Cowboy Heaven (6 page)

The tack room was quiet, except for the cat nursing her kittens in a box in the corner. We found an empty rack for Troy's saddle, then went out into the stable where I introduced him to the horses, including my Palomino mare, Goldie, who was due to foal at any time.

“You can ride Dusty's horse for now,” I said. “He's a pretty good guy and shouldn't give you any trouble.”

“Dusty or the horse?” Troy teased.

“Both, actually. Never had a lick of trouble from either one of them.”

“Until now?”

“I guess you could call a broken leg trouble. But Dusty can still feed the horses, pigs, and chickens, and he can drive a truck, so he isn't a total loss. I hadn't planned on hiring anyone to replace him until you came along. I'm not surprised he thought we might fire him. Although if he thought that, he must not have a very high opinion of us. Firing a guy because he got hurt on the job wouldn't be quite cricket, now would it?”

Troy shrugged. “It happens. Most people seem to think ranch hands grow on trees.”

“Not the good ones. It takes a certain kind of man to work on a ranch and live in a bunkhouse. Most guys want a family and their own place, which means a lot of our men are the loner type. They seem to get along with each other pretty well, though. I can't remember the last time Rufus had to break up a fight.” I paused for a moment, thinking about what Dusty had said. “You know it still bugs me that Dusty would think we might fire him. It's been ages since we let someone go. Some have quit, but fire one of them? No way! They're more like family than employees—at least that's how I see it. It never occurred to me to tell Dusty his job was safe after his accident—mainly because it never crossed my mind we wouldn't be keeping him on. It's not as if he's never going to be able to ride—the doctor said he'd be fine in a couple of months.”

“Sounds like he's heard some horror stories about what happens to broken-down cowboys. God knows there are plenty of them. I've been busted up myself a time or two.”

“Yeah, I noticed the scars on your shoulder. Torn rotator cuff?”

He nodded. “I'm surprised you saw those, under the circumstances.”

“I don't miss much,” I said. “Like the fact that your left boot heel is more worn than the right. You drag that foot slightly, don't you?”

“Torn ligaments in the knee and hip,” he replied with a grimace. “Courtesy of a Brahma named Carlos, which is why I gave up bull riding. Son of a bitch threw me up in the air like a rag doll. It's a wonder he didn't kill me.”

“I never
could
understand why anyone would feel the need to ride a bull! Bronc riding, yes, although nobody breaks horses that way anymore. But bull riding? As far as I can tell, it's nothing but a male ego thing—a contest to see who has the biggest balls. Most of the time, it's the bull.”

“Yeah, well, we're all young and stupid at some point,” he conceded. “It just takes some of us longer to wise up.”

“No shit. Are you good at anything besides calf roping?” I could've added more to that but thought it best to focus on his cowboy skills rather than his boy toy abilities.

He shrugged. “Lots of things. I can fix fences and brand cattle and give them shots and stuff like that. I'm a decent mechanic and a fair carpenter. Just don't ask me to sing around the campfire.”

“Not much of a singer, huh?”

“Couldn't carry a tune in a bushel basket,” he said with a grin.

So much for the country music duo idea. “No worries there. I can't sing a note. Rufus can, though. You wouldn't think it, but if you close your eyes, you'd think George Strait was sitting by your campfire. Plays guitar pretty well too.”

“You talk about him a lot,” Troy observed. “But I still can't figure out whether you like him.”

He had me there. I wasn't sure whether I liked Rufus myself. “He hired on here about the time I started high school, and I thought he was totally hot. Curly black hair and steely blue eyes—and he's still got the body he showed up here with. I had such a crush on him, but then I met Cody and the rest is history.

“He worked his way up to foreman, and I married Cody and had the kids, so I haven't given him much thought for a long time now. He's also about twenty years older than me, so there's that. But at thirty-five, he was a hunk. Can't say he's much fun, though, even if he does sing well. He's kinda grim. If I were desperate enough, I might consider him as a potential husband, but so far, I haven't been that desperate. I can't recall him ever having a girlfriend, even when he was younger—at least not that I know of—and he rarely leaves the ranch. I tend to giggle a lot, which I
know
he doesn't like, and he would be absolutely appalled to hear about even half of what we've done today.
Very
straitlaced. He doesn't even let the guys put girlie posters up in the bunkhouse.”

