Meleck & Wren (Miller’s Pointe #7)

Chapter 1

Meleck Baker

The feel of soft but unwanted hands on my shoulder causes me to raise my Jaxson from my face. The thick brim of my hat was doing a great job of blocking the sunlight so I could sleep, at least it had been until now.

“Sorry,” Mrs. Bea rushes out when I turn to face her.

“I’ve been calling your name but you won’t budge.

We’ve stopped,” she says. After placing my hat on my head, I sit up and see she’s right, the bus has stopped and it’s half empty.

The aisles are filled with people exiting and only the back half of the bus has people sitting.

“Do you mind grabbing my bag?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am. As soon as they move,” I tell her and she smiles.

For the first five hours of my ride, I’d been lucky enough to have this row to myself.

I took full advantage and stretched my long legs out.

However, when we stopped in Memphis, Mrs. Bea—along with a few other passengers—got on and she sat right next to me.

Because I was raised right, I got up, placed her bags in the overhead, and offered her the choice of the window seat I was in.

She graciously took it and would have kept me up with her talking if I wasn’t partially deaf in my left ear.

It’s a blessing and curse and for these last six hours of my ride, it’s been a blessing.

“You got family here?” she asks while we wait to get off.

“My uncle is here.”

“That’s good. Holidays aren’t the same without family,” she says.

Since the aisle is clearing out, I stand and open the overhead.

The bags have shifted a little, so I adjust them, grab my large rucksack, her cane, and her small piece of luggage.

After tossing my rucksack over my shoulder, I raise the handle of her bag and reach out to assist her with my other.

When she’s up, I move back so she can walk ahead of me. I assist her again when she steps down.

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome. It’s cold out here. Let’s go inside.”

“Oh, I’m fine. My daughter is right over there and she’s single,” she says, then nods toward a tall sista walking over to us.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger and Camille likes cowboys just like her mommie.

You remind me so much of my Henry. God rest his soul.

Milk chocolate, ruggedly handsome, and that smile. Chile…” She smirks, then winks.

I just shake my head. Mrs. Bea is a trip and I’m not interested in her daughter. I’m in town just for the season to work. All I can give a woman involves me between her legs, not in her life. I’m never around long enough. I’m not what she wants for her daughter.

“I’m just here for the season, ma’am,” I tell her.

“But you never know,” she says, then turns to her daughter who just stepped over. “Camille, this is Meleck. He kept me company on the bus and helped me get my bag.”

“Thank you for helping her,” Camille says.

“No problem,” I tell her.

“Thanks? Is that all you have to say? Girl,” Mrs. Bea huffs, then steps closer to her daughter.

“He’s handsome and no ring,” she says in a lower tone but even with my limited hearing in one ear, I can still hear her.

Camille looks embarrassed as shit, so I speak up to bring this awkward interaction to an end.

“My ride should be pulling up. I gotta go,” I lie. I haven’t even ordered a ride.

“Well, okay,” Mrs. Bea sighs. “You have a Merry Christmas and thanks for keeping me company.”

“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” I say and walk off.

Miller’s Pointe is a small town and it doesn’t have an actual Panther Express station. This stop looks to be in the middle of town and there’s only a small covered area in front of this Campfire Coffee shop. It’s too damn cold to be waiting outside, so I walk into the shop.

While I wait for my cup of black coffee, I pull my phone out and reread the text messages from my Uncle Rufus. Following his instructions, I book an iDrive to The Phoxes Den. My unc has been working there for years and he’s putting me on.

Finding gigs as a seasonal ranch hand isn’t easy. It’s all about connections. I ended up at Prairie Ridge in Missouri because of my battle buddy, Jamal. His people knew the rancher there and they got me on for six months.

Seasonal is just that, for a season. Once winter came, like most ranches, the owners skimmed back on the number of ranch hands.

Only major ranchers with multiple streams of income survive and thrive during winters.

The Phoxes Den is one of them. During the winter months, the ranch hosts guests and large parties in its luxury Airbnb.

