Rancher’s Heart (Flying Diamond 5, #3)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
GRIFF
D ust hung in the night air, illuminated by the lights from the fair's midway. As the night went on, the jovial screams echoing from the roller coasters slowly waned out. From my spot behind the bar, I saw that the rodeo grounds were still crawling with people hollering and clinking glasses without a care in the world, though.
After the last call, I filled drink orders for the last few stragglers, hoping to get one more in before the end of the night. Once I posted the closed sign up on the sticky bar top, I started stacking the discarded plastic cups and wiping down the area in hopes of getting out of here before the sun came up again. From the corner of my eye, I saw something whip across the dance floor looking up, I saw a kid standing there having the time of his life, dancing along to the music. It’s three in the morning; who the fuck is letting a kid run all over the place?
I needed to go home.
“Hey man, that was a great ride. Couldn’t believe someone your size could ride that well.” A man in a straw cowboy hat, polo shirt, skinny jeans and tennis shoes leaned on the bar.
“Thanks, what can I get ya?” I ask, brushing off his comment. I’d been hearing it all my life, and I was tired of it. I'm tall, and I take care of my body, so I'm solid, but it’s not like I rode pro or anything, but keeping my center of gravity wasn’t that difficult for me.
“Not chatty are you?” He scowled at me.
“Look man, we're already closed. You missed last call, but I’m willing to help you out; what can I get you?” I grabbed the white rag and wiped down the counter from the shots the barely legal girls spilled only moments ago.
“A beer,” he said as he bobbed his head in time with the cover band that was playing. They assured the committee they sounded like a mix between Alabama and Hootie and the Blowfish. Even if I had earplugs in, I wouldn’t make that connection, but when most of the people were tipsy, I supposed they didn’t care as long as there was a tune to dance to.
The cold of the bottle seeped through my fingers and as I reached to hand the guy his drink, it slipped from my fingers and shattered when it hit the dirt. “Fuck, sorry, man,” I said as I reached with my other hand back into the fridge and got him a new one. “There you go.”
“Thanks, see you around.” He slapped his money on the counter and walked off. With any luck I’d never see that guy again.
“Hey pal, what happened?” I turned to see Ryder, my business partner and best friend frowning at me as I picked up the glass.
“Nothing, just dropped it.” The glass tinged off the side of the metal garbage can as I threw it away. Standing I rinsed my now muddy fingers off in the sink and turned to him. “What’s up?”
Ryder was on the security team tonight so him at the bar gave me pause. “Nothing, just shutting the bar down.” He grinned.
“Finally,” I groaned as I pulled off the apron I was wearing and threw it in the rag bin. Looking to my left, I gave Lydia a wave. She was at the other end of the bar and had been my partner back here all night. She was tall with dark hair, and looked so much like her sister they could have been twins. Her eyes were brown, and she could light up the dark with her smile. I didn’t mind working with Lydia, even with the icy blast coming off her as she looked at Ryder.
“Let’s go before you get into another verbal sparring with your ex-wife’s sister,” I grumbled as he followed me to the truck. “I thought you’d agreed to a truce?” I asked as I lifted the bar top and ducked under it.
“Yeah well, the truce is on shaky ground, apparently,” Ryder grumbled.
“I’m exhausted from wandering all over the fairgrounds, you can drive.” Ryder tossed me the keys. Reaching out to catch them, they slid right through my hand and landed in a puff of dirt at my feet.
“You dropped a beer, and now you’re dropping keys. Everything okay?” Ryder asked as I crouched to pick up the keys so we could leave.
“Yeah, just tired.” I brushed him off and climbed into the truck. Thankfully, we were both exhausted, so neither of us bothered to make small talk. I could tell Ryder wasn’t buying the excuse I’d told him about my hand.
It didn’t take long to find the truck, as people were clearing out at a record pace. The black Ford one-ton truck sat under one of the few lights in the parking lot. Our brand on the side of the truck stuck out like a sore thumb. The decal was white, and on the black background it didn’t matter if there were lights or not. You could see it. I liked my truck, that wasn’t so loud and didn’t broadcast who I was, and Ryder was the complete opposite. How we’d become best friends still confused me some days, but he’d been in my corner every step of my adult life.
At one time, we’d all lived in the main house, but as my business partners found the loves of their lives, it was time to stop living like we were in a fraternity and be adults.
Kipp Miller, whose family owned the original Flying Diamond ranch, still lived in the main house his grandfather built. He’d married the ranch cook, Nora, they had a couple of kids now, and they were disgustingly in love with one another.
Nash Powers grew up on this ranch because his father had been the ranch boss, and he and Kipp were best friends. Nash fell in love with Kipp’s sister, Fallon, and they have two daughters. Nash’s parents were divorced, and his father, Fred, ran the local coffee shop with his fiancé Wanda. When Nash decided to move out, he bought his childhood home and moved it on to his land here at the ranch.
Ryder and I had built homes along the lake, and partner five, Lincoln Felder, lived in a house away from the main ranch in a home on one of the ranches we acquired over the years. It all worked, but there were days I missed being “the five” like we used to be.
Ryder’s home appeared, and I looked at the small two-bedroom home he’d built. The porch was magnificent and boasted more square feet than his house, but since he wasn’t ever going to let another woman break his heart, he swore he didn’t need any more space. As long as he could have a beer on the porch with friends he was happy. “I’ll bring the truck back tomorrow,” I said as he opened the door and nodded. He tapped on the hood of the truck as he rounded the front and headed inside.
