Five Alarm Christmas: A Firefighter Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  No cars were parked in front of the garage. The ranch workers should have been settling in for the night; they must have gone into town. I hoped my father hadn’t hired poorly. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a bunch of rowdy drunks while I tried to sort through my shitty memories.

  The moment I stepped out of my SUV, a small furry shape came sprinting out of the doggy door.

  “Heidi!” The German Shepherd practically tackled me as I crouched down, licking my face and sniffing me all around. “I forgot all about you.”

  She rolled onto her back and whined until I rubbed her belly.

  The front door was unlocked—which was good because I didn’t have any keys, and my hips were definitely too wide to fit through Heidi’s door. The smell of the house hit me like a sack of memories: wood and dust and the distant scent of leather oil. I stood in the foyer and took a moment to collect myself.

  Here I was. Home again.

  I had to search my memory for the last time I’d visited. Christmas, three years ago. Dad acted like he was too busy with ranch work to entertain me, so I returned to Austin after only a single night here.

  I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and set to examining the house.

  Everything was different, and everything was the same. My bedroom was a guest room now, plain and boring. Unlike momma, dad had loathed unnecessary decorating. But when I checked the other three bedrooms upstairs, I found them all similarly unused. Maybe the ranch workers were staying somewhere else? Free lodging was usually one of the perks of the job.

  Once the nostalgia wore off, I began to see the cracks. The literal cracks, in some cases: the plaster was cracked along the ceiling in the living room, foyer, and downstairs bathroom. The hardwood floors were so dusty I almost slipped and fell, and every fifth board looked to be damaged, or outright broken. Everything creaked. The ceiling of the living room had a huge oval wet spot. I got on a chair to touch it; it was still damp. Must be a leak from the upstairs bathroom.

  The master bedroom on the first floor was a mess of boxes and papers. My dad hadn’t been a hoarder, but it looked like he’d been well on his way before he died. The sheets were wrinkled and clearly hadn’t been changed in weeks. The room stank of mildew and grime. Every corner and seam between wall and floor held a layer of dirt.

  Overall, it was going to need some work. At least a day or two of cleaning, and then I could figure out which cosmetic repairs were worth making. Hopefully the exterior was in better shape. Ultimately, all I really had to do was get it into a semblance of cleanliness so potential buyers could look around. The other damages could be negotiated at closing.

  I crossed the back yard to the huge red barn, which was more brown than red with age. I was excited to see the horses, which was the one part of the ranch I always loved. Judging by their temperament they were just as happy to see a human—and judging by the smell their stalls hadn’t been mucked out in days. At least a week, I thought when I saw the piles of droppings covering the hay in one horse’s stall. Dad’s death wasn’t to blame for that.

  I gave the chicken coop next to the barn only a cursory glance. They were clucking happily, and that was good enough for now. There were the 20,000 acres of land I still had to check, and the cattle roaming it, but that was a problem for future-Cindy to deal with.

  Dad still had that damn answering machine on the wall of the kitchen, which flashed with a red 12 to indicate how many voicemails were unplayed. I pressed play to give myself something to listen to while perusing cabinets.

  BEEP.

  “Mr. Jameson. This is John Bolton at the First Credit Union. Calling again to discuss your account. Give me a call at your earliest convenience.”

  Everything in the kitchen was the same. The red glass bowls and matching water glasses, straight out of the 1970s. The silverware with the shiny wooden handles. The big mixing bowl with the painted sunflower in the bottom.

  BEEP.

  “Hey there, Richard. It’s Gus again. Your feed order is still sittin’ here, waiting for you to pick it up. Come by any time.”

  The appliances were the same ones from when my grandfather had redone the kitchen some 40 years ago. A white metal stove with four gas burners. The tiny little oven that was just barely tall enough to fit momma’s turkey on Thanksgiving. A fridge so old it could be called vintage, with the metal handle that twisted to lock the door closed. Dad still hadn’t bought a microwave. He didn’t trust them.

