Chapter 2
Seth
I saw the guy trudging down our road from a mile away as I rode the hilly fenceline. The stranger wore a Stetson and had a small pack slung over his shoulder. A couple of times, as I glanced down, he stopped and looked around, but then he kept right on walking.
Coming to the Star & Bar, no doubt. The road dead-ended with us, and there was nothing else for miles.
The whole thing was weird. No one walked to the ranch.
Selbyville was a twenty-minute drive, and Tolberg was even farther.
The nearest highway exit was fifteen. Sometimes, when we were hosting guests, one of the dudes would jog down the road and jog back, supposedly for fun, but we’d closed the guest houses until spring and no cowboy needed extra exercise.
Probably his car broke down. The stranger was none of my business— I was just one of the hands, not the foreman or the owner— but I couldn’t help checking back over and over to watch him coming.
He walked steady, like a young man, dressed for the weather in boots, jeans and a parka. We’d had a frost overnight, though it’d evaporated off the grass in the morning sun, so the warm coat made sense.
I decided, hell, I was done with this bit of fence anyway, and mounted up. Gave my Quarterhorse Ahwan her head for a couple of fields, then reined her down to an easy jog. We reached the drive fifty feet ahead of the stranger. I dismounted and led Ahwan on a slack rein toward the dude.
He looked up, then tipped his hat back. Fuck me, but he was gorgeous.
He couldn’t be more than twenty, with just a dusting of stubble on his cheeks and smooth skin, no lines around his dark-blue eyes.
Those cheekbones could’ve got him a modeling contract, and the lush curve of his lips made me swallow hard.
The young guy said, “Hey, is this the Star & Bar Ranch?” I didn’t hear much regional accent.
“Sure is. You looking for someone?”
He took off his hat, revealing short, dark hair, and turned the brim in his hands. “Whoever does the hiring, I guess. I’m looking for work.”
We weren’t hiring this time of year, and if we were, the boss had a list of trusted seasonal hands we could bring back to do the job. But the kid had walked a distance to get here and I hated to just turn him around. “What kind of work can you do?”
“Anything you need. I’ve worked a beef ranch for over a year now. I’m not great at roping yet, and I didn’t work with the young stock, but I’m not afraid to get dirty or work long and hard. Mucking out, cleaning barns, mending fences, spreading manure, lifting stuff. I’m stronger than I look.”
That wouldn’t be hard. He had a willowy build that didn’t suggest much in the way of muscles, but I was no giant myself. Looks didn’t tell the whole story.
“I’ll take you to meet the boss,” I told him, though it probably wasn’t a kindness, giving him false hope. “Can’t promise anything.”
“Of course not. Thanks.”
Halfway through the barnyard, I decided maybe I’d test the guy a little before Kendrick saw him. “I need to put up my mare first. You can come along, then I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” He tugged his Stetson back on and walked beside me toward the barn, looking around as we went.
I figured one ranch looked a lot like another, except for the double row of dude cabins with their closed shutters.
When he glanced that way, I said, “We take in guests through the summer for a ranch experience. We’re a working ranch, running a thousand head of grass-fed Black Angus, supplemented by the dude experience. ”
“Must be different, trying to make ranching pretty for city folk.”
That made me snort, because he wasn’t too far off. “Yeah. The dudes think they want to see real ranching. Fact is, most of them don’t actually want to get too close to anything ugly or dirty or painful. We keep the roughest stuff out of sight in the summer. Catering to those guests pays the bills.”
“Can’t argue with paying bills,” he said, giving the words an intensity that made me think he knew about being poor.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Not a kid. I’m over eighteen. My name’s Austin. Well, that’s my middle name, but it’s what I go by.”
I held out my free hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Seth.” We shook, and his hands had enough calluses to suggest he did know how to work, no matter how pretty he was.
“I can untack and pick out your mare’s feet if you tell me where things are,” Austin offered.
“Sure. You might do that.” If I was testing him out, seeing how he was with a horse would tell me a lot. I hauled the barn door open enough to lead Ahwan inside, calling, “Get that door,” over my shoulder.
There was a trick to muscling the door on its tracks, but when I looked back, Austin put a little work into it and got the job done easily enough.
“Tack room.” I pointed. “Grab the blue halter and rope, and one of the grooming kits on the shelf by the door.”
