by Tawny Taylor
I let my jaw drop. “Do you really think I’m going to believe that?” I asked, absolutely flabbergasted. I didn’t even understand how this man’s brain worked.
“I hoped you would.”
“Nope.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder. “You’re out. Done. You don’t need the money I’m paying you. And I don’t need you.”
“All right.” He hesitated for a moment but said nothing before standing. “Good luck, Morgan. Really. I mean it.”
“Good riddance!” I stood, looped my handbag over my shoulder, and tromped out of Clay’s building and his life.
I had no idea what my aunt was thinking when she wrote her will. I always believed she loved me. But after everything I’d dealt with since coming back to Dawson, I wasn’t sure how she felt anymore.
Was her real wish that the money and property go to charity? Was that what she ultimately wanted?
If only I could ask her!
As I plunked down in my rusty beater, I decided there was no reason to sit around, wishing for the impossible. Aunt Sandee sure wasn’t going to be resurrected from the dead and tell me what the hell she’d been thinking. And I couldn’t change the situation.
So I was going to have to make the best of it.
That, I could do, I decided as I drove back home. I could play the game. Play it fair. And win the prize.
I’d already made one giant leap in the right direction. I’d fired Clay. Now it wouldn’t be so easy for him to undermine me.
I turned down the ranch’s long driveway, gravel crackling and crunching under the tires. I parked.
Where was the crew?
No trucks were packed into the dirt parking area in front of the barn.
No beautiful cowboys were saddling up the horses or repairing the fences or tinkering with the broken equipment.
Where the hell was everyone?
I checked my watch. It was almost eight-thirty. Work started at seven-thirty. Did they all leave because I wasn’t home?
The steer were making a racket, probably voicing their anger over empty food and water troughs.
Strange.
But there was no time to think about the hows and whys. I had hungry animals to feed and water. I ran to the barn to start my chores. Ten hours later, I practically crawled across the lawn to the house. I was dirty, sweaty, and exhausted. I hadn’t eaten at all. Not since breakfast—before I’d driven into town. But I didn’t care. I was too tired to even feel hungry. I stumbled into the bathroom and scrubbed off all the grime and then fell into bed.
Tomorrow my help would be back. Right? None of them had come today because of some kind of mixed signals. They’d thought they had the day off. Maybe it was some holiday I’d never heard about. National Cowboy Day or something.
Yeah.
I blinked.
My body was heavy.
The room was a fucking oven, the air hot and stale. But I didn’t care.
My head was on a pillow, and my body was horizontal.
And…
Fucking rooster!
That was it. Elvis was going in the pot!
I jerked upright and slapped my hands over my bleary eyes. The sun was scorching my retinas.
Tears turning the world into a watercolor, I stumbled into the bathroom. By the time I exited, my vision was clearer, my stomach was rumbling, and I was ready to get to work. Outside, the sound of hungry steer made me rush to stuff a couple of pieces of toast into my mouth. I threw on a pair of shorts, a worn out t-shirt and Aunt Sandee’s boots then clomped out to the barn, checking the parking lot for signs of life on the way.
One truck was parked in the lot.
11
And I knew who it belonged to.
What the hell was going on? Where were all my pretty, strong cowboys?
I stomped into the barn, determined to find out.
Clay was working on Rocket’s stall door, which was about to fall off its hinges. I gave him some serious get-lost mean eyes but he didn’t see them because his back was to me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, sounding exasperated. “And where’s the rest of the crew?”
“I came here to talk to you,” he said as he stroked Rocket’s velvety muzzle.
“Talk about what?” I strolled around to his side to glare at him. His was the last face I imagined I would see this morning. “I don’t think there’s anything left to talk about… unless you want to explain why my parking lot is empty.” I jabbed my index finger in the general direction of the parking area.
He finally turned to face me. “Sorry to tell you this, but if you don’t hire me back, you’ll be working the ranch on your own.”
“Bastard!” I screamed. Everything went red. And fury raced through my body, burning like acid. “What did you do? Call them all and tell them not to come?”
“Well, yes. They work for me, after all. That’s the arrangement I made with Sandee. It has to be that way. I go, they go.”
“What?”
“I. Go. They. Go.”
What the hell? I was so furious I wanted to punch him in that smug face. “What kind of asinine arrangement is that? Why don’t they work directly for the ranch? I never heard of such thing.”
“It’s an arrangement the boys need and have to keep. So if you want them, you gotta hire me back.”
“Over my dead body,” I raged. There was no way I was going to allow Clay Walker to blackmail me into letting him come back. No way!
“Suit yourself.” Clay waved a hand, scratching Rocket’s neck with the other. He gave the horse one last pat and brushed past me toward the door. A tiny electric arc buzzed between us.
I ignored it.
I jerked up my head.
So be it. If that was the way it had to be, I’d find another way to get the help I needed. “I’m sure I can find some other men to hire. They can’t be the only men in this godforsaken town who need jobs.” Even as I said those rash, brave words, I started having doubts. Dawson was not the booming metropolis from which I’d come. It was a dusty town with a shrinking population. There was a decent chance that those men were the only ones in need of a job.