“I thought it seemed pretty tame in there,” Troy remarked. “You usually have to keep innocent eyes out of a bunkhouse.”

“I always assumed that was because of me. After Mom died, I was out there a lot to help with the upkeep and the cooking. Nothing changed when I got older, so maybe that was the way Dad and Rufus wanted it. They're two of a kind when it comes to stuff like that.”

“Point made,” he said, laughing. “I'll be discreet.”

I snorted a laugh. “I even had to be discreet with my husband. Cody and I worked out a code so we could talk dirty back and forth. No one ever caught on, and you wouldn't believe the fun we had.” The side-splitting laughter, the camaraderie, the joy…all of it gone. I'd done my best to avoid dwelling on the sorrow and focus on the happy memories. Although sometimes the happiest memories were the most painful to recall. The mere mention of that secret should have triggered a pang, but oddly enough, it didn't.

“I can imagine,” Troy said. “You'll have to teach it to me.”

Teach it to him? I'd never told anyone about the code. I hadn't even shared it with Jenny, and she was my best friend. Then again, perhaps it was the sort of thing only a lover needed to know…

“Let's see now… If Cody scratched his right ear, that meant he was hard as a rock. If I wanted to suck his dick, I chewed on my fingernail—stuff like that.”

“Great idea. What was the signal for fuck me?”

“Biting my lip,” I replied. “Although sometimes I'd do it without actually intending to and Cody would start scratching his ear like crazy before I noticed what he was doing.” I held up my hand, studying my fingers. “You know, my nails have never looked this good. Dad used to fuss at me for biting them so much. He just never knew what he was actually fussing at me about.”

“Maybe we could come up with something he wouldn't take exception to, like rubbing your chin.”

“That would work, although he might notice the new gesture. He's fairly observant—even though his eyesight isn't what it used to be. He's been failing for the past couple of years, and watching him deteriorate has been tough. Cody's death affected him almost as strongly as it did me and the kids. He used to say he had no qualms about how the ranch would be taken care of when he was gone. He's not so sure about it now.”

“He doesn't think you're up to going it alone?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “He says women are too softhearted to make good ranchers. I disagree, but I wouldn't mind having someone to discuss things with. My friend Jenny runs a ranch not far from here. Whenever she has a problem, she bounces it off me. I guess I'll do the same when Dad's gone.” I'd never dreamed I'd be living out my life without Cody, much less running the ranch by myself. Not that I'd taken him for granted—I'd cherished every moment of our time together. I just hadn't expected it to be so short.

“What about your sons?”

“Neither of them wants to come back to the ranch after college. I'm glad they have other interests, but it would be nice to think they'd be around to help out.”

Hearing hoofbeats, I glanced up as the men rode in, so any further comments Troy might have made were put on hold. Only then did I realize how much I was
not
looking forward to explaining Troy to Rufus. Dad had taken to the idea without too much trouble, but Rufus might be tougher to convince—especially since he hadn't been consulted. However, Rufus understood the chain of command. Dad was the boss and I was right under him. He might voice his concerns, but he always respected our authority.

My mention of Jenny reminded me I'd better give her a call since she was the best choice for someone who might have recommended Troy. As thorough as Rufus tended to be with such matters, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if he'd called her to check Troy's references.

I had to laugh because Jenny would
never
have sent me anyone as cute as Troy. She would have kept him for herself even if she had to sell off some of her herd to pay him. I only hoped Rufus wouldn't reach the same conclusion.

On the other hand, Jenny had a thing for handlebar mustaches. Although Troy was clean-shaven, she might have overlooked that deficiency in light of his other attributes. I certainly would have, but then mustaches were never a favorite of mine. Cody had grown one once, but it went up my nose whenever I kissed him, so he shaved it off.

