Just Once (9 page)

“Maybe another time,” I manage. “I have to work.”

Shane shrugs. “Any time.”

“No,” I say. “No other time. I’ll go to town, find a professional.”

He smiles faintly. “Suit yourself, Kate.” His gaze lingers for a second before we turn and walk in opposite directions.

After I return, lunch is considerably less hectic than breakfast, and it’s not until we’re wiping down the tables and sweeping the floor that Mary comes in.

“Kate,” she says, “do you have a minute?”

Even though I’m thirty, I flush like a guilty child. Did she see Shane and me near the barn? Did she misinterpret our spontaneous physical therapy appointment?

“Sure.” I follow her down the hall to the small suite of offices. I smile at Gina, the lone office worker responsible for taking reservations, processing payments, and pretty much everything else the office might be used for, and she returns the smile.

Mary leads me to the smallest office at the very back, the one I remember finding her in so many times in previous summers. It looks like it hasn’t been used much since the last time I was here. The walls are still decorated with pictures and awards, but the calendar is from three years ago and open to September, and with the exception of a dated computer—which is turned off—the desk is bare.

“Have a seat,” she says. I sit as she goes to the far side of the desk and gets comfortable.

“What’s up?” I thread my fingers together to hide my nerves.

She sighs. “I’m getting complaints from the guests.”

I straighten in surprise. I’ve been here half a week. “What kind of complaints?”

“The same ones I’ve been getting for the past couple of weeks,” she admits. “The girls aren’t doing the job. Food orders are getting mixed up, cabins aren’t fixed right…They’re just not getting it done.”

I know how hard it is to get good staff out here. There’s slim pickings in the mountains, and most of the staff are from other parts of the country, spending the summer on a ranch just to try something different. Each summer I spent here a handful of the staff quit, and no matter how crappy their work ethic had been, they were still able bodies needed to get the basics accomplished, and they were missed. Mary can’t just fire these girls—it’ll take weeks to find new ones, and we’ll be screwed. Or I will be, because I’ll be the lone kitchen/cabin girl.

“I’ll talk to them,” I promise. “I dug out the old cabin checklist this morning, and I’ll start inspecting the cabins to make sure things are getting done. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

She runs a hand through her hair, and I’m surprised to see just how gray it is. I realize she’s aged—we both have.

“I’m getting too old for this, Kate. Hiring, firing—I just can’t be bothered. I want to enjoy this place, not run it.”

“You can do that,” I assure her. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll talk to the girls, and things will get better. I promise.”

She smiles and looks relieved. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetie. We missed you.”

I step around the desk and hug her. It’s been a long time since I’ve hugged someone for reasons other than hello or goodbye. “Me too,” I say.

I return to the dining room just as the girls are preparing to leave. “Not so fast,” I say firmly. “Have a seat.”

They exchange looks and slump into seats around one of the tables. I join them and pull out the list of guest complaints Mary gave me. “Does anyone know what this is?” I ask a sea of blank faces.

“Another checklist?” Janie asks dryly.

“Guest complaints,” I reply. “A long list of them. We’re going to go over the list one by one and see what we can do to fix them.”

Janie rolls her eyes.

“Question?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Why are we being blamed for this?”

I read the first item on the list. “Towels not replaced in cabin four for three straight days.”

The girls avoid my eyes.

“You’re not being
blamed
for anything,” I force myself to say calmly. “But this is your job and it could be done better, so I’m here to teach you how.”

“Great.”

“You applied for a position as a kitchen/cabin girl.” I address the comment to all three girls, but really it’s for Janie. “Don’t act surprised when that’s what you’re expected to do.”

“So somebody forgot some freakin’ towels. Big deal!” she exclaims. “It’s not like somebody died.”

“If we can’t do the small things right—like replace towels—how can guests feel confident about the rest of their visit? How do they know the food is prepared well or the horses are trained?”

“What does this even have to do with us? We’re supposed to be off now.”

“Well, you’re not. We’re going to take this list and go over it point by point until I’m confident you understand why it
is
a big deal that a cabin didn’t get new towels for three days.”

“This is ridiculous.”

I bite my tongue before I can tell her it’s her attitude that’s ridiculous. I didn’t come here to be the bad guy, but she’s doing a great job of pushing me into it.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Two hours later Becca and Janie, even Hailey, are on the last threads of their patience. I lost mine some time ago near cabin five when Becca, supposedly in charge of cleaning it for the past week, could not find the vacuum she swore she’d used earlier that morning.

“The checklist was not a suggestion!” I snapped, not for the first time. “None of what I’m saying is optional. Just do it!”

It’s after three when I send them back to the bunkhouse and sneak myself into the lounge. One of the rules for the new, wiser me is to drink less, but if anyone needs a shot right now, it’s me. Plus, as “management,” it’s totally fine for me to help myself every once in a while.

The lounge is blessedly empty when I tiptoe behind the bar. It actually is okay for me to be here, but I can’t shake the feeling of being seventeen and doing this exact same thing—minus the permission. I’ve got a shot glass on the bar and have just found the tequila when I hear, “Make it two,” from behind me.

I whirl around and nearly drop the bottle when I see Lisa taking a seat at the bar. Her nose is covered with gauze bandages and both her eyes are rimmed with bruises, making her look like a sad raccoon.

“How old are you?” I ask.

She smiles and slumps forward. “Eighteen.”

“So…illegal.”

“Please?” She bats her eyes at me.

