6. Tested #2
“We’ll fix that. But first…” His gaze flicked toward the door and back, lowering his voice. “Chris wants everything kept between us. He said no one is to know the real reason you’re here.”
“That’s right.”
“So if you have any issues, I’m the only guy you can count on. Which means… you won’t have any issues or make things complicated. I have enough to deal with running this ranch. I’m not your babysitter, got it?”
“Crystal clear, sir.”
“One more thing. When you meet Colt and Knox, maybe don’t mention you spent the night at Sage’s. They won’t care how innocent it supposedly was. They’re dating Sage’s sisters, which makes them protective and probably less forgiving.”
I nodded once. “Message received.”
“Good. Now come on. I’ll introduce you around. Show you your bunk. You can grab a bite. Then get to work.”
“On a Sunday?”
“The ranch doesn’t take a day off.”
I followed him back outside, bracing myself. “What exactly does the work entail?”
Ash didn’t hesitate. “For you? Barn chores. Mucking stalls. Cleaning troughs. Feeding. We’ve got close to forty horses now, and a new quarantine stable that just opened up. It’s the first position we give to all the men who start working here.”
I almost stumbled. “Forty? That’s a lot to take care of.”
“That’s a lot of horseshit,” he corrected. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Comforting.”
“I’ll have Trig show you the ropes.”
I glared at him. “The guy I just shoved into the wall? Is that a good idea?”
Ash laughed. “He’s harmless.”
“Debatable.”
“He enjoys getting a rise out of people.”
“Any advice on how best to deal with him?”
“Yeah. Don’t let him.”
The smell of horse manure would probably never leave my nostrils after today. The physical labor didn’t let up once, and here I thought I was a healthy, muscular guy, working out with my trainer occasionally. But my body ached more as the day wore on.
Didn’t help that Trig kept up a steady stream of commentary, most of it aimed directly at me.
“Careful there, pretty boy,” he smirked. He’d taken to calling me that at one point, leaning against a stall door at the quarantine stables. He hadn’t lifted a finger all day, only ordering me around. “You’re getting shit everywhere.”
“No kidding.” I struggled with clearing a particular stall. Whatever horse they had in here clearly suffered a case of the runs. Crap got all over my boots and me. I’d burn these clothes later if I could, but dammit, they were my only set. I paused and flexed my fingers and hands.
He continued. “Those soft hands of yours are getting well-used today. Yeah, you didn’t think I could tell how you don’t exactly have working hands? What kind of cowboy does that make you?”
I didn’t respond or look at him. Just kept my head down. As much as I wanted to grab a handful of shit and wipe it across his smirking face, I knew exactly what he was doing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
After lunch, Trig changed tactics. “Ash said you were in the reserves, huh?” he said out of nowhere as we moved through the quarantine barn chores.
I kept my eyes on the work. “That’s right.”
“Humph. Weekend warriors. No offense,” he added, in the tone of someone who intended every offense. “But you’re working with guys here who’ve done real combat deployments. You reserve guys basically went to summer camp a couple weekends a year and want the same credit for serving your country.”
The tool stilled in my hands.
“Must be nice,” he continued, “playing soldier on the weekends and then going back to your regular life on Monday.”
I set the pitchfork down slowly against the stall wall and turned to look at him for the first time in hours, arms folded across my chest.
“You done?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Just saying what everyone thinks.”
“Right.” I picked the broom up and kept working, brushing some of the straw back in. Jaw tight, I ignored him as best I could, when every instinct was to start a fight with him. But Chris would no doubt hear of it and ship me back to New York.
Fuck. I sucked it up and kept working, counting dollars in my head as the only solace.
The day wore on, and I got lost in thoughts, roaming across my life, of all the stupid things I’d done, and the things I should have done.
Regrets and sorrows, irritatingly, to my father, and the way I’d always disappointed him.
His last wish for me in his will—to live like a working man for thirty days. Then where would that leave me?
A very pregnant mare named Sassy took a keen interest in me as I cleaned her paddock, the last one of the day if I counted right. She followed me around, blocking me, crowding me wherever I moved. At one point, she nibbled the back of my head as I mucked out her straw.
“What the hell?” I shifted a foot away. “This horse won’t leave me be.”
“You've got an admirer, pretty boy,” Trig snickered, leaning against the stall door, pitchfork resting lazily against his shoulder.
“Maybe she knows something good when she sees it. Don’t you, girl?” I patted her neck.
At least Trig laughed at that.
Ash suddenly appeared by his side, chuckling. “She’s got you figured out. Question is, will you take a moment and listen?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I scoffed and walked around her. She followed.
“Horses are far more intuitive creatures than we give them credit for. They can look deep into your soul.”
Trig spat on the ground, perfectly aimed right at where I’d just raked. “What do you think she sees in yours, pretty boy?”
I stopped and sighed. “Hey girl, can you give me some room?” I put a hand up and stroked her nose. She neighed and leaned into it. Her brown eyes gazed at me, like Sage’s had, engaged too deep, a moment too long—or perhaps seeing past my bullshit.
“Trig, you’re relieved from duty. Go on,” Ash ordered.
It was just the two of us as I finished Sassy’s stall, spreading fresh straw under his critical eye.
My arms and back protested every movement, and blisters had formed on my hands. I’d discovered muscles I didn’t know existed. I planned to fire my trainer in thirty days when I returned to the city. But I hadn’t quit. That must count for something.
“You missed a few spots,” he said, nodding toward one corner. “But for your first day? You lasted longer than I figured.”
“Me too,” I chortled.
He jerked his head toward the bunkhouse. “Get cleaned up. We’ve got church tonight.”
I frowned. “Church? Um… I don’t really go. Haven’t in years.”
“Relax. This isn’t that kind of church.”
That clarified nothing, but I followed him anyway.
“Do I have time to wash these clothes? Whatever kind of church it is, I doubt they want me showing up smelling like this. They’re the only set I have.”
“Don’t worry. We have a bin of extra clothes. Sometimes we hire guys who don’t stay around long. They move on and leave stuff behind.”
“The work here is that difficult?”
He stopped in his tracks. “No. But some of these guys have seen and done things in the military that they can’t get past. They try, but some aren’t ready to work here and face the demons they have to face.
They leave, and we hope that somewhere, somehow they’ll find the peace they seek, even if it’s not at our ranch.
So when you pick out some things from the bin, just remember that these guys didn’t have the luxurious life that you’ve led.
Maybe be a little grateful that you get to wake up each day unburdened by trauma. ”
He shouldered past me, leaving me planted on the spot. He was right. I only knew about trauma from stories the guys would talk about in the reserves. Maybe I didn’t know a thing about war, but I had faced tough situations as a reservist though. Things I tried not to think about too much.
When we got to his office, Ash pulled out the box of leftover items for me to sort through and left me to it.
The clothes were far from designer wear, but I pulled together two more pairs of well-worn but decent Wranglers, a deep red and black flannel shirt, a denim shirt with pearl snap buttons, another belt, a charcoal wool vest, and some Henleys, a stocking cap, and a knitted scarf too. No winter coat, though.
I thought about what Ash had said about the men who’d worn these clothes before me—what battles they’d fought, what demons they still carried. Honestly, the only real trauma in my life right now was the blisters on my aching hands and the hollow feeling in my empty pockets.
And Sage.
She crossed my mind again—how she’d quietly carried heavy burdens of her own and still showed up for me. Whether I deserved it or not.
I pulled on the flannel, the fabric rough against my skin, and wondered how long I could keep pretending I wasn’t already in trouble.