  BEEP.

  “Mr. Jameson, I don’t care how many times you call, we’re not fucking budging.”

  I jerked my head toward the answering machine.

  “We’ll come back to work when we get our pay from the last three months. We’ve been more than patient. Christ, Alex has kids to feed. I hate to see the ranch go to disrepair but I had to take a job at another ranch until you pay me. Times are too tough to skip a paycheck, you know? No hard feelings. We’re loyal, and we’ll come back the moment you make things right, but not until then.” The voice sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  BEEP.

  Well that explained why the ranch workers weren’t around. Dad was always a hard-ass when it came to payroll. If a worker didn’t do what he considered a flawless job, dad would dock his pay or withhold it until the worker righted the wrong. Some ranch hands suffered it quietly, and strove to meet his unrealistic demands.

  Others eventually reached their breaking point.

  It never crossed my mind that it might be an issue of money. This was just the type of thing dad used as leverage. It was the principle of the thing. Dad was the kind of man who would demand a refund from a little girl’s lemonade stand if he thought the drink was too sweet.

  Was. Dad was the kind of man. Past tense.

  I felt a tickle in my gut, and pushed it back down before it could manifest.

  The fridge was empty except for condiments. The freezer held 20 pounds of steak, but unless I wanted to wait until morning for them to thaw I was going to go hungry.

  My stomach rumbled. That sure as hell wasn’t an option.

  My phone had no signal, which meant no Google Maps. “Guess we’ll have to see what’s in town,” I told Heidi. I grabbed my keys.

  *

  Greenville wasn’t green, nor had it ever been green; its name was more wishful thinking or weak marketing than a legitimate description. The town I’d considered home was still barely more than a one road village, with a single gas station, single McDonald’s, and no movie theater. But the feed store was still running, with the glowing neon “OPEN” light above the door blessedly lit.

  “Stay here,” I told Heidi.

  The girl behind the counter wasn’t a familiar face, and barely looked up from her magazine. There were no hand carts, so I grabbed a push cart and made my way to the grocery section in the back. Shopping while hungry was always a bad idea, but my options were limited because most of the small freezer was filled with microwave dinners. I grabbed a frozen pizza, a half gallon of milk, and some eggs to make breakfast. After hesitating, I tossed two bags of Doritos into the cart. My diet could fuck off until I got home.

  “Coffee!” I hissed under my breath. That was more important than the food. At least a coffee maker was one appliance I knew dad owned. He refused to set foot outside before he’d had his first cup. I guess that’s where I got it from.

  Thinking of that reminded me of all the work ahead of me. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. How long had the ranch hands been gone? Days, or weeks? The land might need a lot of work: even under the best of conditions fences needed to be constantly checked and repaired. Herds were susceptible to disease this time of year, which meant identifying sick cows and quarantining them until they got better. Calves had to be watched carefully, weaned and vaccinated, and then castrated before they were three months old. And there were a whole host of other little things like urine tests to ensure proper nutrition that I didn’t even know the first thing about.

  I’d hate to shell out three months b
ack pay out of my own pocket, but what choice did I have but to get the ranch workers back as soon as possible? The longer the ranch went unmanaged the more it devalued. Plus I would make the money when the estate eventually sold.

  That was better than trying to do it all by myself. I helped my dad with chores when I was a girl, but running an entire ranch alone was a challenge I didn’t care to attempt.

  I stopped to check my phone. Sure enough, I had three bars of signal. Good to know Greenville was an oasis of civilization if I needed to get back on the grid.

  As I pushed back toward the check-out counter, two men entered through the front door, mid-argument.

  “Come on Mr. Anderson,” one man said. “You can’t do this.”

  “Sure I can,” the other said. His raspy voice and white hair meant he was much older. So did his dismissive tone. “I’m doing it right now. You’re all fired.”

  “We have a contract.”