“Wrong gender,” I reply, filling my glass and grabbing a lemon wedge from the fridge. “Besides,” I tell her, “as rough as you look, trust me when I say my day has been worse.”

“That’s what I was hearing.”

I down the shot. “What did you hear?”

“That you’re a slave driver.”

I nod and pour a second shot. My last one, definitely. “That’s not too far off.”

“Why’d you come back here?” Lisa asks.

“To the bar?”

She shakes her head, and I down the second shot, wincing as I bite down on the lemon.

“I came back for a change of pace,” I say finally. “I needed things to slow down a little, get my head on straight.”

“Why? Weren’t you in Hong Kong or something?”

I shrug. “It wasn’t really a place I was trying to leave. More like…a pattern.”

“Of what?”

That’s a hard question to answer. No one likes to hear a rich person complain about how hard it is to be rich. I mean, on paper my life was awesome: free travel, the best hotels, great food, interesting people, shows, and concerts. Then there’s the first-class flights, champagne, and designer clothes. And for a while it was awesome. But somehow, gradually, I started to love those things less. I didn’t eat a great meal and feel fancy, didn’t put on expensive shoes and feel like a queen. I started to feel empty and lonely and old.

Self-pity is unattractive on anyone, but it’s extremely unattractive on a wealthy blonde in seven-hundred-dollar heels, so I kept those thoughts to myself and let them fester. Even if I had wanted to share them, I wouldn’t have known where to turn. Sure, I had friends—acquaintances, really—but I kept them at a distance. It’s only in these past six months that Stanley and I have become close, though I’ve known him for ten years. I’d made and lost so many friends in my travels that it never seemed worth opening up to anybody. But I can’t tell Lisa all this, though I appreciate her asking.

“I just realized I wanted something else,” I eventually answer.

“Like what?”

I give a dry laugh. “Good question.”

I put the tequila away, and it’s Lisa’s turn to sigh sadly.

“What about you?” I ask. “What brought you out here?”

“Janie.”

“You’re sisters?” With their long blond hair and big blue eyes, they’re the very image of American apple pie.

“Cousins,” she corrects. “We’re starting college in the fall, and she wants us to pledge together. I made the mistake of telling her I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in a sorority and next thing I know she’s handing me a plane ticket and telling me we’re working at a dude ranch for the summer. A dude ranch!”

I can’t help but laugh at her dismay. “Interesting choice of punishment.”

“I don’t even know what she was thinking,” Lisa moans. “I mean, we don’t know anything about horses…or cleaning.”

“No kidding.”

“And she hates it here. Like, she flirts with the wranglers, but…I don’t know. She’s not really meant for working.”

“What about you?”

Lisa looks around, confused. “What about me?”

“Do you hate it here?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

What should have been a statement comes out as more of a question. While it’s hard for me to relate to someone—anyone—not loving it here, even on days like this, I can empathize with feeling like you don’t know where you belong.

“Give it time,” I tell her. “It’ll get better.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“You’ve got a plane ticket, don’t you? It has to end sometime.”

Chapter Six

J
ANIE
A
ND
B
ECCA
G
IVE
M
E
the silent treatment throughout dinner service. Hailey’s on dish duty and because Lisa’s still upstairs mourning her bruised face (and the lack of tequila with which to drink away her pain), I help run the food.

Carrying trays of five or six plates was hard enough last time I did this, but today I find it positively exhausting. My feet are aching, and I’m bitter as I watch Janie and Becca dart around easily, beaming and laughing with the guests, then turning the evil eye on me when they catch me looking. I sigh. I yelled at them once already today. I’m not going to go overboard.

At least Hailey is still on my side. “How’s it going?” she asks when I bring in a load of dirty plates.

I scrape leftovers into the compost bin. “Not bad,” I lie. “Tiring.” I rotate my shoulder. I’ve been here less than a week, and while I’d hate to admit Shane is right, maybe I should make a trip to town sooner rather than later. This knot isn’t working itself out. If anything, it’s getting worse.

I set down the plates and pour myself a glass of water. I didn’t have time for a nap earlier—after cracking the whip with the girls and chatting with Lisa I was lucky to squeeze in a shower before dinner. I close my eyes when I hear the familiar sound of covered plates being stacked.

“Sorry,” Alec says, instead of “Ranch hands’ dinner is ready.”

I down half the water and set the glass on the counter. My two-person idea is going to have to wait until we have hands to spare. I have a feeling we’re lucky Becca and Janie even showed up for dinner service, so I’m not going to ask them to make the trip.

“I’m on it,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. I hoist the stack of plates, feeling their warmth against my chest, and maneuver out the back door. I’ve just rounded the corner of the lodge when I hear the rapid pounding of running feet. Big ones. Clad in work boots.

“What’s going on?” I shout. I know it’s Shane, but if he’s running from something, I want to know what and get a head start.

“Here,” he says, breathing hard as he stops in front of me. I feel his calloused palm on the back of my hand as he takes the stack of plates from me. I shake out my arms and stare at him. Against his big frame the plates look miniscule.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“You don’t have to do this anymore,” he replies.

“Do what?”

“Bring the food over.”

“Well, there’s no one else right now. Janie and Becca hate—”

“Leave it on the counter inside the door, and we’ll pick it up.”

“Oh. But I thought—”

“Why are you arguing?” He arches that damn brow again.

“I’m not.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

I whirl around to go back inside. “Just fine.”