He powered down the laptop and grabbed another beer. He’d make a final round of the ranch before retiring for the evening. Starting with the main barn, he was surprised that everything was clean and fresh on both sides. In the smaller barn, the hay was stacked in neat rows. The bunkhouse yards were debris-free and most of the hands had gone inside for the night. He exchanged greetings with a couple of cowboys lingering over a beer in the bunk house kitchen, then wandered to the pasture confining Lucifer. The big stallion snorted and charged away from the fence, kicking his hind legs up over his head.
“I know exactly how you feel.” He rubbed his cold hands together and retraced his path, stopping when he detected movement to the right of the doorway in the big barn. He stared into the shadows until his eyes focused on Brooks, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall.
“What are you doing out here?”
Brooks didn’t look at Trevor when he answered. “Sitting.”
“It’s cold out here. You should go home where it’s warm.” Brooks’ interest in Ketra’s house sent a shiver down Trevor’s spine. Even though she’d made it very clear that she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him, for some reason, he considered her his responsibility. He’d vowed, in his heart, to protect her.
Brooks made no effort to move, so Trevor stepped in front of him. He squatted and said in his well-honed, I-will-be-obeyed voice, “Go home, Brooks.”
Following a few seconds of intense staring, Brooks relented. Trevor rested his back against the wall and waited to ensure he didn’t return. An owl hooted, accompanying a chorus of crickets and the faint rustling of leaves.
He leaned his head back. Nowhere else in the world was the sky so black, unblemished, or vast, so alive with glittering stars. It was easy to see why Flagstaff had become the world’s first International Dark-Sky City, an honor bestowed by the International Dark-Sky Association. That privilege obligated the city to keep its light pollution to a minimum. It was also the reason Flagstaff had become a prime spot for two major astronomical institutions, Lowell Observatory and the United States Naval Observatory, both major icons in Northern Arizona.
Confident that Brooks had obeyed, Trevor stepped out of the shadows. He stopped a short distance from Ketra’s house. She and Rocky were on the porch talking. He frowned at the angst in her voice.
“He told Carter to clean all of the stalls.”
Rocky responded with gentle firmness. “He’s the new boss. He has to take charge. If I had overruled his decision, his authority would have been challenged. I can’t have that. We need to show everyone that we are a united front.”
“No one goes on my side,” Ketra whined.
“Sweetheart, he didn’t know.”
“Well, tell him that guys are supposed to stay away from me. Including him.”
“You know, he could be your friend. If you let him. You need friends. And I think he could use a friend right about now, too.”
He suspected Rocky had seen him and said the last words for his benefit. Still, he made no further progress toward his cabin.
“I don’t need any friends.”
“Everyone needs friends, Kettie. Especially you.” Rocky’s voice was tender, full of love.
“Where were my so-called friends two years ago, huh? They can all rot in hell.”
A door slammed, and Trevor took a few more steps. Rocky hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. “You’re out here late.” Rocky scratched his jaw and slanted him a curious glance.
“I wanted to make sure Mr. Applewhite followed my instructions.”
“And did he?”
“He did, which, I’m going to be honest, worries me a little bit. I have a couple questions about Brooks McCall.”
Rocky descended Ketra’s porch steps. “Brooks is a unique situation. He’s…ah…different, as I’m sure you guessed.”
“Is this a story I should know?”
Rocky cocked his head toward Trevor’s house. It wasn’t until they were on his porch that Rocky spoke again. “Brooks’s mother, Tandie, is a recluse. She used to live on my land, up in the high country. Was up there most of her life. When Brooks was about eight years old, he got scarlet fever. His temperature rose way above normal. Tandie didn’t believe in traditional medicine. She tried to cure him at home. Unfortunately, the fever was too high for too long and it damaged part of his brain. He has trouble with motor skills. His speech is impaired.”
He drew a palm across the back of his neck before continuing. “When she finally got him to a doctor, they nursed him back to health, but he’ll be kind of childlike, at least emotionally, for the rest of his life.”