  “That contract is void because one of you is dead weight. The requirements were clearly stated.”

  “Daniel can do plenty of other tasks! Chores, and repairs, and…”

  The old man grabbed a beer from the fridge by the cashier and pointed it at the younger man. “I need three ranch hands who can drive my cattle. Not two. Three. That’s what you promised me, and that’s what I paid for. Honestly, what kind of cowboy can’t even ride a damn horse?”

  The younger man stiffened dangerously. “You don’t know him.”

  “And now that he doesn’t work for me, I don’t care to.” He slapped a paper bill down on the counter without looking at the cashier and started to walk away.

  “Come on, Mr. Anderson, we can work something out.”

  “Work it out for my lawyers. You owe me four heads of cattle.”

  The bell chimed as he strode out the door.

  Realizing that I’d stopped to eavesdrop on the argument, I pushed my cart back toward the front. The cashier was gazing at him like he was made of gold.

  “And here I thought my day was bad,” I said.

  He turned around.

  It would be melodramatic to say my heart skipped a beat, but that’s honestly what it felt like. That, or getting kicked in the chest by a wild horse. This guy was fine. Jeans and black boots, with a flannel button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing dark tattoos on his forearms. A cowboy hat that matched the boots. And a face that could have been chiseled from stone except for the bristles of a five o’clock shadow.

  Sweet baby Jesus, he was beautiful.

  “It’s a bad day alright,” he said, removing his hat to run a hand through his curly black hair. “Thought we’d found the right ranch this time…”

  I peeled my eyes away and focused on unloading my cart for the cashier. “What happened?”

  “The soft version? The man we worked for is an asshole.” He grimaced. “The truth? We told a lie of omission and it bit us in the ass.”

  “They always do,” I said.

  “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Becky,” he said to the cashier, who beamed and sputtered something unintelligible. He nodded to me and turned to leave.

  My industry required me to do mental math quickly. Sizing up a situation to look for opportunities. Hiring the old workers meant more money up front, but they were already experienced in our specific ranch. New guys would be tougher to get up to speed, but they didn’t have three months of back pay baggage.

  But in the end, the fact that this guy was gorgeous was probably what made up my mind.

  “Hey, wait! I’ve got a ranch I abruptly inherited. The other workers quit suddenly, leaving me screwed. It needs a lot of work.”

  He frowned with thought. Jesus, even his frown was attractive. A sexy smolder. “What kind of work does it need?”

  “Well, I was hoping you could help me figure that out. I’m kind of in over my head.”

  He looked at me—really looked at me this time, sizing me up. Nothing sexual, at least not that I could tell. He was just examining my clothes. Figuring out what I was all about. If it were true and not some weird feed store joke.

  “We work on weekly contracts,” he said carefully, “but we’ve been hoping to find something more permanent. Bouncing around contracts is a shitty life.”

  I bobbed my head. “We can do a week trial to start, but there’s definitely opportunity for long-term work.”

  It wasn’t technically a lie. There was a long-term opportunity at my ranch. It would just be with whoever bought the ranch after me. Hey, if this guy could tell lies of omission, then so could I.

  He seemed eager, then hesitated. “Don’t you want to know why we lost our old job?”

  “I heard part of your argument,” I admitted. “Something to do with your brother not being able to ride a horse?”

  He tucked his thumbs behind his belt. “It’s a long story. But yeah, the gist of it is that he can’t ride. So only two of us would be able to work the cattle when they need driving, or any other task that requires a horse. How many cattle do you have?”

  I totally blanked. I had no idea how many heads of cattle my dad owned, and worse, I didn’t know enough about ranches to make even a vaguely accurate lie.

  Instead, I deflected by saying, “It’s not a deal breaker. In fact, I have a lot of other house renovations I need help with. Is he handy with carpentry?”

  “Yes ma’am. He can do just about anything.”