They have access to all ranch activities, so teams of seasonal ranch hands are needed and hired.

Ranching isn’t new to me. I grew up on my grandparents’ small ranchette in Montana.

I learned how to care for animals, toil soil, and buck hay side by side with them.

When I lost them, I joined the military.

However, two years ago, my life took an unexpected turn.

My twelve years in the Army came to an end after my annual physical.

Years of repeated, unprotected exposure to loud noises over my tenure of service had damaged my ear and a H3 hearing profile made me unfit for duty. My DD-214 shows an honorable discharge.

Living a regimented and structured life has its perks, but also some drawbacks.

My location and even the style of home I had was prescribed by the Army.

I went where they mandated for their required time period.

That shit has changed now. I go where I want and for how long I choose.

My days are spent out in nature, under God’s great sky, and at night I can sleep under that same sky and count stars till I fall asleep.

“Baker,” the cashier calls out and I walk up and grab my coffee and cornbread muffin.

Three minutes later, my ride pulls up and I walk out.

I spend the next thirty-five minutes enjoying the views as we go through the small town then out to the open road with fewer homes and buildings the further we go.

I’m glad he knows where we’re going because the lack of street signs on many of the roads would stress me out.

The driver starts to slow when we pull onto what looks like a private road. There’s a huge iron gate at the end. Embedded on the right side of the gate is the name, The Phoxes Den, with a fox tail at the end of the n. On the left side, there’s a big ass Christmas wreath.

Following the directions from my uncle’s texts, I instruct the driver to pull up to the speaker box. When I press the button, it buzzes then a raspy voice comes through.

“How can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m Meleck Baker here to see Rufus,” I tell him.

“The gate opens inward. Follow the road to the lodge.”

The gate opens slowly as the driver creeps onto the road. A half mile later, we pull up to a massive ranch-style mansion. I’ve heard about the size of The Phoxes Den and I’d even seen pictures online but in-person it’s a thousand times better.

The massive structure is a mixture of stone and wood. The exterior has walls of rock, stone, and brick but the beams and wraparound porch are made of traditional heavy timber. The ranch home I grew up in wasn’t even one-tenth the size of this. Damn.

After thanking the driver, I grab my rucksack and get out.

Seconds after I close the door, he drives out of the circular driveway and a black Sprinter pulls up.

Although I haven’t seen my uncle since my high school graduation, I recognize him immediately.

I swear he has looked the same my entire life: tall, husky, and with a belly thanks to good food and a twelve pack of beer a week.

He spots me but takes care of his passengers first. Once the Sprinter is empty, he closes the door then steps to me. I hold my hand out for a shake but he grabs it, pulls me into him, and gives me a hug.

“Damn, Neph. You got big as hell in there. Chow wasn’t that good when I was enlisted,” he says after taking me all in.

“Unc, that was fifty years ago,” I tease.

“Twenty-one. Twenty-one,” he corrects before slapping my shoulder. “What happened to you yesterday?”

“Roads were bad in Missouri,” I tell him.

“Well, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. You ate yet? They still serving breakfast,” he says, then walks toward the large double doors.

I follow him to the doors then inside. Uncle Rufus is the epitome of a cowboy—steady, deliberate, and unmoved by anyone or anything that doesn’t align with him. I’m on his schedule, and since I want this job, I’ll gladly follow it.

As soon as we enter the lodge, the warmth coming from the gigantic floor to ceiling stone fireplace hits me. I remove my coat and drape it over my hand. I reach for my Jaxson next but when I see that my uncle doesn’t take his hat off, I keep mine on too.

Christmas is almost two weeks away and the town was definitely decorated in preparation for it but this is next level.

The big ass fireplace is adorned with deep green and poinsettia garland.

Large, elegant ornaments fill the corners of the great room and a massive, beautifully decorated tree is at the center of it all. It has to be at least nine feet tall.

“Getting breakfast before your next trip?” a young jit by the fireplace asks as we pass.

“A man can’t function without fuel,” Unc says.

