Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ellis was having a little bit of guilt.
He knew Ichabod wanted to talk to him about his theories about the cows, but Ellis made himself scarce as hen’s teeth unless the kids were around. If they weren’t around, he was out working someplace on the ranch where Ichabod probably wouldn’t come looking for him.
But he didn’t know how to come clean, because honestly he hadn’t done anything wrong.
At the same time, he was pretty aware there were rumors going around town, and even at the feed store an hour’s drive away, about how some of the cowboys were super aggravated about having to leave their jobs because of the new boss.
That sure as shit pissed Ellis right off, because they hadn’t had to leave their jobs. All they’d had to do was stick around and support Ichabod. They would have gotten paid, but he reckoned they didn’t want the humiliation of working for a greenhorn, which was damn stupid.
Who the Sam Hill knew? All he knew was that he was having a ball playing cowboy at this ranch and that Ichabod and his kids had been open and kind to him, inviting him to have dinner with them, asking him if he wanted to go into town.
They’d even gone to the movies together.
So even though he was avoiding being alone with Ichabod, he was starting to do things for the man personally.
Not just for the ranch or for Ichabod and the kids, but for Ichabod.
He’d fixed the wiring in the studio, for example. That kiln had been a danger to the whole system, but with a new circuit on the box for the shed, it was right as rain.
He’d also been delivering casseroles so Ichabod didn’t have to cook so much or take the kids into town.
If there was one thing his mom had cooked well, with five boys and her husband to feed, it was casseroles. Lasagna. Enchiladas. King Ranch. Chicken spaghetti. All the good shit.
And she had taught them all to him.
At some point, he would be going up to cook at the main house. But not yet. Right now he was sort of doing it stealthy-like.
Ichabod was walking out of his studio at the same time Ellis wandered up holding a casserole. The man’s silver hair glinted in the sun, light shining on him, and it made his mouth dry, so he licked his lips.
“You look like you’ve been having fun.” He had to grin. “I brought you food.”
“Oh, how cool. You’ll be coming to have dinner with us, right?” Ichabod got right up in his business, eyes laser-focused.
Ellis rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Sure.”
“Excellent. I’ve been having a ball. It’s throwing day. I love throwing day.”
Everything Ellis knew about pottery he could stick in a thimble. So he just nodded. “Good deal.”
“You want to see?”
He blinked, and then grinned, because he sure did. “Yeah. Let me put this in the fridge real quick. I’ll be right back.”
The kids were sitting in the living room on the couch. The little girls were watching cartoons and thinking about having a nap, it seemed to him.
“Hey, y’all. Casserole all ready for supper. Baked spaghetti today.”
Zane gave him a bit of the stink eye, then he took a deep breath and waved. “That’s damn cool man, thanks. Uh, I’m sure Dad’ll ask you for supper. I mean you cooked. There’s garlic bread and stuff for salad. Dad said he was making chocolate mousse for dessert, so…”
“I didn’t know your dad made chocolate mousse.”
That got him a pair of rolled eyes. “He does all sorts of stuff, mostly pottery.”
“You watching the girls, I guess?”
Zane nodded again, and Ellis could hear Zane wondering whether or not he’d had a stroke or some such. “It’s good money really. We’re not doing anything more than what I’d be doing anyway. They’re not bad kids.” Then he shot Ellis a wicked smile. “Not like Michael.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Hey, you know us cowboys.”
Ellis put the food into the fridge before heading back out, because the fact was, he was damn curious. There wasn’t any bad in spending a little time with Ichabod, right?
He got to the little studio and peeked his head in. “Casserole is in the fridge.”
“Cool, come in. and I’ll show you around.”
The room was…not dirty, but the clay left a gray sheen over everything.
The studio was carefully arranged, with potting wheels along one side, big tables on the other, and racks and racks of brushes and bottles of dyes and paints at the front.
The back was filled with huge shelves filled with vessels and all, and at the farthest end, with a locked door hiding it, was the kiln room.
It amazed him. A huge face-looking thing sat on the worktable, its nose bulbous.
“This is pretty cool, man. What’s it going to be?”
“It’s a commission piece for a place in Aspen—a fancy doctor’s office. It’s always fun to do the commission pieces, I think, because it gives me the money to do bigger, more interesting art pieces. I don’t always know if they’re going to sell.”