  Ma’am. He actually called me ma’am. I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or old. “How about you come by the ranch tomorrow, take a look around, see what needs doing, and tell me if you can do the job.”

  His grin revealed perfect white teeth. “I figure we can do that! What do you pay?”

  Shit. That was another area I had zero expertise in. How much would three cowboys cost for a week? At the bank, our Information Technology contractors ran us about $5,000 per week. But I didn’t know if that was even in the ballpark, high or low.

  “Make me an offer,” I said.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “We were making $300 a week per person on a weekly basis. That seems fair to start. And if you think we’re suitable for long-term work, we can renegotiate then.”

  “Sounds like a deal to me.” His handshake was firm and warm.

  “I’m Landon Hughes,” he said. “My younger brothers are Daniel and Chase.”

  “Cindy Jameson.”

  “Jameson… Jameson Ranch? Out by route 41?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Good. I mean, great! This is perfect. We’ll see you tomorrow.” He took my hand in both of his and shook it one more time. “And thanks again for the opportunity.”

  “Don’t thank me until you see how run down my ranch is! You might think unemployment is a better choice.”

  He laughed at my joke and disappeared into the night.

  I stared after him while the cashier finished scanning my items. It felt good to have a plan. Three ranch hands should be enough to get the property into good enough shape to sell. By then the probate court would be done with all the paperwork, and I could bring in an estate seller to auction off the cattle, equipment, and then the land itself. Maybe all of it sold together as a package. It all seemed so simple.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  Landon

  I hopped in my car and drove back in a daze. Had that really just happened? A random person overheard me getting fired, and rather than laugh at me they offered me a job?

  Not to mention she was cute. Cindy Jameson. With her dress pants and fancy blouse she was as out of place as a horse at a hog tie, but that only made the offer more believable. Most ranch owners were crusty old men. If she’d been wearing jeans and a tube top I would have laughed at her.

  I parked the truck next to our camper and hopped out. Daniel had a fire going and was restlessly stirring the logs.

  “Chase around?” I asked. I wanted to give them the good news together.

  “Bar, probably,” Daniel grumbled without looking up. �
�You don’t need to say nothin’. I saw Anderson’s truck go screamin’ by five minutes ago like he was drivin’ straight to hell.” By the light of the campfire I could see the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s my fault…”

  “It was my fault for not telling him,” I insisted. “But…”

  “I’m tryin’ to do better, I swear.”

  “Daniel!” I interrupted. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’ve got news.”

  I told him about the argument with Mr. Anderson, and the unexpected proposition from Cindy. He listened quietly, drinking the words like they were water for his parched throat.

  “Did you tell her about my… how I can’t…” He trailed off, unable to say the words. I put a reassuring hand on his arm.

  “It’s not a problem. She’ll put you to other chores. Apparently she has a whole ranch to fix up.”

  “But did ya tell her? Does she know?”

  I softened my voice. “She overheard it from Anderson in the store. She didn’t say anything else about it, beyond asking if you were handy around the house.”

  His eyes brightened. “I’m handy as all hell!”

  “That’s what I told her. We start tomorrow on a one week trial contract.”

  “Just a week,” he said. “Did ya mention long term, possibly…”

  “I told her we were interested in long-term work, but I didn’t tell her anything beyond that.”

  “Why not?”

  I grabbed two beers out of the cooler and tossed one to Daniel. “She doesn’t need to know what we’re after just yet. If I told her, she might not have hired us at all. Let’s scope the place out, get a feel for how much the ranch is worth, then make our move when we’re ready.”

  He held my gaze a long moment, eyes twinkling in the fire. “Think it’ll work?”

  I clinked my beer can to his. “We’ll find out.”

  Cindy

  I have to admit: I slept like a goddamn baby.

  Don’t get me wrong. I loved city life. Austin wasn’t huge by most city standards, but my downtown condo on 6th Street still suffered a constant drone of car horns and street noise. Not to mention noisy neighbors above, below, and on either side of my condo.