Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Warrick
I t was dawn before I slumped into the chair in the barn, bloody to my elbows, but Opal and her new calf were fine and alive.
The pink-yellow sunlight spilled over the mountaintops while the cool breeze off the forest rivers and streams began to lighten the sky.
“Goddamn,” Frankie leaned against the barn, his amused look indicated to me that I was in for some ribbing. “I have seen two almost unbelievable things in the last ten hours. You with a woman and a breach birth coming good. Of the two, I would say you and the woman are the most shocking.”
I didn’t have the energy for this. “For the last time, she is my assistant, and Laura screwed up the booking. The inn is chock full of people this week, and half the damn fair is in town, and everywhere else is booked. It would have taken too long for me to drive us up and down these hills every day, so I just let the sleeping dogs lie where they were.”
“Uh huh, uh huh,” Frankie nodded, his tone telling me he didn’t believe a word he’d heard.
Getting to my feet, I asked, “Where is Za—Miss Harrington?”
“Either having breakfast with Connie and Marie, or she is knocked out cold in one of the guest rooms we got,” Frankie shrugged. “She’s a looker for sure, though.”
“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t start with that,” I shot him another look while I went to the washbasins at the side and began to scrub my arms off. “Is the doc on her way up to double-check that I didn’t screw up the birthing?”
“Last time I checked, Doc McDermont said she was an hour out,” Frankie replied, then nodded to me. “Go on and get cleaned up and get some sleep. I can take care of this.”
“I’d question your worth if you couldn’t,” I replied, inspecting my nails. “I’ll probably be up by midday.”
Exhausted past the meaning of exhausted, I trudged from the birthing barn up the small rise that led to the main house, but by doing so, passed one of the small pastures we kept solely for the horse foals and their nursing mamas. Halfway down, I spotted Connie, our resident mechanic and cowgirl, holding a mare still while Zara did her best to get on the saddle.
She failed, epically, almost tipping backward on her first try.
On the second try, she almost made it.
On the third, her foot slipped in the stirrup, and she tumbled right back to the ground, but she laughed anyway, her face lighting up like a fireworks display.
Oddly, I felt embarrassed.
How had I never gotten that emotion from her before?
Maybe because you once accused her of being a hooker and she hates your guts for it?
It could be.
But we had gotten past that, hadn’t we?
“You’re her boss,” I told myself while walking away. “You’ve got no obligation to make her smile.”
The old ranch house was a mix of nineteenth-century charm and twenty-first-century utility. Made from old sandstone brick, it had three stories with porches for days, an upstairs balcony that practically ran the length of the house, and a downstairs wrap-around porch that did the same. Windows were stacked on top of each other on the fa?ade, six on each side, and while the wooden floors were worn and scarred, they still held sturdy.
The house itself was grand and beautiful, welcoming and warm, and merged with the land around it. I bypassed the back porch where the long trestle table stood, seating a full fifteen: me, the five ranch hands, Connie, the good vet, and whoever managed to pop in for a spell. An army of people could fit around that table.
On the other side, two worn armchairs sat around a smaller round table, which I mostly used for breakfast when I could remember.
I inhaled heaven as I stepped in through the back door near the kitchen.
Fresh bread baking in the oven, five casseroles, a shepherd's pie cooling on the rack, and chocolate chip cookie batter filled four large bowls.
Instantly, I got suspicious.
Marie Wilkins, my housekeeper, only made those when she wanted to bribe, butter me up, or blackmail me. Which was it this time?
A massive brick oven covered one wall, and the food prep table alone went from one end of the 25-ft wall to the other one, half of it now filled with platters of fresh salad and fruit, roast beef sandwiches, and corn succotash.
“Are the armed corps coming to town?” I asked her. “This is enough to feed half the town.”
“Half of this is going to be frozen; some is being donated to the church sale, and the rest—” she wiped her hands, “—is easy pickings for you boys with this birthing season on in full blast. You all can run in and run out.”
