Cowboy Dad. Cathy Mcdavid

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СКАЧАТЬ an hour and a half before dinner.”

      What had been a four-minute golf-cart ride would be a fifteen-minute walk. Aaron checked his watch. He had plenty of time to shower and clean up before meeting his coworkers at dinner. Or, was that employees since he technically owned one-eighth of the ranch?

      Better to come off as a coworker, he decided, if he wished to fit in and make friends with the staff. Aaron had a reason to be here, and it wasn’t to show anyone who was boss. He’d leave that to Jake.

      “See you at dinner,” Natalie said and drove off.

      Something else for Aaron to look forward to, he thought, watching her putt-putt down the road.

      Only after she disappeared from sight did he turn and walk up the steep path to the bunkhouse. At the door, he set down his duffel bag and tried the knob. The hinges squeaked when he opened the unlocked door, announcing his arrival.

      “Anyone home?”

      No one answered so he went inside.

      The bunkhouse was small, yet comfortable. A two-person breakfast bar separated the galley kitchen from the living room. Three rooms led off a short hallway; two bedrooms and a bathroom the size of a large closet. Furniture was sparse. Each bedroom contained a set of twin beds and a single dresser.

      Both rooms were occupied, as evidenced by shoes left in the middle of the floor and toiletries on the dresser tops. Aaron opted to wait and see which bed was available before stowing his things. Taking some clean clothes from his duffel bag, he hit the shower. He met two of his bunkmates when he finished a short time later.

      “Hey,” a guy with a scruffy goatee greeted him from the kitchen. He was wearing a tan shirt and matching pants. “How’s it going?”

      He appeared neither surprised nor annoyed to find a stranger using his bathroom. The same could be said for the guy on the couch, who wore an identical uniform and was stretched out with his feet propped up on a thrift-store-style coffee table, listening to his iPod.

      “Want one?” The guy in the kitchen held up a beer.

      “No, thanks.”

      “Can’t drink alcohol anywhere but inside your bunkhouse,” the guy told Aaron before tipping back his longneck bottle and taking a lengthy pull. “They’re real strict about that. If a guest sees you drinking, you’ll be fired on the spot.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.” Aaron unzipped his duffel bag and removed a plastic sack. He added dirty clothes to his growing pile. “Is there a laundry around here?”

      “Behind the dining hall.” The guy hitched his chin as if the laundry were right across the road rather than a good mile up it. “By the way, I’m Randy. That there is Skunk.”

      “Skunk?”

      Randy shook his head. “Don’t ask. You’ll just make him mad.”

      If Skunk knew they were talking about him he gave no indication. Head resting on the back of the couch, he listened to his iPod with closed eyes. He might have been napping except for the beer he raised to his lips every other minute like clockwork.

      “I’m Aaron.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Randy toasted him. “Where you from?”

      “Laveen, originally,” he answered, naming the small rural community southeast of Phoenix where he was born and raised. “I’ve been traveling a lot since I graduated high school.”

      “Yeah, haven’t we all.”

      “Which bed is mine?” Aaron didn’t suppose either of these two would make a bad roommate. Randy appeared agreeable enough and Skunk was quiet.

      A slow smile spread across Randy’s face. “Me and Skunk got the room to the right.”

      “Who’s in the bedroom to the left?”

      Randy’s smile expanded until it stretched from ear to ear. “Terrence.” He said the name with both reverence and amusement.

      Aaron got the distinct impression he was the brunt of some joke only Randy was in on. He decided to go along with it for now. Nothing wrong with a little sport among friends.

      “What do you and Skunk do on the ranch?” he asked.

      “Skunk’s with maintenance, and I’m with groundskeeping. He keeps the rental ATVs running for the guests. I pick up their litter.” Randy took another swig of his beer. “It’s not such a bad living I reckon. What about you?”

      “Ranch hand, I think. I’m supposed to report to Gary Forrester in the morning.”

      “You’ll be working with Terrence then.” Randy’s smile became ridiculously large.

      Aaron began to suspect he was in for a real treat when he met this Terrence, and not a good one. He was just getting the rundown on the community tipping pool when a heavy thumping sounded from the porch.

      Randy shot out from behind the breakfast bar. “Terrence is home.”

      Skunk opened his eyes and removed his headphones, letting them fall onto his lap.

      Whoever this Terrence was, he commanded a lot of attention.

      The door flew open. A tall, broad, dark figure stopped and stood, filling every inch of the open space. Arms ripped with muscles extended from a sleeveless work shirt. Boots—size thirteen at least—stepped over the threshold and came down with a hard clunk on the bare floor, the spurs jangling. A rattlesnake tattoo wound around a thick, corded neck.

      Aaron swallowed, admittedly intimidated. He’d met cowboys who looked more like homeboys, but never a cowgirl.

      “Hi, Terrence,” Randy chirped. “Meet your new roomie.”

      She stared at Randy as if she might eat him alive for breakfast. “My name ain’t Terrence. It’s Teresa.” She enunciated each syllable while pointing a finger at him with the same aggression some people raised a fist. “And you morons better start calling me that.”

      “It’s really nice to meet you, Teresa.” Aaron considered shaking her hand but decided she might inadvertently crush his fingers.

      “I don’t room with no one.” She glared at him. “That was the agreement when I took this job.”

      “Guess the agreement’s changed.” Randy burst into laughter. So did Skunk. They both shut up when Teresa fixed her glare on them.

      “We’ll just see what Natalie has to say about this.”

      “Why don’t I sleep on the couch,” Aaron suggested.

      “Good idea.” Teresa removed her hat and sailed it across the room. It landed on the coffee table, inches from Skunk’s feet. She wiped her damp forehead and patted her many rows of tight braids, woven with beads of all colors. “I’m taking a shower. Anyone who steps foot in the bathroom is a dead man.”

      No one so much as blinked.

      “She СКАЧАТЬ