“Got it.” He lowered his pack next to the barn door and hurried toward the tack room, moving easy though, quiet enough not to startle the couple of horses amid the mostly empty stalls. Thirty seconds, and he was on his way back with the halter and kit. “What’s her name?” he asked as he neared us.
“Ahwan.”
“Um, that’s different.”
I chuckled. “Better than Dirt.”
“I guess…”
Sometimes it was fun to have a new guy around who didn’t know all the stories.
“See, the boss’s grandkids were visiting when she was born, and Kendrick— Mr. Bowen— said they could name the new foals that spring.
When Ahwan came along, it was the youngest boy’s turn and he said, ‘She looks like dirt. Name her Dirt.’”
“Ouch.” Austin gave the mare a look-over. “That’s not really fair. I mean, yeah, she’s basically a mousy dun, but she’s got some dapples, even with her winter coat coming in, and her mane and tail are a pretty brown.”
I rubbed Ahwan’s shoulder. “Yup. Anyway, the oldest girl gave the kid a hard time for choosing an ugly name. Kid threw a hissy fit. Said his brother and sister got to keep their picks, and if she wasn’t called Dirt, she shouldn’t have any name. So she doesn’t.”
“But?”
Taking the halter from him, I turned the noseband to show him the name written on it. “Ahwan. A horse without a name.”
“Ohhh! Got it. Whose idea was that?”
“Well, mine. Those kids were a handful, and it stopped the bickering.”
“Good thinking.” Austin smiled at me, and I liked the curve of his full lips a bit too much for my comfort.
It’d been a long time since I’d looked at a man and cared how his mouth was shaped.
Eight years, give or take, since I’d done more than a fast hookup with whoever was willing.
The little simmer of heat inside me was an unwelcome surprise, but the kid would be back off down the road soon, and I’d go back to normal.
“Untack her,” I told him, handing him the reins. “Pick her feet, give her a good curry, and put her in her stall. Third down on the right.”
“Yessir,” Austin replied, like he was used to taking orders, which wasn’t as common as you could want among guys his age.
I kept a close eye as he swapped Ahwan’s headstall for her halter, hooked her up to the cross ties, then undid the cinches and eased the saddle and blanket off her back.
He moved like he knew what he was doing, though not with the speed of some of the old cowboys with forty years of practice behind them.
“You want me to put this somewhere special for cleaning, or back on her rack?” he asked, balancing her saddle easily up under his arm.
“Just stick ’em away for now. The racks and hooks have names on them.”
“Got it.” He strode off.
I watched him go, glad his parka hung down below his ass, and murmured to Ahwan, “Good thing he’s not staying. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Austin was gone a minute, but came back saying, “I sponged off the bit and shook out the blanket. Grooming next?”
“Sure.” I waved at my mare. “Go for it.”
Part of me was hoping he’d be bad at the job, cold or rough or clumsy.
He wasn’t though. Austin talked to Ahwan as he worked, asking her to pick up her feet with hands and voice, telling her what a pretty girl she was as he picked some burrs out of her tail.
She leaned into the rubber curry comb and stood still under the brush.
From the relaxed flop of her ears, I could tell the kid was doing a good job.
Our orange barn cat wandered down the aisle and stopped to strop his shoulders against Austin’s ankles.
Austin paused his grooming, squatted, and stroked the cat, murmuring sweet nothings with a little smile that looked good on his pretty-boy face.
Garfield took the petting for a moment, then trotted off looking for mice.
Austin straightened and went back to wielding the body brush over Ahwan’s rump with brisk, firm strokes.
Sunlight through a dusty window lit the perfect angle of Austin’s jaw and the horse’s lazy hoof-cocked stance, while her loose hair floated like glitter in the sunbeam. I’d pay money for a painting like that.
“Good enough,” I told Austin after a while, though I wasn’t tired of watching him.
With how thick Ahwan’s winter coat got, you could groom till your arms fell off and never run out of hair.
“You can put her in her stall and stow the kit away.” I leaned against the stall door behind me and crossed my arms, showing I wasn’t going to do a lick of work.
Austin flicked me a little grin, like this was a game we were playing. He loaded Ahwan into her box stall with a pat to her rump, and didn’t forget to check her water bucket. Then he hustled the kit back to the tack room.
He was longer coming back this time, but I’d heard water run. “I washed my hands,” he said as he reached me. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to be wearing half of Ahwan on my fingers, in case I have to shake hands with your boss.”