I kissed her cheek. “You’re a godsend, Marie.”
“Oh, I know…” She tilted her nose up. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice. Help yourself…after you jump into the shower.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied before taking the staircase to my rooms on the second floor.
Inside, a decent king bed anchored the room, and bookending it were two nightstands that held lamps on either side. A set of plain gray sheets covered it, but a quilt made of blue, brown, and gray interlocking strips of cloth rested at the foot of it.
The headboard, dresser, and closet door were made of the same slab of plain wood. A study desk was pushed up against the window that opened up to a view of the back east pasture. A simple, worn brown leather armchair was in the corner near a small table stacked with books—and, on occasion, a bottle of brandy.
“A shower, clean clothes, and ten hours of sleep sounds like heaven right now,” I said to myself while heading to the en-suite.
Within twenty minutes, I’d showered, shaved, and was dressed in my most comfortable sleeping pants and T-shirt. Before tumbling between the sheets, I checked my phone for any messages from the mayor but found none.
It didn’t matter anyway. I would be seeing the man by tonight.
Putting it on DND, I dropped my head on the pillow, thankful to be away from Zara and the troublesome thoughts that sprung into my head at times—but damned if she didn’t show up in my dreams anyhow.
Isaac, one of the newest—and youngest—ranch hands, came to call me down for dinner. When we stepped on the back porch, with dusk dawning all around us, I found Zara gazing at the spread as if she had never seen food in her life.
“Something amiss?” I asked.
“Is this….is this normal or did you pull out all the stops for little old me?” she asked.
I snorted. “This is daily, Za—Miss Harrington. We’re cowboys. We eat a lot.”
“You could feed half the West Coast with this,” she replied. “And half of Texas, too.”
“Trust me, I have been to ranches in Texas. This is a fraction of what they eat down there,” I replied, nodding to the trays. “Imagine all that casserole and fresh salad with every cut of beef you can imagine and then triple it.”
“Any ranch in particular?”
“The Twisted Twines Ranch stands out for me,” I replied while taking a plate and sitting. “Their stud program is very unique and truly ahead of its time.”
“How is that?”
“Well, for one, the owner’s got degrees in animal husbandry and microbiology…or was it genetics.” I shrugged, hating how my mind was failing me now. “Well, whatever it is, it's working for him and his wife, who happens to be a vet.”
“That’s the dream ticket, isn’t it?” Zara shared a square of casserole. “To marry someone who has the same goals and drive you do.”
“So, I take it you’re looking for a well-heeled man wearing a sharp suit, coke bottle glasses, with a Rolodex brain and fast fingers,” I jabbed.
“If he put them in the right place, sure,” she muttered.
I pretended I had not heard that.
“Oh man,” Santos, another ranch hand, leaped onto the porch, rubbing both hands together. “I am star— ving .”
“No, you’re not,” Lucas, my fourth ranch hand, joined us. “You just inhaled a double beef burger from Millies.”
“One that I’d kept in the barracks fridge for two days,” Lucas wrinkled his nose. “That was not appetizing in the least.”
Zara looked from one to the other. “Are you all ranch hands?”
“Yep,” Frankie grinned. “But I’m the one who wrangles these knuckleheads in place. I’m the foreman here. Isaac is the baby, so he is the all-rounder. Lucas breaks horses. Santos deals with the calves mostly, but we all pitch in where needed. You know Marie, she is a godsend because none of us can cook for shit?—”
“Mind the cursing .” I warned him.
Of course it went through one ear and out the other.
“Connie here is our gearhead, an occasional cowgirl, and you can find her working on one ATV or another at any time of the day, and though she isn’t here yet, Doc Evie is our vet,” Frankie replied.
“How many bulls or steers do you guys handle per day?” Zara asked.
“Around two hundred,” Santos replied, reclining in his chair and rolling his neck. “When the birthing season is over, that increases to about thirty-five. But they stay in the nursery for a couple months until the doc gives the all-clear.”
