Chapter 3
Meleck
This day just gets better and better. First, I don’t have a spot here at the ranch and now this. Too busy looking up ranches on my phone, I damn near knocked a woman over, a pretty ass, thick as hell woman.
“Is there a broom or something I can get?” I ask the tall woman behind the desk inside the lodge.
After giving me a quick once over, she cuts her eyes at me as if she’s questioning who the hell I am.
Before she can ask, I save her the energy and volunteer the info with a little white lie.
“I’m Meleck. My uncle Rufus sent me in here for a broom. ”
“For outside?” she asks and I nod. She reaches for the walkie talkie on the counter then lifts it. “Rome, come in. Rome,” she calls.
“This is Rome,” he calls back.
“Can I please get a broom or a vacuum in the front of the lodge?”
“It’s glass,” I tell her.
“The industrial vac,” she tells Rome. “
“Gotcha. On my way.”
“He should be up in a minute. Is anyone hurt?” she asks with concern.
“No. It’s just broken jars.” That she looked pissed about.
“Thanks,” I say before heading back out to apologize.
I’m dying to wipe that scowl from her face.
If she looks this pretty with a frown, I can only imagine her beauty with a smile.
When I walk out, she’s leaning down, picking through the glass.
“You shouldn’t do that. You might cut yourself,” I tell her and she shoots me a fiery glare.
“And you shouldn’t knock people’s shit out of their hands,” she fires back, so I step up.
I walk over to her and kneel. I’m instantly hit with her soft, sweet scent. She smells like strawberries and peaches and I catch my damn mouth watering. I shake it off and focus. When I do, I see she’s grabbing the few non-broken jars from the ground.
Reaching over her to stop her, I say, “On everything, I’m really sorry.
Let me get these. They’re bringing a vacuum and broom and I’ll clean this all up.
” Our eyes lock for a moment in a heated stare.
She’s really mad and it’s clear she doesn’t want my help.
I don’t care though. I did this and I’m going to clean it up and try to make her whole. “Let me,” I insist sternly.
She rolls her eyes hard. However, she relents and stands. She doesn’t step back though. She hovers and gives orders. With a grin, I just follow them.
“There’s another one. Right there. Oh, and that lid; it’s in the snow a little. There. Yeah and there’s another to your left,” she says.
By the time Rome drives up with the broom and vac, I’ve recovered the ten or so jars and a majority of the lids. So, I bypass the broom and just use the vac to suck up the shards of glass. Because broken glass manages to shatter everywhere, I vacuum the area twice before giving it back to him.
“’Preciate you,” I tell him before he leaves. Then I turn my attention back to her. “I don’t know how much this costs but I’ll pay for the damage.”
“Keep your money,” she says before reaching for one of the crates. I snatch it up before she can and she sucks her teeth. “I can carry that. I would hate for you to break the only one I have left.”
“You tough, damn. You won’t let up on a brotha,” I say, then shake my head.
That’s when I see it, her smile. It creeps across her face slowly, but when she realizes she’s smiling, she quickly drops it. But it’s okay. I saw it and she’s even more beautiful.
“Are you going to get the other one?” she asks.
“Yeah, I got them both. Where do you want them?”
She raises a key in her hand then presses a button.
The lights on a silver Avalanche illuminate and she walks over.
I follow. She opens the passenger door and instructs me to place the crates inside.
When I do, I close the door and walk over to her driver’s side.
She hops in quickly and closes the door, so I tap on the window.
She starts her ride then lets the window down.
“Yes,” she says dryly.
“Please let me pay you,” I insist and she says nothing. However, when I reach into my pocket, she lets the window up. I just shake my head. She’s stubborn as hell, and for some reason, I like that shit.
She revs her engine a little, so I step back. She wants to leave and I can’t stop her. I watch as she drives out of the large, circular, pebbled driveway. For a moment, I’m stuck, real shit stuck, standing out here in the cold intrigued. The fine, sexy, mean lady has me stuck.
The sound of a horn is the only thing that moves me. I turn and see three Sprinters pulling in. Unc is back from the airport along with the two other drivers with the people for the retreat. I’ve been here longer than I anticipated.
After I found out I wouldn’t be working here, Unc took me to one of the ranch hand houses.