Rocky’s voice took on a faraway quality. “She got real sick herself several years ago. She couldn’t live in the mountains any more. Couldn’t take care of Brooks. She asked me if I’d look out for him.”
Trevor wondered if perhaps there had been a romantic connection between him and Tandie. Rocky cleared his throat. “Two weeks later she returned. She had cancer and needed extensive treatment.” He cleared his throat again. “Despite her aversion to doctors and modern medicine, she agreed to take the treatment—for Brooks’s sake. That was about three years ago. I’ve had very little contact with her since.”
“Is she still alive?”
“I expect so. She’s a tough gal. She lived up in those mountains all alone for over twenty years. You have to be resilient to do that.” Rocky rested his hip against the porch railing, his face illuminated by dappled moonlight filtering through the leaves of the oak branches overhanging the roof.
“Why do you suppose Brooks was sitting in the dark staring at Ketra’s house?”
Rocky shifted his weight like he might be surprised but didn’t express real concern. “Ketra is the only person who has any empathy for him. She treats him like he’s…normal. He’s a little smitten with her, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s harmless and he looks out for her, helps her out.”
“Hmmm. Speaking of Ketra, is she in some kind of trouble?”
Rocky sighed. “Son, I understand the detective inside you who wants answers, but I’m telling you to leave this one alone.”
Chapter Ten
As the sun teased the horizon the next morning, Trevor made a pot of coffee and checked his e-mails. Yesterday, no one had given any indication that they’d recognized him from TV. Rocky wanted to start the drive down from the high country in two weeks. Without knowing what specific skills each man possessed, Trevor didn’t know where they’d be the most helpful.
The air was cool, heady with the scent of dewy earth and livestock as he headed to the bunkhouse kitchen for breakfast. The aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls lured him as he passed Ketra’s cabin. He slowed to savor the pleasant sensation, smiling as his mind formulated an image of Ketra in a cozy kitchen, removing sweet sticky cinnamon rolls from a hot oven.
A symphony of birdsong erupted amidst raucous commotion from the bunkhouses, a pleasant contrast to the ugly drone of the city that had assailed him every day in Phoenix. He grabbed his roping gear from the back of his truck.
Ketra saddled an appaloosa mare near the entrance to the barn. “Good morning.” He stroked the velvety nose of the mare tethered to the hitching post. Ketra moved to the opposite side of the horse.
“You’re up early.” He tried not to be annoyed that she was frightened of him. He studied her for a few moments, feeling a bit guilty that his scrutiny made her nervous. “These are beautiful horses you work with. Do you breed them yourself or are they brought in for training?”
“Both.” She jabbed the horse with her thumb to force out the breath it was holding. The mare rotated her backside into Trevor, pinning him against the wall. She pulled the cinch tight.
“Nice move,” he said with a touch of admiration. He should’ve seen that coming. He wanted to smile at her, but the effort w
ould be wasted since she wouldn’t look at him.
“Where I can store my gear where it won’t be in your way?” He gestured toward the door on his right. “I’m assuming this tack room is yours.”
Her fingers fluttered to the left side of the barn. She unhitched the mare and led her toward the arena. The sway of her backside amused Trevor until she disappeared through the door. He deposited his rope and other gear in a clear space in the back of the tack room next to the saddle and other gear he’d used yesterday. Outside, his eyes locked onto Ketra. She walked the mare around the barrel pattern, stopping at each barrel so the horse could sniff the cylinder. Several seconds later, they circled the barrel and moved on to the next. Her gentle and patient manner with the mare captivated him.
His stomach rumbled. He moved on. Brooks put a platter of scrambled eggs and sausages on the table as Trevor entered the bunk kitchen. Conversation lapsed as he entered the room. He nodded, said good morning, and pulled out an empty chair. By all appearances, most of the crew had eaten earlier or elsewhere. Carter and two other hands remained at the table.
“I understand you’re the best drover on the ranch,” Trevor said to Carter as he loaded his plate.