But then again, how plentiful was work in these parts? If I held off hiring replacements, how likely was it that Clay’s crew would come crawling back to me? Wasn’t it better working directly for me than not to work at all?
Of course it was.
That was what I’d do.
At the exit, Clay added, “If you’re thinking you’ll wait the boys out and hire them direct, it won’t happen. They collect a paycheck no matter what happens here. They’ll just go work another ranch.”
So much for that.
Bastard! “This isn’t fucking right!”
“It’s business, princess. Smart business. Which I’m guessing you didn’t learn in college.”
No, I didn’t learn this kind of thing in college. I wasn’t even sure if it was legal. Could someone basically hold every employable person in a town hostage and force the businesses to hire him in order to have any employees? It sure didn’t sound legal to me. But I didn’t know anything about employment law.
“Your aunt told me how smart you were. She believed you could learn. She thought you might even be able to teach me a thing or two.” He smiled. “I was looking forward to it.”
“I bet you were. And looking forward to other… stuff,” I spat out, referring to what happened in the back of his truck. What a colossal mistake that had been, trusting this scumbag! He was worse than I had thought. He wasn’t just a womanizing prick; he was a… a… ranch-stealing, slimy businessman bastard! I could barely look him in the eyes, I was so disgusted. He probably already owned thousands, of acres as it was. Why did he need my aunt’s little ranch? The simple answer: he didn’t.
But I did. Which put me in a very bad position.
He chuckled, rocking back on the heels of his boots, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “That ‘other stuff’ was a surprise, a welcome one. But st
ill a surprise.”
“Yeah, well it won’t happen again,” I vowed. “That I can guarantee.”
He stepped closer. His eyes traveled my full length, from head to toe and then back up again. “I wouldn’t make any promises if I were you.”
I smacked him. Hard. The sound and sting on my palm were highly satisfying. So was the faint pink glow the impact produced on his cheek. I only wished it had been brighter. Vivid, glow-in-the-dark fuchsia.
His smile amped to at least a thousand watts. “Nice one. I see the meek little kitten has grown some claws.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was never a meek kitten.”
“You were so timid you made a fucking baby panda look ferocious.” He checked his wrist, as if he was wearing a watch… which he wasn’t. “Well, it’s been fun, but I gotta go. Me and the boys have work to do.” He thumbed my chin, and I swatted his hand away, like a pesky fly. “I’ll be hearing from you soon, I’m sure. You kept my card, I hope?”
Ha. Funny. “No. I threw it away.”
“No problem.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket. “Here you go. You’re going to need this.” He tried to hand his card to me, but I refused to accept it. Shrugging, he let it fall on the dirty floor. “Have it your way, princess. It’ll make it that much sweeter when you come crawling back to me.”
I bit back a slew of cuss words as I watched his arrogant frame saunter out of view. Then I stomped on that fucking card.
Hell would fucking freeze over before I called that man.
12
I was so happy I could cry.
A truck. I saw a truck. Tires crunching over gravel as it sped up my driveway at exactly seven-thirty… exactly one week later.
My days of trying (and failing) to do everything myself was over… I hoped.
I hurried toward the vehicle as it skidded to a stop. The driver’s door swung open. And a man’s booted foot swung out. Followed by the rest of him. Rail thin, bent, and weathered.
He plopped a hat on his mostly-bald head and hobbled toward me, grinning to expose several missing teeth. “Hello there, darlin’. I saw a flier in town. Needing help, are you?”
Sure, I needed help. Lots of help. But whether this man, with his arthritic fingers and feeble body could provide that help was highly doubtful.
He offered a trembling hand. “Name’s Cockroach.”
Cockroach? “It’s nice to meet you, Cockroach,” I said as I gently shook his hand. It felt fragile, as if I could crush the bones if I gripped it too hard.
Ugh. I had hard work that needed to be done. Physically demanding work. How was this man, who could be blown over by a soft breeze, going to help me? Then again, what choice did I have? “Thank you for coming out. What kind of work experience do you have?” I asked.
“None, really.”
“None?”
“Naw. Been collectin’ disability payments for as long as I can remember. But I saw your ad and thought it might be good to get out of the house a little, get these achin’ bones moving again.”
How lucky for me. It seemed my ranch was now a rehab for elderly, disabled retirees.
If I’d had any other option, any at all, I would have gently declined this man’s offer. But I had no other options. So far nobody else had responded to the flier I’d plastered over every vertical surface in town. After a whole week of silence, I’d finally had one person respond. Cockroach, here.
I donned a smile. “Welcome to Silver Sage Ranch. I’m Morgan, the owner. Let’s see what we can do.”
Cockroach gave a little hoot. “My old lady’s gonna be so happy! She practically shoved me out the door.”
At least I was contributing to this couple’s marital bliss. There was that. Maybe, just maybe, he’d prove useful… maybe.
He stumbled over a rock.
And maybe he’d be more of a liability.
I was going to have to keep a close eye on him. Wouldn’t want him getting hurt on the job. That was the last thing I needed—an old guy who could barely walk suing me for unsafe working conditions.
Eyes open for any hazards, I led him into the barn. “Have you cared for animals before?”