I took a much-needed long ass shower, trimmed my beard, and washed my clothes in my rucksack.
Of course, he didn’t give me a time limit in the house but I planned on being gone before he returned.
Bumping into her just delayed my departure.
While they get the passengers off the Sprinters, I walk back to the spot where I’d knocked into her, grab my rucksack, then walk to my uncle’s F-350. I’m in it and pulling out of the driveway before all of the passengers are off.
At the end of the driveway, I connect my charger and phone, look up the address of the first ranch, then follow the directions.
The first ranch is about twenty miles from here.
The owner is Wilde but Unc told me to ask for his foreman, Chris.
When I make it there and ask for Chris, I’m immediately told there are no available ranch hand positions.
Sadly, I’m basically told the same damn thing at the four ranches after that.
I’ve wasted a tank of gas and four hours driving from ranch to ranch only to be in the same damn predicament, unemployed.
It's a little after two. I’m a little frustrated and annoyed and definitely hungry.
My body is conditioned for three meals a day and my stomach is growling.
For food, gas, and a moment to regroup, I head back to town and find a small diner, The Pancake House.
There’s a gas station right across the street, so I go there first and fill up.
The diner is kind of crowded but I’m seated in a booth in the back corner only fifteen minutes after I enter.
Like most diners, there are no frills; the selling point is the food.
From the aromas, I can tell it’s good. It’s ready for the holiday too because there’s a huge Christmas tree at the main entrance and each table has a small poinsettia as a centerpiece.
A few seconds after I’m seated, the server brings me a cup of water and a menu and I ask for time.
The menu isn’t elaborate but I really just need to think for a moment.
Miller’s Pointe and The Phoxes Den were not random choices.
They were deliberate and planned. I’ve been discharged for two years and ranching the entire time.
In the Army, I was an interior electrician and spent my days inside.
I loved what I did and I was damn good at it, but I missed being outside, inhaling fresh air daily, being around animals, and really all things farming and ranching.
I also missed family and Uncle Rufus is all I have.
I needed a recharge and I felt like being here, near my uncle, for a few months would get me the surge I need.
Leaving here isn’t an option, especially after her. I have to at least know her name.
“Have you decided yet?” my server asks, causing me to look up.
So caught up in my thoughts, I haven’t really looked at the menu. I take a quick look at the front page. Breakfast is definitely their specialty but there’s a small section with limited dinner plates including a soup and sandwich combo.
“I’ll take the smoked turkey melt with a bowl of loaded potato soup,” I tell her.
“You want everything on your melt?”
“Yes, and can I get a lemonade too?”
“I’ll bring the lemonade after I put your order in.”
“Thank you.”
When she walks off, I pull my phone out and figure out which ranches I’m going to try after I eat. I have six more that Unc mentioned. As I map the first one, my phone rings. It’s Jamal.
“Meleck,” I answer.
“What up, bruh? Did you ever get out of Missouri?”
“Yeah. Late last night after the roads cleared.”
“I don’t know how you do those buses.”
“Because it’s easy and best. Flying really fucks with my ear now and I hate being stuck in them shits anyway. I need air and the ability to roll a window down when I want,” I remind him.
“So how is it? I’ve heard that ranch is the shit.”
“And it is,” I say while shaking my head. The Phoxes Den is a rancher’s dream: the land, cattle, horses, state-of-the-art stables, milking, and luxury homes and barns. I’ve worked eight ranches these past two years and not one measured up. “But they are filled for the season.”
“I thought your uncle got you in.”
“He did but I missed the deadline. He did his part; I didn’t ’cause of the weather but I’ll figure some shit out. I’m checking other ranches today. I’m sure I’ll land somewhere.”
“I’m sure you will. Just don’t be sleeping outside if you don’t,” he says, then laughs.
“You are the only man I know who’ll camp outside with a pocket full of money.
I’ll never forget when you got off the bus at basic training with your hat, boots, and buckle.
I had never seen no real live Black cowboy until yo’ ass. ”
“Well, it’s a million of us,” I say with a smile he can’t see. “Don’t sleep on Black cowboys.”
“You got me through basic training. I know what they can do,” he says sincerely.