Chapter 11
Trey
Chet practically jumps out of his skin when he walks into the bunkhouse to find me with my feet propped up on the table. It’s the middle of the afternoon when everyone is out working, so I highly doubt he was expecting someone to be here.
“What the fuck,” he gripes.
“Finally. I’ve been sitting in here forever.”
“I saw you pull in ten minutes ago.” Carson follows him in, making a beeline for the bottled water in the fridge. He tosses Chet one.
“Well, it felt like forever. What’s up? Anything a crippled bull rider can do?”
“What’s it like?” Chet asks.
“What’s what like?” I tilt my head.
“Being an independently wealthy bull rider with nothing to do at 3 p.m. on a Tuesday?”
Carson snorts.
“Horribly boring.” I return my feet to the floor and stand. “Where’s your welder?”
“You don’t work here, you know that, right?” Carson asks.
“Of course I do, but I’m bored. And recently, that hasn’t led to me making great decisions, so I’m looking for a project.”
“I did hear something about a naked floor,” Chet quips.
Carson looks at Chet. “Think it’s too late to call Knox and make him come back for this one?”
Chet purses his lips, considering.
Rude.
“I’m free labor, assholes,” I exclaim. “Give me a to-do list.”
“Alright, rodeo star. I’ll make you a list.” Chet shakes his head, chuckling.
Carson opens the door and walks out without another word.
“That guy needs to get laid,” I say. “He’s way too grumpy.”
Chet’s mustache twitches, fighting a grin. “Speaking of women, a blonde at the bar asked me and the boys where you were the other night.”
Chet and I became friends after I moved here. I spent a lot of time in the bunkhouse. I’m one of the few who can beat him in poker, I’m free labor, and he’s a rodeo fan. And, as the saying “It’s a small world” goes, I’ve met his brother, who’s an up-and-coming professional steer wrestler.
“You’ll have to be more specific, I know a lot of blondes.” I flash him an arrogant smile.
“Mentioned your height, tattoos, said you left her on read this winter.”
“Hm, doesn’t ring a bell.” I pick lint off my sleeve.
Chet stifles a laugh. “Thought you were a ladies’ man? You sick or somethin’?”
“Just not interested.”
He opens the fridge, rummaging for a snack. “When you moved here, all people talked about was how much of a player you are, but I’ve yet to see it. Not that I’m complaining—there are no one night stands allowed in the bunkhouse.”
“Oh, they’re right. I’ve got women in every state.
I’ve just . . . I don’t know. Haven’t felt like it lately.
” What I’m not saying—and I’m not even sure I’ve admitted it to myself—is I think I’m over it.
Over picking up random women at the bar, the online dating scene, and hook-ups.
And I’m fucking sick of being called a player and a fuckboy.
It’s more than my infatuation with Jessie.
I’ve been feeling this way for a while. Going out less, swiping left more, and ignoring DMs. I want something real.
I see everyone around me, and I feel like I’m behind.
They all have houses, partners, dreams, and a plan.
I love my career and have goals there, but outside of that .
. . I haven’t really done anything with my life.
This should be the year I get my shit together and start building my own life.
I’m twenty-eight years old for fuck’s sake, it’s about time I stop focusing on chasing women and start focusing on my future.
The only issue is I’m living with the sexiest woman on the face of planet Earth, leaving me in a constant state of horniness.
It’s very distracting when I’m trying to pull my shit together.
“How are the cabins coming along?” I ask to change the subject.
Chet’s been working on a large expansion for the ranch, building short term rental cabins where the Diamond Hart will offer trail rides, hiking, fishing, and other activities for guests.
He’s put a ton of work into the project and even invested, making him a partner with Cody on the new endeavor.
I’m excited to see it take shape for him.
“Good, I finally got the plans finished. They’ll pour concrete on the first two next month.”
“That’s awesome. I’m looking forward to seeing the progress when I get home this fall.” That is, if I ever get on the fucking road. I won a lot of money this winter, but I can’t afford to take several months of the summer run off. I’m out of here as soon as I’m cleared to ride.
Chet’s phone rings. By the tone of his voice through the conversation, he’s less than pleased with the news he’s receiving. He hangs up and heads for the door. “Skip the welder. You’re coming with me. We have cattle out.”
“Yeah, you see, horses aren’t really my thing—”
“No horses. They’re on the far side of the ranch. We’ll take the ATVs from the working facility there.”
“Oh, hell yeah. An ATV I can do.”
Chet hollers at Carson, who’s about to catch a young horse. He leaves the colt and jumps in the truck with us. It takes us a good forty minutes to drive to the facility. When we arrive at the pasture, three ATVs are waiting for us along with another truck of ranch hands.
“How many got out? Did you find the hole in the fence?” Chet asks a cowboy.
A tall, skinny man in a beat-up black felt hat steps forward. “The hole is about a mile from the gate. Looks like it’s time to run new wire on that stretch. I think about thirty of ‘em made it through.”
“Alright, well, you two take the truck and open the gate so we can push the cattle back through. Then go patch that hole in the fence. We can run all new wire tomorrow,” Chet directs two of the ranch hands who met us here.
“Carson and Trey, you each take an ATV. Sid”—Chet points at a shorter, stocky cowboy—“you’re with me. Let’s go before we run out of daylight.”
We follow orders and drive off. Spread out, our heads on a swivel for movement, it only takes ten minutes to find them. We’re out in the open with nothing but grass in sight. There’s no fence to run them along, so Chet hangs back as Carson and I circle around, each taking a side of the herd.
I wait as Chet gets a rough head count and gives Carson and me the go-ahead to close in. Chet handles most of the pushing while Carson and I give the herd direction at a careful distance. If you get in too close or too far ahead, the cattle will cut back and scatter.
If a member of the herd gets by us, there is no chance of roping it and dragging it back to the herd.
Dallying off onto one of these tin cans will end in me getting dragged through this pasture, so I keep a close watch and speed up when one cow tries to fan out.
Another drops her head, trying to turn around.
I hammer down and make a quick circle to get myself behind her before she can separate.
Horses are better for this job, and easier on cattle, but ATVs are way more fun.
The sun is setting as the last cow jogs through the gate.
The ranch hands, who have fixed the fence by now, close the gate behind them.
Chet, messing around, guns it towards the gate, turning sharply and skidding sideways to a halt.
Sid, the hand riding with him, goes rolling out of the ATV, kicking up dust as he somersaults.
The guys all laugh as he gets up. That’s when I notice Carson laughing and smiling.
“Look at that, boys. He can smile. I was starting to wonder if you had any teeth.”
Chet laughs. “They’re new. Dentist just put them in last week.”
“Shut up, Chester,” Carson grunts. “I can’t help it none of you are very fucking funny.”
I mock gasp. “Ooh, he used the full name.”
“That was uncalled for.” Chet scowls.
Sid, unharmed and good-humored, heads off with the other hands. We put the ATVs away and head back to the ranch.
I might not do horses, but there are a lot of jobs on a ranch without them in the job description. Hell, maybe ranch work is what I’ll do when I retire someday.
Maybe even here.