8. Cord
8
CORD
W hen I contacted Hoss the next morning, he told me to report to the Lilacs on Wednesday. I was in a near panic, remembering the document the lawyer had sent via email stated I had to “maintain residence” there for a period of one year.
The next call I made was to Six-pack. When I reiterated what Hoss had said, he assured me he could adjust the date of my arrival. I asked him why the hell I’d had to get here so fast and miss Christmas if that were the case, and he repeated that he had no control over the stipulations in the codicil. While he clearly did, since he could adjust a date, I didn’t argue with him. If I had, maybe he’d refuse to do as he said and, two days after arriving in town, our family would’ve lost everything because of me.
Rather than sitting around the inn on the off chance I’d see Juniper, her brother, or her mother, I went for a drive. I’d just pulled up to a restaurant on the banks of Lake Erie when my cell rang with a call from Pete .
“How’d it go with Hoss?” he asked.
“He told me to show up on Wednesday.”
“Gotcha. I’ve been thinking about something I want to run by you.”
“Shoot.”
“Does the name Rooker mean anything to do?”
The air left my lungs. “It does.”
“How?”
“It’s my mother’s maiden name.”
“Where are you now?” he asked.
I looked up at the sign. “Hoak’s.”
“Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll meet you there.”
After walking inside, I sat at a table by the window and ordered a beer. I had a feeling I was going to need it. I’d hold off on the shots, though, since I’d eventually have to drive back to East Aurora.
While I waited, I thought about Juniper, wishing she was with me today. That was hardly fair, though, considering she’d already spent a day with me. I wondered if she’d been to this place and sat where I was, looking out at the frigid lake. Since she’d lived close by all her life, chances were good she had.
“Can I bring you something to eat?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll have a salad with grilled chicken, please.” I closed the menu and handed it to her.
“You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” I responded.
“We don’t get too many cowboys in here. At least not real ones.”
I chuckled as she walked away.
“Hey, Pete,” I heard her say a few minutes later. “You in for lunch?”
“Meeting someone.”
She motioned with her head. “That him?”
“Sure is. Thanks, Lori. Bring me whatever he’s having to drink.”
When he walked over and sat across from me, I noticed he was wearing street clothes.
“Funny place for you to pick for lunch in the dead of winter,” Pete commented.
“Went exploring.”
“Right.” He looked at the waitress when she delivered his beer, then over at me. “Did you order?”
I nodded.
“Order of wings, please,” he said, looking up at her.
“The usual?” she asked .
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned from her to me. “You said Rooker was your mother’s maiden name.”
“It’s also my middle name.”
“I guess no one’s told you it was JD’s last name.”
My eyes opened wide, and I watched as he retrieved an envelope from his pocket, pulled out some papers, and handed them to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Take a look.”
The first thing I saw when I unfolded the stack was a family tree like I’d seen on ancestry commercials. On the third row from the top was my mother’s name—Patricia Rooker Wheaton. It listed her birth and death date, along with my father’s name under spouse.
I went back to the top, where the name James R. Rooker appeared. His spouse was listed as Irene Turner. James and Irene had two children, James D. Rooker and Cena Rooker Covert.
I looked up at Pete. “Mrs. Covert was my mother’s aunt?”
He nodded. “So it appears.”
I pointed at the name to the left of Cena’s. “This is my grandfather.”
“That’s right. He and his wife had two children, your mother and JD.”
“JD was my uncle.”
Pete nodded again.
“Holy shit,” I said under my breath, finishing the beer in my glass before waving at the waitress for another.
My mind was reeling. I was nine years old when my mother died. I barely remembered her, and I sure as hell didn’t recall her or my father mentioning she had relatives in New York.
“It’s a clue, at least,” said Pete.
“You think that’s why I’m here? Just to take over from JD?”
He shrugged. “Seems unlikely that’s all it is. I mean, why only for a year?”
I thought about Buck having to spend the same amount of time on the ranch and how he’d gone from never wanting to set foot on it to making it his home. Did my father expect I’d eventually decide to stay here? It didn’t make sense. This was my mother’s family. Not his. “Truth is, I’m baffled,” I said to Pete.
“I would be too if I were you.”
“So what is Cena to me? My great aunt? ”
“Yeah, and according to this”—he pointed to the family tree—“you might stand to inherit something.”
“I don’t care about that. In fact, the less I hear about inheritances in general, the better.” I put my finger on two more names in my generation, James D. Rooker, III, and John Rooker. “What can you tell me about these two?”
“Jimmy’s around. In fact, I believe he might be working with Hoss. Johnny left right after high school. To my knowledge, he’s never been back.”
“Where’d he go?”
“No clue.”
We ate our lunch in silence, and when we finished, I asked Lori for the check. “This one’s on me,” I said to Pete before walking out.
“Keep in touch,” I heard him call out after me.
Two days later, I met with Hoss Schultz. My first impression of him reinforced everything I’d heard. Trouble sat just beneath the surface of this man. It was evident in his hooded eyes and the sneer he hardly tried to hide. Straight off, I decided I wanted nothing to do with the asshole. However, until I knew why I was being forced to spend a year here, I had to make nice .
