“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 still 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.
Chapter 11
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 tra
ctor 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 to 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.
“Okay. Sure.” I hesitated. It nearly killed me to say the next word. But I knew I had to. “Thanks.” God, I almost choked on it.
“No problem. So tell me, how bad is it? I’m impressed you made it a week.”
“I’m afraid if I tell you, you won’t come back.”
He laughed, his eyes twinkled and there went the tingles again.
My body was so freaking stupid! How could it go getting all tingly like that when this bastard’s eyes twinkled? How was it that there could be such disconnect between one’s head and body?
If I had to work with Clay, I was going to have to find a way to keep my body in check. Because I could not let my guard down around him again.
It was far too dangerous... and stupid.
Chapter 12
At seven-thirty the next morning Clay found out exactly how bad things had gotten since I’d fired him (and his crew). I had to admit the stunned (and slightly scared) expression on his face was hilarious, even if the reason for it wasn’t. The ranch was a mess. A total disaster. And now he was all alone, having to fix it.
Poor baby.
He had me and Cockroach, of course, to help him. Interestingly (but I suppose it should have come as no surprise), the two knew each other. Cockroach let out a loud guffaw as Clay loped into the barn.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Cockroach said, eyes shimmering with amusement. “I heard you was fired.”
“Yes. But I’ve been re-hired.”
Cockroach crossed his scrawny arms over his concave chest. “What’s the crew goin’ to do without you, Walker?”
“They’ll be fine for a few days.” Clay gave the old man a pointed look, and I wondered what that was all about.
Cockroach, in response, slanted a gaze my way then clammed up.
Huh. Maybe Cockroach and I needed to have a little chat later.
In the meantime, we had a lot of work to do. All of us.
***
Clay dragged Cockroach off to help him, which made me happy. Maybe, with Clay’s help, I’d get more work out of him than just mouse-hunting. While the boys worked on the fences, I worked up a serious sweat shoveling horse manure out of the barn, cleaning the chicken coop, and feeding and watering all the animals. By the end of the day I felt like our tiny crew had at least made up a little of the ground that had been lost over the week. Having the boys tackle the heavier work—tasks that I couldn’t do, or took me longer—meant I was able to get a lot done.
I owed Clay a thank you for his help.
He was still out there somewhere, working on the fences. I was guessing he’d lost track of time.
Unsure how to express my gratitude, I headed in the direction I’d last seen him go. A thick line of trees cut through the property between the two largest pastures on the ranch. I assumed, since the farthest fence was in most need of repair, I would find the guys somewhere back there. I pushed through the thinnest section of trees in time to catch Cockroach stumbling along, eyes as big as Texas, and face as pale as a corpse.
I grabbed his arm just as he was about to totter over. “What’s wrong?”
He wheezed and coughed. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident.”
His knees buckled and he flopped onto the ground.
“Ohmygod!” I dropped to my knees and poked his neck, looking for a pulse, praying the old man hadn’t just dropped dead in front of me. I didn’t think I could live with the guilt of being responsible for a man’s death. Even if he was practically two hundred years old.
Remembering my cell phone, tucked in my pocket, I pulled it out and dialed 9-1-1 for help. As I was jabbering to the dispatcher like a deranged idiot, Cockroach came to.
“What the hell are ya doin’?” he yelled, shoving me away and pushing himself upright.
“Easy!” I said as I tried to keep him down. “You collapsed. An ambulance is on the way.”
“I don’t need no ambulance,” he snapped. “Go!” His arms swung like tree limbs being thrown around in a storm. “Go on!”
He must have had a stroke or something. He wasn’t thinking clearly.
“But you collapsed!”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with me. It’s Walker that needs help!”
“Walker?” I repeated. What did he mean? He was the one lying on the ground. Was he confused? Or...?
“Go, woman!” he shouted, smacking my cheek.
The impact startled me out of the cloud of confusion that had swallowed me. With my phone in hand, the dispatcher’s tiny voice squeaking out of the speaker, I started sprinting across the meadow, my gaze tracking along the fence line, searching for Clay. I had no idea what to expect. Cockroach had said something about an accident before he’d passed out. What happened? Where was Clay?
My lungs on fire, I tripped and stumbled across the pasture. We hadn’t been able to let the steer out into this pasture because of the fence, and so the grass was very tall. It wrapped around my ankles. In the distance, the whine of a siren echoed.
Still, I saw no sign of Clay.
I literally crashed into a section of fence before I saw it. Then I turned right and kept running. The fucking grass was killing me, snagging my boots. I fell, jumped up and started running again. Over and over. The siren’s high-pitched shriek was getting louder. But I still had no idea what was wrong.
Jerk: A Bad Boy Romance Page 8