“Only Tom.”
“Tom?”
“My cat. He went blind a couple years ago. Lost his teeth too. Can’t do nothing for himself these days. I even chew his food for him.”
Now that was love.
I grimaced, imagining myself munching on kitty kibble. Nasty!
I opened my mouth to comment but jumped when Cockroach yanked a revolver out from wherever he’d hidden it and shot one bullet up at the ceiling. Something small and brown plopped on the floor about ten feet away.
What the hell?
“Got the bastard.” Cockroach shuffled over to the brown lump and toed it with his boot. “I’m not much to look at, I know. But I still got a sharp eye.”
Still stunned, I nodded as I studied the dead animal on the ground. “Good to know.” At least it looked like my new employee would help with the mouse problem. That was something.
Hours later, after he failed to accomplish anything else, but shooting ten more mice, I pretty much concluded that was all my new employee would be good for. He was a well-paid mouse-hunter.
There were dozens of chores left unfinished. All I managed to do was keep the animals fed and watered. The barn was overrun with shit. The chicken coop was filthy. There were several sections of fence that needed repair, and I couldn’t get the tractor started.
I needed help. Real help. Help that could at least shovel crap and swing a hammer.
Defeated, I found Clay’s mud-caked business card and wiped away the dirt. I couldn’t make out all the digits in his phone number, but I knew where his office was located. So, after seeing Cockroach off, I grabbed a quick dinner and jumped into my car to make another visit to the Pronghorn office.
I parked in front of the grocery store, thinking I would grab a few things after I was done with Clay. His office was located in the absolutely gorgeous Victorian house at the end of the block. Double-decker wrap-around porch. Lots of gingerbread trim. Fish scale siding. It was beautiful.
I clomped up the wood porch steps, stopping at the solid wooden door with transom.
Did I really have to do this? Wasn’t there any other way to get the help I needed?
Crap.
Clay was going to be a total asshole about this. I knew it. Not to mention, if I hired him back, he’d have every chance he could want to screw me over and steal my inheritance. This was so wrong, on so many levels.
Why would my aunt put me in this position? Why?
Biting my tongue and swallowing a mouthful of bile, I tried the door.
Locked. I glanced at the poster in the window, displaying business hours.
Closed. The office was closed until tomorrow. Dammit. Now I would have to make a trip back to town. Tomorrow. During work hours. I didn’t need to lose more valuable time.
If only I hadn’t stomped on the stupid card. Then I might be able to read it. And I wouldn’t have to come back.
Annoyed with myself and with the situation, I clomped down the stairs. Well, at least I could get my shopping done. I was running out of the basics—like toilet paper. I grabbed a cart on the way in and wobbled down the first aisle. Stupid cart had a broken wheel. Always my luck.
About twenty minutes later my defective cart was half-full and I was trying to decide if I needed extra-soft toilet paper or extra-strong. Both were on sale.
“I’d go for extra strong,” someone behind me suggested.
The hair on my nape bristled.
I knew that voice. I doubted I’d ever forget it.
“Clay,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder.
“How are things goin’?” he asked, casually, the cocky expression on his face telling me he knew exactly how bad things were.
“Actually…” I gulped down my pride, which got stuck in the middle of my throat like a lump of un-chewed French fries. “I wanted to talk t
o you about that.”
He smacked his hand to his chest. “Me? Why would you want to talk to me about your ranch?”
God, was he really going to be a total jerk in public and make me beg him to come back?
Probably.
My stomach twisted.
Knowing him, yes.
“You know why,” I grumbled.
“No, really. I don’t.” He blinked. Several times. Liar. Then he grabbed a package of extra strong toilet paper and dropped it in my basket. “What’s the problem?”
Duh! Did I really need to spell it out for him? Or was he just waiting to see if I’d beg? “I need help. I need the crew to come back to work.”
“Hmmm. Okay. I think I can help you with that.” He picked up a second package of TP and dropped it in his empty cart. “But it won’t be for a few weeks,” he added as he shuffled down the aisle to study the paper towel selection. “They’re working another job and can’t leave until it’s finished.”
Few weeks?
By then the barn would be completely full of shit.
Half the steer would be in the neighbor’s pasture because the fence would be totally knocked down.
And I would be dead from exhaustion.
Ugh.
Was he lying again? Was he just pushing my buttons and trying to make me beg? I was not going to do that. I’d never give him the satisfaction. But I would call his bluff. “You can do better than that. You just don’t want to.”
“No. Really. I can’t.” He tossed a roll of paper towels into his cart and wheeled down the aisle way, forcing me to follow him. “The crew is under contract--”
“Contract?” I cut in. I would not beg. Would. Not. “They’re laborers. Who makes a laborer sign a contract?”
“Anyone who wants his job finished, that’s who.” He stopped checking out the dish soap to study me for a minute. I didn’t drop to my knees. I didn’t even give him a pleading look. I clamped my mouth shut and waited. “If it’ll help, I can come out there tomorrow.”
An olive branch.
It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I would have preferred he stay away and just send his men. But obviously that wasn’t happening. I’d learned the hard way there was no changing it.