The Payback Man. Carolyn McSparren

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      “When’s this bitch coming?” Sweet Daddy asked.

      “Use that word near her and you’ll be walking around with those pretty hands in casts,” Newman snarled.

      “Might be worth it,” Sweet Daddy whispered. “Oooh-eee, what have we here? Yo, mama.” He grinned at something over Steve’s shoulder.

      “Good morning, gentlemen. I am Dr. Eleanor Grayson. We’re going to be working together.”

      Steve hadn’t been called a gentleman in years, and probably nobody had ever called any of the others gentlemen. He rested on the handle of his pitchfork and turned toward the voice. The others had stopped work, as well.

      It was that woman he’d seen with the other one—the beautiful black woman who worked with the GED program—the day he arrived at the farm.

      This woman was taller, with brown hair pulled back severely, revealing her strong bone structure. Almost no makeup. Oversize sweater and jeans.

      Bet she thought that sweater would hide her womanly charms. Not from these guys. Three years without a woman gave a guy X-ray vision and one hell of a fantasy life.

      Steve glanced at Sweet Daddy. The little man’s eyes were burning into her, stripping her in his mind with professional skill. From the way he licked his lips, Steve knew that he was assessing Dr. Grayson as if she were one of his women.

      Steve loathed Sweet Daddy’s attitude toward women. He longed to smash the pimp’s face, but that would give Newman a chance to smash his in return, probably kick him off this team and maybe out of this facility. He concealed his anger and kept his face blank.

      “At the moment there are only six of you on my team. I know you feel as though you are getting the dirty end, having to clean out this place, but I’ll be driving a tractor with a front loader and scraper blade for you. That should make things go smoother and faster. Also, when we do need additional personnel, those of you who make the grade will remain as supervisors of the new people. You’re getting in on the ground floor, no pun intended. Tomorrow we’re bringing in painters and carpenters to repair everything that needs repairing. The plumbing and electricity have already been done, or redone. There’s hot water in the shower room and on the wash racks. Monday of next week I’m bringing in our first cows. Any questions so far?”

      “Yeah.” Sweet Daddy raised his hand. Steve could already see the blisters on his palms beginning to pucker.

      “Yes, Doctor,” Newman said with menace.

      “Right, yeah. So, Doctor, do we get first choice on the steaks?”

      Everybody but Newman laughed. He snarled and started to move forward. The vet stopped him.

      “Good question. Not for a long time. It takes time to build a herd, especially a show herd like this one. But I promise you if you’re still here when we slaughter our first cow, you guys will definitely get steaks.”

      Everybody cheered.

      “Anybody here know how to ride a horse?”

      Steve raised his hand. So did a couple of other men whose names he didn’t know.

      “What kind?”

      “Just horses,” Steve said. “Nothing special.” The last thing he wanted was for these guys to know he’d played polo.

      One of the others admitted to riding horses as a child, and another had ridden occasionally many years earlier.

      “Okay. The horses you will be riding—” she waited until they’d settled down “—are cutting horses. I guarantee they are smarter and can move faster on a cow than you can think. You will fall off. A lot. You’ll also learn how to take care of horses. That should give you a skill that will be readily usable in this area, given the number of horses we have and the lack of knowledgeable stable help. You won’t be doing much riding until we get set up, and then just straightforward riding, and not much herding. Learning to stay on a cutting horse when he starts ducking from side to side to work a cow will take some time.”

      She rubbed her hands together. “Now, how about we go over names? I have a list, but if I go strictly by that, I’ll never keep you straight. If you introduce yourselves, I probably won’t remember your name right away, but I’ll try. Let’s start with you.” She pointed to the giant. Steve had sat behind him on the bus and beside him at meals, but he had never heard him speak.

      The big man hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

      “I’ll start,” Steve said. The giant gave him a grateful look. “Steve Chadwick. I’m here for—”

      “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what you did. I only care what you do from this point on. Clear?”

      He raised an eyebrow. “Clear.”

      She nodded and pointed to the man at Steve’s left, instead of back to the giant, who stood at Steve’s right.

      “Elroy Long, at your service. Call me Sweet Daddy.” The wiry little black man sketched a deep bow and grinned at her and then at the others. They snickered.

      She moved on.

      “Joseph Jasper, ma’am—uh, Doctor. They call me Slow Rise. I ain’t young, but I’m strong. Grew up on a farm. Worked cattle most of my life. Rode some years ago. Had my own place.”

      “Wonderful.”

      The fourth man was completely bald. Like the rest of them, he wore jeans and a work shirt, but all the visible skin, pate included, was covered with elaborate tattoos. Most were prison tattoos. Steve could tell from the black and blue ink and the lack of skill. Some, however, were colorful and beautifully done. A red-and-yellow dragon curled from the back of his right hand all the way up his arm, or at least as far as the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt allowed Steve to see.

      “Gil Jones,” he said.

      Steve thought he’d look more at home on a motorcycle.

      Dr. Grayson waited, but Jones said nothing more.

      Next to him stood a very young black man in a stocking cap. He was as tall as a basketball center but scrawny, as though the bone growth had outstripped his muscles. “Robert Dalrymple,” the boy said. His tone and expression were sulky.

      She inclined her head and smiled at him. Newman growled in the background. “You rode horses?”

      “My granddaddy had a couple of racking horses,” the kid said. “Ain’t been on no horse since.”

      “Let’s hope the skill stayed with you.”

      Finally she’d come back around to the giant. “You’re our last man,” she said with surprising gentleness. “What should I call you?”

      He raised his head and glanced around at the others. “My name is Bigelow Little, ma’am.” He sighed. “See, folks call me Big.”

      Sweet Daddy guffawed. “Big Little? Look at the size of him. Word up, man, you a freak.”

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