in.
The outbuildings needed some work, but there looked to be a bunkhouse and a couple of barns. Maybe one for horses, one for tack and equipment…
A corral sat between barn and house, meant for working horses, he thought. If there was a cattle loading and sorting area, it wasn’t here.
He glanced at Mavis, his yellow Lab bloodhound mix lady dog, sighing. “It ain’t much, is it?”
She cracked one eye open, tail thudding on the door. She’d been pretty happy since they’d stopped for a cheeseburger at the McDonald’s in Twin Lakes…
“You got to be good, lady. I need him to see us as a viable pair.”
She half snorted, half snored. Yeah, she was a hell of a search and rescue dog when he volunteered for that, but otherwise, she was lazy as hell. It was a nice day. He would leave her in the truck with the windows down.
He pulled off and parked, making sure his trailer wasn’t blocking nothin’. His gelding, Rio, went everywhere with him. He didn’t trust a boarding place to take care of the evil beast until he could go back for his best boy.
Ellis sat for a long moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the house. Then he made himself crawl out of the truck, his back twinging. “Stay,” he told Mavis, and then headed up to the porch so he could knock on the door.
There was an older boy, maybe eleven or twelve, perched on the front porch, looking a tad like a vulture, watching him with dark eyes like holes burned in a blanket. The kid waited until he was on the porch steps before speaking. “Are you coming to interview for the job?”
Because that wasn’t creepy.
He did manage to nod, though, and not grimace. “Yep.”
“Cool. My dad says to show you in. I’m Michael.” He uncurled from his perch and held out one skinny hand. “This is my grandpa’s place.”
He shook Michael’s hand. “Yeah, I heard your grandpa was real sick. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The kid shrugged, cheeks darkening. “Yeah, me too. He was a neat guy. He was old, though. Come on in.”
The door opened as Michael touched the knob, and a much bigger, older teenager stood there. They could have been carbon copies of each other, but it was sort of like shoulder angels and devils. One of them had a tentative smile, while the other one wore a wild frown.
“This is the guy that’s supposed to be making things to where we can go home?” the frowny one asked.
Michael sighed. “Zane, we’re never gonna get to go back. You fucked that up. This is home now. It’s your fault, so get used to it.” Michael turned to him, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is my big brother. He’s an asshole.”
“I will kick your ass, kid.”
“You’ll try.” Those were brave words, even if the tone led Ellis to believe that he knew full well that his big brother was much bigger and absolutely angrier.
“I swear to God.” Zane stepped up into Michael’s space, and sure as shit these two were fixin’ to throw down. This was going to be a problem, because Ellis was afraid he was going to have to get involved when he heard—
“Boys, that is enough.” The voice was sure, sharp. It was attached to one beautiful son of a bitch who filled the doorway in between the foyer and the rest of the house.
He blinked. Jesus Christ.
“Fine, Ichabod.” Zane rolled his eyes and stomped off, and Michael’s cheeks went bright red.
“Forgive my son. He is having trouble adjusting.” Mr. Silver Fox held out one hand with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Not your fucking son!”
He took the man’s hand, shocked as hell to find it callused and rough and strong. He knew the guy was from the city and wasn’t much into carpentry or doing work around the ranch, obviously. So he’d expected someone executive, clean-cut, lean. Possibly wearing Dockers.
Not solid and broad shoulders and built like a brick shit house.
Standing there barefoot in old jeans and a flannel shirt covered in…glitter paint—the guy was like a rainbow lumberjack.
I’m Ellis McIntyre. Pleased to meet you.”
“Ichabod Miller-Johns.”
He’d seen that hyphenated name, and he knew a little about the situation, but he played dumb. “So you’re Mr. Johns’s son?”
Okay, that felt weird.
“No, sir, I am Mr. Johns son-in-law. My husband was Mr. Johns. The son. He passed away a few years ago.”
Which he also knew. Chris Johns had battled leukemia on and off his entire life before it had finally won.
The question was, why would Vic have given away his ranch to his dead son’s husband when there was a stepson right there wanting to take over? Maybe he simply wanted to make sure his grandbabies were taken care of.
“I know it’s a wild scenario, but Vic loved these babies, and he wanted the ranch to be here for them.”
Okay, so maybe it was straightforward. “Well, that’s nice. Where did you wanna do the interview?”
Ichabod blinked at him and then rolled his eyes. “God, right, sorry. I’m… Come on into the front room. There’s a bunch of rooms in here that we’ve got to clean out still and do some work on, but the girls both needed some daddy time. And so I was helping them make paper dolls.”
“Oh, so there are more little ones?” Somehow Rick hadn’t known much about these kids.
Ichabod nodded, “Yes, I have two daughters as well as my boys.”
“Well, that must keep you busy.”
“The paper dolls? Absolutely.” That got him glinting wink, a wicked grin. “Michael, do you think you could watch Allie and Chrissy for me?”
The kid gave him a nod. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Michael tilted his head. “Do you appreciate it enough that we can have pizza for supper—like real pizza from like a pizza place?”
“You know what, yes, I think that I would absolutely appreciate it enough that we could all go have pizza for dinner tonight, or I can see if I can’t get somebody to deliver out here; surely it’s got to be a thing.”
“Cool.”
Ellis had to chuckle. “Man, I can remember I would have given my right arm for somebody to deliver pizza out to the ranch I grew up on,” he said. “Nobody ever did, but my mom made a pretty decent Domino’s knockoff.”
Michael gave him a sideways look. “Really? You can make a knockoff and make it taste good?”
“I sure thought it was good when I was a kid. It was a sight better than Chef Boyardee box pizza. But you guys ain’t that far out. I imagine you could get somebody to come on.”
Ichabod shrugged. “I’ll check on DoorDash. If not, we’ll go into town, okay kiddo?”
“Sure that sounds good. I’m off to make paper dolls.” Michael rolled his eyes and slumped off like tweens always seemed to do.
Ellis watched Ichabod, waiting, curious.
“Here, why don’t we sit down here and chat a little?” Ichabod said.
“Thanks.” He waited for the man to perch on the recliner before he sat on the ancient couch. Damn, that thing needed some help, or maybe to be hauled off and replaced with something else. It sagged under his ass like a thirty-year-old swayback mule.
“You’re welcome. Would you like something to drink?”
Ellis grinned, shaking his head. “No, thank you. I drank about two-thirds of a Big Gulp on the way in. I imagine I’m gonna have to ask you use your restroom here soon.”
That got him another grin in return, and, shit, Rick hadn’t said anything about this guy being so pretty. Like not feminine pretty, but nice to look at.
“Well, you’re welcome to that too, although I warn you that Pop never remodeled his guest bathroom, so it’s pink and green. I don’t know whether I should preserve that because it’s sort of awesomely retro, or whether I should demo it immediately.”
“Now, that I will have to see before I go.”
Ichabod tilted his head. “Are you having second thoughts about applying for the job?”
He met that worried gaze head on. “No, sir. Not even a single one.”
“Oh. It’s just you keep talking about leaving, and I wanted to make sure that you weren’t only here for the interview to be polite, or so that you didn’t mess up the Cowboy Wanted people. Tom and Koby seem to inspire loyalty in folks.” Ichabod waved a hand as he spoke.
Those hands did fascinate him. He wondered what this guy did for a living that made those hands all scarred up and bruised with chipped nails. They were clean, but man they were wrecked.