“I’ll give you the rundown before you meet the crew,” he began, taking a seat behind the desk of what appeared to be the ranch manager’s office. From everything I’d learned from Pete, Schultz wasn’t involved in the cattle operation. However, if JD hadn’t named a successor before he died, and given what I’d also heard about Mrs. Covert’s health, I guessed someone had to have stepped up.
A quick but guarded study of the man told me I wouldn’t be answering to him on a daily basis, unless it was inside an office like this one. There wasn’t a single callous on his soft hands nor were there scars that every cowboy inevitably had just from mending fences. The numerous scars on the back of mine were a testament to what a bitch barbed wire could be.
“The way the former owners set up the estate is antiquated but functional, at least for now.”
The words “former owners” and “functional for now,” led me to guess Schultz believed a significant change in who held the property’s title was on the horizon.
“In total, there are five thousand acres. Forty-three hundred and fifty are held under a separate deed set aside for the cattle operation. ”
My best guess was it had been done for tax purposes. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learn more from the man by what he chose to divulge. More importantly, what he didn’t.
If he’d meant it to, the size of the place didn’t faze me. It was a tenth of the acreage of Roaring Fork Ranch.
He paused briefly, then continued. “The other six hundred and fifty acres that aren’t forested, are utilized for residences, barns, and other outbuildings, including the estate’s winery and vineyards.”
I nodded once, then waited for him to continue.
His eyes scrunched. “You got any experience with a ranch this size?”
“Not this size, no.”
The man sighed and muttered something under his breath.
“What have you got? Three thousand head?”
He looked up at me. “About.”
“The last place I was at had closer to thirty-five thousand.”
Schultz quickly steeled his reaction, but I saw enough to know he’d heard me.
“What’s the size of your crew?” I asked, taking control of the conversation .
“Thirty, give or take.”
I didn’t react, especially when it became evident the man knew next to nothing about managing a cattle operation. There was no way so few cowboys could manage an operation this big. My guess, if and when I got the chance to look at any ledgers there might be, was their annual head losses were at least ten percent, but probably a helluva lot more than that.
“Where are they?” I asked.
He looked up at me.
“The crew.”
He didn’t respond other than to pick up his phone. He punched the screen several times, then set it down.
“Jed is the foreman. He and the guys will meet you here in thirty.”
“We’ll meet them at the corral instead.”
He raised a brow but, even after I stood, didn’t speak. I was almost out the door but turned around. “Is this my office?”
He nodded once.
“How many bunkhouses are there?”
“Jed will answer questions of that nature. ”
I smirked. The asshole had no idea, in the same way he had no clue how many hands were on the payroll. “What’s your role?”
“I don’t have anything to do with the cattle.”
That much was obvious. “Well, seein’ this isn’t your office, I’d say you should be the one to leave.”
He got up and came around the desk. I had a good foot on the guy and fifty pounds of muscle, which I made sure he noticed as he shuffled past me.
“One more thing. You mentioned the former owners. Who owns the place now?”
He raised a brow. Yeah, I was being heavy-handed with him, but I knew firsthand never to let someone like Hoss Schultz think he’d ever have anything over me.
“I can’t answer that yet.”
Meaning, he didn’t know. Good.
As with Hoss, I didn’t get a good feeling about Jed. In fact, there wasn’t a single man out of the twenty who showed up who impressed me.
Yeah, New York was different than Colorado, but in my experience, cowboys were cowboys regardless of where they hailed from. There was a code we lived by. I doubted there was one amongst those gathered here who subscribed to it.
“Is this everyone?” I asked Jed.
“Just about.”
I leveled a glare at him. “Anyone else not here in fifteen minutes will be removed from the payroll.” I stalked into the barn, then returned to the office and started making a list. Near the top was changing the locks on the door and buying a damn space heater. Before that, though, I needed to figure out where I was supposed to live. There wasn’t a ranch manager worth two shakes of salt who lived in one of the bunkhouses. It was as much for the cowboys’ sake as mine.
I was digging through files I had to admit were meticulously kept when I heard a knock at the door. I was about to tell whoever it was to come in, a practice that would be commonplace at the Roaring Fork. But until I had a better handle on the guys who’d be working for me, it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to think they could just walk in.
When I got up and pulled it open, I saw Hoss and Jed head to head a few feet away. “Yeah?”
Schultz got a few more words in before Jed nodded and walked away .
“I came back to give you these,” he said, handing me a set of keys. “The cottage a few yards from the barn is where the previous ranch manager lived.”
After stuffing them in my pocket, I leaned against the doorjamb. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Jed? Hell, I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Few years.”
I nodded once, pulled the door closed, and walked away after making sure it was locked. Two things would be updated on my list this afternoon. First, where I’d be living for the next few months. Second, I’d add Jed’s name to the list of those who’d be let go.
I wouldn’t send him packing right away, though. I needed to get a better lay of the land before I did.