Staring at him over the rim of his coffee mug, Carter answered in his usual arrogant manner. “That’s right.”
“I’m glad there’s at least one experienced man on the crew. Is it safe to assume that we’ll have most of the free-range herd rounded up and corralled in the lower pasture in a couple of days?”
“Depends on how much the dumb shits’ll hold us back,” Carter said.
“The inexperience of some does pose a problem.” Trevor sipped his coffee. “If you’re finished here, go saddle a horse and tell the others to do the same. I need to see what we’ve got to work with.”
“Hey, Brooks,” one of the other men yelled, “go saddle some horses.”
Brooks shuffled out of the kitchen with a dishtowel in his hand. He stopped midway to the table when Trevor raised a palm.
“What’s your name?” Trevor asked the muscular redhead who’d summoned Brooks.
“Jaret.”
“Jaret, I told Mr. Applewhite to saddle a horse and I expect him to do it. If I want you to delegate, I’ll let you know.” The two men sized each other up for a minute.
“Yes, sir,” Jaret snapped his hand to his temple then rose from the table and made his way to the door, flipping off Brooks in the process. Carter and the third man followed on his heels, cramming dusty cowboy hats on their heads.
Silas came in from the kitchen, a heavily stained white chef’s apron covering most of his gray thermal shirt and faded jeans. His dark eyes surveyed the room.
“Mornin’, Mr. Trevor.”
Trevor returned the greeting.
As he finished his breakfast, Silas and Brooks cleared the dirty dishes from the table. Silas chattered about helping out with the drive and branding the new stock.
“Get Mr. Trevor one of them cinnamon rolls Miss Ketra brung over this morning,” Silas told Brooks.
“She made cinnamon rolls for the guys?”
“She brings over a batch every once in a while for me and Brooks. We both have a sweet tooth and she likes to bake. Says it reminds her of home. Cinnamon rolls are her daddy’s favorite.”
“She doesn’t bake for the whole crew?”
“No, sir. She just sneaks over here real early and leaves ‘em in our secret place before anyone else is even up and about.”
Brooks set a gooey frosted cinnamon roll in front of Trevor and went back to the kitchen.
“Well, I’m sure she wouldn’t like it if she knew you shared your secret treats with me.”
“She’s a good girl, our Kettie. But she’s hurtin’ somethin’ fierce. There’s a lot of anger and shame she’s tryin’ to fester out. But it’s buried down real deep.” He paused with a distant look in his sad, dark eyes. “Ah, I’ve said too much.”
Trevor ate the pastry while he finished a second cup of coffee. When he left the dining room, at least five guys were saddling horses. He made a quick pass of the bunkhouses and rounded up the other four hands before hurrying to saddle his own horse. In less than fifteen minutes, all nine hands assembled outside the barn awaiting his instructions. Several of the crew leered at Ketra working with the appaloosa in the arena. He frowned as he swung into the saddle.
Most of the guys sat well in the saddle as they loped away from the tiny blonde distraction. He followed them, noting who preferred to buddy up. At the lower pasture, he divided the men into teams of two and watched as each team set out to separate a calf from the small herd.
Carter and Tannon were the first team to corral a calf into a separate pen. Matt and Lucas followed. Razor and Cullen were third. Trik and Briggs, obviously not accustomed to working cattle or working together, weren’t able to separate a calf from its mother. After several painful minutes, Trevor reassigned teams and repeated the exercise, making mental notes.
Next, the men were divided into new teams for a roping exercise. He assigned Carter, Matt, Tannon, and Razor as team headers. Lucas, Cullen, Jaret, and Briggs he paired as heelers. Trik was not assigned to a team since his roping attempts had all been unsuccessful. Carter and Jaret roped their calf in just under twelve seconds. Matt and Cullen, finishing in twenty. Tannon and Briggs took over a minute. Razor and Lucas still chased a black calf in a lopsided circle after three minutes. Trevor re-paired the teams, but only Carter and Cullen finished in less than twenty seconds.