As Rufus dismounted, I thought about what I'd told Troy about him. Yes, he still had the body he came here with. Although he was a big man, if there was an ounce of fat on him, I certainly couldn't see it. He had a commanding presence too—like a military officer or a football coach—and not only because of his size. Something in the set of his shoulders and the angle of his jaw made him stand out from the other men. In the years since I'd first met him, his thick, curly hair had gone from black to gray, and his eyes had become more piercingly blue. His face was leaner, and the lines in it had deepened, but it was the same face I had admired as a teenager.

Becoming foreman hadn't altered him in the slightest. He'd been born for the job. It was his perfect niche, perhaps even his destiny. If he'd ever aspired to be anything else, he kept it to himself, seeming content with his life.

I respected Rufus. He was dependable and always had the best interests of the ranch first and foremost in his mind, but he was tough. I'd seen him working with young horses. Although he was understanding up to a point, the horses always seemed to sense they were up against a much stronger will than their own, a persistence that would outlast them, and a clear knowledge he would triumph in the end. It was simply a matter of time.

In the interest of diplomacy, I figured it would be best to introduce Troy to Rufus and then let Rufus handle the rest of the introductions and the orientation to the ranch. I would let Troy decide what to tell the others about himself.

“Hey, Rufus,” I said. “This is Troy Whitmore. He was looking for work and Jenny Pennington sent him over since she didn't need any hands. Dad and I thought he could fill in for Dusty for a while. He's a rodeo cowboy and grew up on a ranch, so he should know what it's all about.”

Rufus stepped forward and smiled as he extended a hand to Troy. “Rufus Bentley. Welcome to the Circle Bar K.” As always, I felt there was something missing from his smile. Warmth, perhaps, or some other quality that would have made it seem more disarming, rather than a dictate of common courtesy.

“Thank you, sir,” Troy replied, giving Rufus a firm handshake.

“We were just about to wash up for dinner,” Rufus said. “Come along to the mess hall and we'll go over the job with you after we've eaten.”

I decided it was best for me to leave since the conversation would probably be much more interesting if I wasn't around. “I'll see you guys later. I'd better go fix dinner or Dad will be down here pestering you guys for something to eat.”

“That wouldn't be a problem,” Rufus said, cordial as always. “Not for us, anyway.”

Good
ol' Rufus.
Always perfectly correct, perfectly polite, and perfectly neutral. Marriage with him would be like being married to a cardboard statue. Lifelike perhaps, but inherently lifeless.

With a nod, I headed back to the house.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Dad didn't mention Troy, and I deemed it best not to introduce the topic. The way I saw it, the less I said about Troy the better. I didn't want to run the risk of waxing poetic about his sexy eyes or his cute butt, subjects I knew Dad wouldn't care to discuss with me or anyone else. I knew Jenny would, though, and I called her right after dinner.

“Does this mean you owe me one?” she asked after I'd told her about Troy.

“Owe you what?” I was playing dumb even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. Jenny was fond of men in general, which made it even more surprising she'd never found the right one. Perhaps she enjoyed shopping more than buying. “A favor or a cowboy?”

“I'll take either one,” she replied. “Although I'd rather have a nice, handsome cowboy. You know…big and tall with a handlebar mustache?”

“Yeah, I know the type,” I replied. “Haven't seen one around lately.”

Unless I were to count Bull Russell, our resident know-it-all, done-it-all cowboy. Bull had no hair on his head to speak of, but he did have a rather dramatic mustache. I'd never been able to figure out why a man who was so well versed in everything wound up working on a ranch. I could only assume it was because he truly was all bull, which might also have explained the nickname.

Bull never failed to have a story to tell about any topic that was mentioned. No matter the job, he'd done it, and no matter the person, he knew their cousin. If asked whether he'd completed some task or other, he never replied with a simple yes or no, but with, “Well, I'm gonna do that when…” or “I didn't do that because…” He always seemed to be on the defensive—possibly because his actions were the sort that usually needed defending—and he was the only one of the hands I found irritating. If he'd been in on a bunkhouse gangbang, he probably would have destroyed the mood by regaling us with tales about other—and much better—gangbangs in which he'd participated.