“Have any of you been injured?” she asked.
Santos, Lucas and Frankie bust out laughing. “Yep,” Lucas replied. “Part of the job dealing with ornery bulls is the risk of getting a hoof to the face, knee, your leg, pretty much anywhere that sucker can reach you.” He pulled his cap off and twisted his head to show a scar at his temple. “See this. I nearly dodged one.”
“Jesus.” Zara gaped.
While the guys regaled her with their near mishaps with hooves, heads, and horns, I tuned them out while digging into my food and reminding myself to take a couple of filled Tupperware containers back to the inn. It would save me—us—from running to the diner every night, especially since the town was soon to be flooded with tourists.
“So, bossman,” Frankie’s grin turned devilish. “How are the living quarters at the inn going for you? I bet you’re already missing the open air up here, the good meals, even your bed, huh?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Where are you going with this, Ortiz?”
“Yeah, where are you going with that?” Lucas pressed.
“There was a booking mishap at the inn, and bossman is sharing his room with sweet little Zara here,” Frankie said.
Santos choked on his drink. After hacking up a lung, he gasped, “ Wut ?”
“You’re sharing a bed?” Lucas asked.
“No,” I said, “I’m sleeping on the couch until this business in the town is over.”
“He’s right,” Zara replied, pink staining her cheeks. “He generously gave up the room so I could have it.”
Cocking a boot on the opposite knee, Santos asked, “So…no awkward juggling the bathroom at midnight, no sudden walks in while the other one is showering, no one is grabbing the wrong cup of coffee in the morning?”
Connie stared at him. “…Are you high?”
“No,” he squinted at her. “Why?”
“Those questions look like the building blocks for a sordid rom-com.” She snorted, “Are you reading Danielle Steel behind our backs, Santos?”
“What? No! W—what the actual f—fudge kind of question is that?”
She shrugged. “You started it.”
I glared at Frankie. “Did you tell them?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“Tell us what?” Lucas asked, his gaze flickering between me and Zara.
“Nothing,” I said.
“No, no, no, it’s not nothing,” Santos grilled us. “What the hell is it?”
“I said it's nothing, and I mean it,” I put steel in my voice, “So drop it.”
“I will not drop it,” Lucas replied. “Just get it o?—”
Zara sighed. “He thought I was a hooker when we first met.”
Something crashed and I didn’t know if it was a beer bottle or a plate, but their expressions ranged from surprised to aghast.
“Oh my god, please tell me that is not what happened,” Connie crowed, pushing her dirty blonde hair from her face. “Please.”
My shoulders slumped, which seemed to signal them to jump on my back instead of Santos’.
“I will never forget this,” Santos cackled, then jabbed a finger at Frankie. “How could you keep this from us? You were holding out on us man.”
I reached for my water glass. “For good reason. It was not my finest hour.”
“What did you say?” Isaac asked Zara. “Please, we want to know.”
“So, you can hold it over my head for the rest of my life?” I said. “Absolutely not. Marie, could you please?—"
“I have five Tupperware containers packed up for you in the kitchen,” she cut me off, almost psychic about what I was about to say. “It's all ready for you, and it should serve you for at least two days.”
“Thank you, Marie, you really are the linchpin in this house,” I replied, getting up from my chair. “Miss Harrington, we’re off.”
“When will you be coming back?” she asked.
“Hopefully, in four days,” I replied. “And for you four, not all of you can be at the fair at the same time; two of you need to be here each night, but which two is up to you.”
“Oh damn,” Lucas groaned. “Right in the nu—acorns.”
Laughing, Zara replied, “I like you guys.”
“Oh good,” Isaac replied, his first words in a while.
“Just don’t give me shit about me and the bossman,” she said.
Lucas and Santos shared a look. “Is there a please in that statement?”
“There is,” she replied. “But if you don’t, I don’t wear stilettoes anymore, but I do have a pair, and I will shove the six-inch heel of one up your butt.”
Face twisting into a grimace, Lucas nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”