Trevor removed his hat and scratched his head. “When we get the cattle down from the high country, we’re going to have to separate the unbranded ones for branding. That means we’re all going to have to cut and rope. Some of you are proficient at both. Some of you need practice. If we don’t have at least two good fast roping teams, branding’s going to take more than a day.”
None of the men made eye contact with Trevor except Carter. He lounged on his horse with a smirk the size of Texas.
“How about gelding?” Trevor asked. “Anybody ever castrated a bull calf?”
A series of grunts, shaking heads and snickers ensued.
“Great,” he muttered. “After lunch go about your normal tasks. Until then, I don’t want to see any of you out of this pasture until your roping improves. Carter, Jaret, and Tannon, I expect you to work with the others.”
He rode back to the barn, dismounted, and looped the reins around a hitching post. He kept an eye on the men in the distance as he unsaddled his horse. Several riders stood apart from the rest of the group, now shrouded in a dust cocoon. He suspected Carter and Jaret were not helping. He’d deal with that later. He rubbed down the gelding and turned him out to graze, then went in search of Rocky. They had to discuss the drive and the branding process.
Ketra raced around the barrels, this time on a sleek bay gelding. Inside the barn, he waited while his eyes adjusted from the glaring sun. The bay snorted as it clattered to a stop in the alleyway. Ketra sat silhouetted like a goddess atop the dark horse.
“You should’ve checked things out before signing on.” She pushed her chin toward the men in the cloud of dust. “You’ll be lucky to get those beeves off the mountain and branded before Christmas.”
He couldn’t explain why, but her lack of confidence in him rankled. Before he could respond, she charged back out of the barn, guiding the horse around the barrels at breakneck speed. She was back inside in less than fifteen seconds, according to the stop clock on the wall.
“That’s an impressive animal.”
Ketra patted the gelding’s glossy neck. “He’s one of my best right now.” She circled her leg over the horse’s rump to dismount, giving Trevor an optimum view of her well-rounded backside and waist-length blond curls. He didn’t remember taking any steps, but he found himself beside her, rubbing the horse’s butt as she leaned down to uncinch the saddle. Wi
th a gasp, she ducked under the horse’s head. She heaved the saddle and blanket onto her shoulder, upending them near the tack room.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
She lifted a brush to the horse’s side. Only her striking blue eyes and forehead, encased in a dirty black Resistol, could be seen over the horse’s back. “I’m not afraid of you.” She continued stroking the brush across the horse’s side and neck. “I don’t like you.”
He nodded. “I apologized.”
Ketra rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a trail of dirt. Her eyes bright, her face flushed.
“Why don’t we call a truce. Start over? Let’s pretend yesterday never happened and—”
“I didn’t realize you came here to socialize. I thought you were here to supervise the children.” She waved a hand in the direction of the men in the pasture.
He grabbed her wrist and held it loosely. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t allow her to break free. She narrowed her eyes. “Let go.”
“Just stand still a minute.” He waited for any change in posture. “Breathe, Ketra. I’m not hurting you. I already said I was sorry. I’m not going to apologize again because I happen to look like someone despicable from your past.”
She remained rigid but didn’t pull away. He waited for her to relax before releasing her hand. As soon as his hand dropped to his side, she threw the wooden brush at him, hitting him on the chin.
“I hate you.” Tears pooled in her eyes. She untied the gelding and led him to a stall.
Trevor rubbed his stinging chin and blew out a ragged breath. He figured she’d be angry, but the tears surprised him.
What the hell is wrong with you, Donaldson? Leave her the hell alone!
But he couldn’t. He was lonely and craved female companionship. And he saw in her the same cyclone of regurgitating anger that controlled his actions and tortured his soul. A heavy dose of compassion swirled into the whirlwind of his conflicting emotions. She had to be lonely, too. He sensed that she was searching for the same things he was, understanding, validation, acceptance.
On Common Ground Page 6