“So, what about the vases and stuff, too?” He thought he’d seen giant vases going out one day.
Ichabod leaned against one of the big tables, and Ellis loved how relaxed he was in here, how at home. “I do like doing vessels. Quite a bit, actually. I also do hand sculptures. Art-wise, I do whatever I want to. I went an entire year where all I did was teeny tiny things.”
He tilted his head. “Teeny tiny things.”
The temptation to tease burned his tongue.
“Yeah. Honestly, that’s what I did. I did little bitty miniatures.
That was all I wanted to do. They sold pretty good too, I have to say.
I mean, they didn’t set the world on fire, but I had so much fun making them.
It was when the kids were little and right after Chris had died, I couldn’t find the energy or the time to do anything big. So I made tons of tiny things.”
“Ouch. That had to be hard.” He didn’t know what else to say about the husband. He didn’t love to think about Ichabod with another man, which was stupid as fuck, and unreasonable, but there it was.
“Also, and I know that it’s kind of lowbrow, but I love making cups. I make cups for everybody in the family.”
Sure enough, Ichabod pointed to a drying shelf, and there were a line of six cups.
He frowned. “Who’s the sixth one for?” He felt jealousy in his chest, oddly enough, and he told himself to back the fuck off.
“Well, you, of course.”
Ellis blinked at Ichabod. “Me?” That did things to his heart. And other parts he didn’t dare mention at the moment. “Thank you.”
“Hey, I figure you’re part of us, right? Part of the whole group. I try to make every one different and make them a little the same. I think about the person I’m making them for as I’m creating them.”
Lord. That was adorable. “I bet your kids have a lot of cups.”
That grin was wry as hell. “Fewer than you’d think.
Dropping is a thing. Throwing periodically, especially with teenage boys, can be a thing.
But yeah, everybody’s gonna end up with an entire set of dishes when they leave home.
Heavy pottery dishes that they’ll probably hate, but I don’t care because I enjoy making them so much.
This one’s yours.” Ichabod pointed to a cup.
It was a good size. And had a nice heft to it. It was wider on the bottom so it would be stable, he guessed. And there was a rising sun etched right in, and… “Is that Rio?”
“You know it.”
Right there on the side impressed into the clay with the thinnest of lines was Rio. His Rio. Damn, look at that. Well, now that was with the finest thing anybody had ever done for him. “I love it. Thank you. What color is it going to be?”
“I was thinking turquoise. And then of course, you know, Rio would be Rio-colored because that’s a thing.” Ichabod seemed so pleased, his cheeks pink, pretty blue eyes sparkling.
“That might be the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me,” Ellis said.
“I enjoy making them,” Ichabod repeated. “Besides I was thinking of making you another one that has Mavis on it.”
Ellis raised an eyebrow, his grin stretching wide. “Yeah? She’s my girl, Mavis is.”
“How long has she been with you?”
“She’s three now, so not as long as Rio.
” Rio had been his good working horse now for damn near seven years, and he took the stupid gelding with him everywhere—not only because he didn’t trust somebody else to take care of him, but because Rio could get out of any damn stall or pen that he left him in.
And if Rio didn’t find Ellis somewhere around the place he would flat wander off hunting for him.
“I can tell that the two of you have a good working relationship,” Ichabod said. “That was sort of amazing, what you did with the cattle.”
Ellis felt his own cheeks heat up at that because it was always good to be admired even if it was just him doing his job.
“Thanks. He’s a good horse; he works hard.
Now, he’d much rather be doing a cutting competition or a roping pen where he only has to work half an hour a day or something, but he’s solid. ”
Ichabod tilted his head, contemplating that, he thought. “So what about our horses?”
Ellis chuckled, because they had five pretty good riding mounts in the remuda that the old man had left behind.
“They’re pretty good. I’ve had a chance to ride them all, but I haven’t worked them yet.
I like to let them get used to me and settle in a little bit first, but I think at least a couple of them are going to be pretty decent cow horses.
One of them I’ve got earmarked for Michael because I think he’s gentle enough to let that boy learn how to cowboy up on his back. ”
Ichabod shook his head, hand over his heart on his chest. “That makes me a little queasy, but at the same time it makes me proud. I know Michael really wants to start working with the animals, and I think he’s ready, don’t you?”