The jit and I acknowledge each other with a nod and I follow Unc into a large dining area.

Another huge fireplace warms this room and the food on these plates looks good as fuck.

Eating on a bus ride is not the best. The Panther Express offered snacks but the only real food I encountered was at four gas stations near the transfer stops.

I’m hungry. That cornbread muffin in the car ain’t do shit for my hunger.

We sit at one of the tree tables against the log beamed wall. As soon as we do, a woman rushes over to us. “Warm milk?” she asks my Unc and I smile as he nods.

He really hasn’t changed at all.

“And you?”

“Just an OJ,” I tell her.

“Be right back,” she says and starts to walk off but my uncle stops her.

“You can go ahead and put our food in too. Two cowboy skillets with wheat toast,” he says, ordering for both of us.

When she walks off, he adds, “You’ll like it.

After we eat, we gon’ ride out to Travis and see if we can still get you on.

Missing yesterday might have hurt you. We fill up fast around here. ”

“Shit,” I utter. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no backup plan. I came to Miller’s Pointe to work here, at The Phoxes Den. “I’ll be right back. I need to wash up before I eat,” I say then stand.

As I pick up my rucksack, he says, “There’s a washroom to the right down the hall when you walk out.”

I nod then head to the restroom. There are two unisex and I enter the empty one.

I place my sack on the stand, open it, and remove my toothbrush kit.

After I brush and gargle, I wash my face with warm water and dry it with a stack of the disposable napkins.

I need a real shower and good stretch but this will do for now.

Prayerfully, I’ll be in the ranch hand house after breakfast.

When I walk back out, our drinks and two small, sizzling cast iron skillets filled with grilled potatoes and onions, eggs, crumbled sausage, and gravy are on the table.

As soon as I’m seated, Unc blesses the food and we chow down.

I have to laugh after about fifteen minutes because we are true military men, eating in silence.

We both clean our skillets and down our drinks then head out the back of the lodge.

There’s a row of ATVs. After I put my coat back on, we hop into one and trek through the snow-covered grounds to one of the large barns.

We passed a few barns, farm houses, stables, and herds of cattle.

It’s one thing to hear about twenty thousand acres but it’s another to see all this land in person.

For miles and miles, there’s nothing but land and I’m taking it all in.

When we pull up to a big ass stable, a brother walks out with a horse. It’s a beautiful charcoal-black mare with shiny hair and a large wreath around her neck. The horse wrangler spots us and treks over.

“What you doing out here ol’ man?” he asks my uncle.

“Seeing if you had another spot. This is my nephew I was telling you about,” Uncle Rufus says, then looks at me. “Meleck, Travis,” he says.

“Nice to meet you,” I greet him.

“Same but I have some bad news. I had a deadline to staff and I filled all my spots yesterday. I’m full. If somebody doesn’t work out though, I can let him know,” he says.

I’m disappointed as fuck but I don’t let it show.

Besides, showing it or acting on it won’t change shit.

I’m still in the same position, needing work and place to lay my head.

I’m a firm believer in the saying if a man don’t work, he don’t eat.

Even with my monthly benefits, I still work, the man that I am won’t allow me not to.

Plus, I feel alive when I do, especially when I’m using my hands.

“’Preciate it,” is all I say. When he walks off with the mare, I start trekking back to the ATV. Unc follows.

“You know you’re welcome at my place. I just got to let your auntie know so she can clean that back room up for you,” he says but I already know I’m not going there.

I love my uncle down but I know his wife. She doesn’t like it when family is around. She only likes it to be her and him. She’s always been like that, even when my grandparents were alive. I’m too damn grown to stay anywhere I’m not wanted.

“Yeah, I know and I appreciate that but I’m sure I can find something. There’s a lot of ranches around here,” I assure him.

“But just know that most are staffed for the season. It might be hard, so my invitation stands. When we get back to the lodge, take my truck. I can take the Sprinter home tonight.”

“Thanks, Unc,” I tell him, really appreciative.