Chapter Three #2
“I might be slightly afraid of this crew myself,” she joked, excruciatingly aware Hunter stood four feet behind her, listening to every word of this exchange.
There was no reason to invite further angst by calling him out for a response that may be a result of the emotional trauma he’d experienced after losing his father.
“The first order of business is to get them through some basic obedience training so they aren’t so much of a hot mess.
Then we can see what’s what when it comes to the rest.”
She couldn’t wait to get started, with no one looking over her shoulder, particularly Dr. Kersey.
Her father’s favorite phrase—you’re doing it wrong— would never be uttered once on the Flying Pig ranch. Heaven, indeed.
Hopefully, basic obedience training wouldn’t take too long, particularly since she’d have four charges instead of one.
As if they’d gleaned her thoughts, the Captains tore down the steps of the porch, yipping for all they were worth at absolutely nothing.
Will Turner followed them at a much less frantic pace, his lope easy.
Elizabeth Swann rolled over to her other side, tongue lolling out, clearly not the slightest bit interested in leaving the porch.
“Start as early as you want in the mornings,” Zero offered, taking a sip of his coffee and then using the cup to gesture toward the front door. “We’re all early risers around here.”
That explained the empty house feeling. “Thanks, I appreciate that. There’s no danger of that, though. I’m more of a mid-afternoon person than a morning person.”
Zero’s brows rose. “We eat dinner at six o’clock. On the dot. You’re welcome to join us, of course, as our guest.”
Oh my. On the dot? As in never any leeway? Who put dinner on the table at exactly the same time every night? The sheer impossibility of that feat set her back a step. You’d have to decide what you were cooking ahead of time to do that, wouldn’t you?
“Good to know.” It occurred to her this man did sign her paychecks, so maybe she should clarify his expectations. “Is there a certain time you’d like me to start each day? A certain number of hours that you’d prefer I clock?”
Zero shook his head, lightening the dread churning through her stomach at the thought of wrapping up a training session at the same time each day. Maybe this would work out okay, as long as her boss didn’t turn into a stern task master who lived and died by his schedules.
“You’re the expert. I trust you.”
How great was that? She couldn’t stop the smile that stretched her mouth to the point of ridiculous, and it probably looked half maniacal to him, too, judging by the way he stared at her.
“Thank you for that,” she gushed. “You won’t regret that trust, I guarantee it.”
With his endorsement warming her heart, she took her leave, found a second breakfast in the kitchen, and then moved on to rounding up the equipment she’d scouted out in the barn last night: four collars and leashes.
Her first order of business would be to get the crew used to being led by a human.
But when she headed down to the barn, she couldn’t find the dogs anywhere. The last two times she’d encountered them, they’d just sort of showed up. She’d expected the same again, but they were nowhere to be found.
Tag Ryland, who would be forever in her heart known as Uninteresting Guy, bless him, stood at the other end of the barn with a pitchfork in his hand, pausing long enough to tip his battered cowboy hat in her direction as she dashed through on her quest to find at least one furry hide.
“Morning, Ms. Delilah,” he called. “Looking for the crew?”
“Yes, have you seen them?” she asked, thrilled at least she wasn’t screwing up in front of Zero. “I guess they didn’t get the memo that today is the first day of school and I’m not one to excuse skipping.”
That made Tag laugh, which she appreciated, but as best she could tell, he generally stayed in a good mood. The opposite of Zero. Their friendship seemed unlikely given that, but she didn’t have time to question it.
“They were all headed down to the pond, last I saw,” he allowed. “They like to swim.”
Noted. And she hoped that didn’t mean she’d be likewise forced to take a swim in order to round them up.
She nodded her thanks and headed down the slope to the pond. The sunlight hit the surface, making it sparkle, and the surrounding trees framed the scene, giving it a lot of charm.
How lucky was she that Zero Renshaw had swooped in and saved her from being homeless?
As if that wasn’t enough, he’d plunked her down in a scene from a movie.
This place did not suck. Never before would she have called herself a back-to-nature kind of girl, but even she couldn’t deny it was easier to breathe out here in the open.
Speaking of Zero…he’d set up shop down in the east pasture with a bunch of tools and stuff that looked like it might be used to repair the split-board fence in front of him.
As she watched, he gripped a long, heavy ax with both hands and then swung it at the ground over and over again, chopping up something that made sense to him.
Man With Ax. No explanation needed. It was a painting she could study for hours.
The man moved like a well-oiled machine. Her throat went dry and a little hum came out of it, a visceral, involuntary reaction to the visual splendor of Zero doing manly things.
The idea of getting a front-row seat to watch a man create a cattle ranch from scratch spoke to her in a big way. She wasn’t sure yet what it was saying, but she certainly did not mind hanging on for the ride until she understood the draw she felt toward him.
Oh. Tag was there, too. She’d totally missed him walking up to stand near Zero in the shade of one of the large oak trees that dominated the east pasture. Funny how he totally blended in, compared to the poetry in motion of Zero Renshaw.
A tangle of fur and yips tore her gaze from the Zero Show to the hot mess of dogs splashing and rolling around at the edge of the pond. Great. They all looked like they’d be super willing to stop having fun and follow her back to the barn for school.
Good thing she’d brought treats.
“Elizabeth Swann, come,” she called and curled her hand toward her waist in the common signal.