Taking the back road, I drove along the lake, the moon shimmering off the still water. As I made the last turn toward my home, I smiled as the porch light shone, and for the first time I really wondered what it would be like to have someone at home waiting for me.
Unlike Ryder, I’d built my home to be my sanctuary. I never needed to leave this spot. It was a large ranch-style home with four bedrooms, three baths and a massive open-concept living area. A wrap-around porch gave me the benefit of a lake view or a view of the mountains depending on where I wanted to relax at the end of the day.
Pulling to a stop, I took the keys out of the ignition, tossed them in the cup holder, and stepped out of the truck. The sound of my door slamming shut echoed through the night, and off the mountains made the ducks in the lake squawk and splash around, startled by the intrusive sound waking them up from their sleep. As I walked up the sidewalk, I pictured trees I’d planted standing tall to provide shade and a place to hang a tire swing, like the one I grew up playing on. My entire life was ready and waiting to start when the right woman came along.
I hadn’t needed anyone. When I had a desire for sex, I managed to find someone who was interested in a night or two, but nobody ever made my heart stop mid-beat, but I also hadn’t been looking for anyone beyond the one-night-stand girls. But seeing my business partners settle down, I wondered if I was missing out on something. There’s nobody nagging you about being out so late. The one side of my brain reminded me. The other side always had a rebuttal: there’s also nobody keeping your bed warm for you every night either.
Making my way up to my front door I pulled open the screen door and was met with the familiar screeching sound. It was better than an alarm system. No matter what I did, they always made noise from the day I’d hung the door, and I hardly noticed it anymore. It was just part of the charm that was my home. Reaching for the doorknob, I couldn’t grasp it tight enough to turn it. “Fuck,” I grumbled as I tried to tighten my grip, but finally gave up and opened it with my other hand.
Leaning against the door, I toed off my boots and hung my cowboy hat on the hat holder. Dropping the buckle, I’d won tonight on the table, I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a beer before heading to bed. Why was I taking a beer to my bed? All I wanted to do was sleep.
The scent of stale beer, cigarette smoke and sweat clung to me, so while all I wanted to do was flop into bed, I turned on the shower and stripped out of my clothes, fumbling with the buttons. I was tempted to just rip the shirt apart, but I was getting low on them because that’s usually what I did.
Turning on the shower with my good hand, I didn’t really want any more reminders that I was losing the use of my hand. Steam filled the stall as I walked in and while the water had been hot, the tile under my feet was cool. Warm water cascaded down my body, and my shoulder relaxed a bit as I let it hang down at my side. The lather of the soap on my body felt exhilarating as it washed the grime of the day away, replacing the smell of the beer garden with citrus and cedar. Running my hand along the shower wall, the roughness of the tile against my fingers triggered the feeling to return to them. I knew the relief would be short-lived but right now, it was welcome.
I could stand in here forever and not lose hot water, but the heat was making it hard to keep my eyes open, so I turned off the spray and let the water drip off my body before walking out of the big shower. I grabbed the towel off the hook and dried myself off. There was no reason to be modest in my own house, that I was alone in, so I wandered into my bedroom.
The large wooden timber bed frame took up almost one wall. I’d invested in California King beds in my house, so I could literally sleep in any room. I’d only ever slept in this one but I had other options if the mood struck.
The rest of the furniture matched the bed and I walked over to the dresser and pulled out the drawer, grabbing a pair of boxer briefs. Slipping them on, I grabbed the beer I’d set down and headed for my bed.
Flopping back onto the pillow, more familiar tingling returned to the tips of my fingers. Someone might as well have been shoving pins and needles under my fingernails as I clenched and opened my fist. It didn’t help relieve the feeling.
Nothing did.
I’d tried pills, and I’d tried booze to numb the pain, but it was always there. Aching, going numb and then trying to come back to life when I laid down was getting really old.
The last doctor I’d seen told me I need to slow down, and look at having surgery. He wanted to open me up just to have a look around. Nothing showed on the x-rays that were done, but obviously, something from my fall a year ago hadn’t healed right. But like hell I was trusting that man again.
Slowing down wasn’t an option either. Things on the ranch were busier than ever, and my side business working with horses had taken off. Apparently, I’d proven myself when I’d tamed a few of the wild horses.
I’d rescued some weak, frail horses a few winters ago, and they hadn’t fully recovered to let them be back in the mountains fending for themselves. These were majestic creatures, and I’d hand-fed them when they were too weak to eat, made sure they were up walking so colic wouldn’t set in.
I thought back to those nights when I’d alternate walking one then the other, making laps around the indoor arena so much I was making grooves in the dirt. The two horses survived, and I’d broke them so they would tolerate the gentle touch of someone other than me. They were still unpredictable, so I didn’t break them to be ridden, but they would be good companion horses for ranches that needed them.
It wasn’t something I was proud of. Wild horses should stay wild, but I refused to watch them waste away to nothing so occasionally, throughout the year, I’d check on them and intervene when their welfare is in question. The homes I sent these horses to were huge ranches where the horses could wander and almost be as free as they once were. Any money I made off the wild horses went back into a charity I’d set up to make sure these horses could be free for as long as possible.
But like everything, the reaction to my so-called talent drew people from far and wide who needed assistance with troubled horses or the stubborn ones that refused to listen. Horses rolled in and out of my ranch on a regular basis, to the point I was having to turn down potential clients. Between my arm and my lack of time, I just couldn’t do it all right now.
Sitting up, my arm drew my thoughts from the horses and back to the situation at hand. My fingers were cold again, and my elbow ached. I wasn’t sure what was worse, it being numb or the feeling returning. At least when I couldn’t feel it, I didn’t hurt.