After sitting for an hour and talking to Max, Rory was sure the wiry little man would be hired. He’d been let go when the owner of the ranch he’d worked on for most his life had died suddenly and his kids had sold the ranch not long after their daddy was in the ground.
Max knew his way around a ranch, that was for sure—but so did Rory.
The fact that he was about the same age as the fit-throwing applicant who was RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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interviewed before Max would not work in Rory’s favour. He’d argue for this job if he had to, though, because he had more than one reason to want to work here now. He twitched as laughter rang out from the office—someone was having a helluva time in there.
And why was that bothering him? He didn’t think he’d be able to laugh and joke with Chance Galloway just yet—he was still recovering from the jolt that shot through him when Galloway had stepped out from the office to call in the first guy in line. It wasn’t just that the man was hot as hell with his salted black hair and chestnut brown eyes, and a body that was firmly packed and stacked in all the right places. It was also the fact that fate had a wicked sense of humour.
The office door opened, and this time Rory dared a peek over his shoulder. Chance and Max were all smiling and joining each other’s fan club. Rory’s frown deepened as he realised what an idiot he was being. What was wrong with him, anyway? Max had obviously been hired, and was being congratulated and all that warm fuzzy stuff. He turned away as Max started walking through the living room, waiting until the man was close to the couch before standing with his back to Chance.
Smiling, Rory clasped hands with Max. “Way to go, Max, congratulations.” Max’s grin was so wide it almost looked painful.
“Thanks, Rory. Told Mr Galloway…I mean, Chance, that you seemed to be the only other man out here who knew his way around working a ranch.” Max slapped Rory on the back, ending with a push that didn’t even tempt Rory’s feet into moving. “Go on, now, you’re up.”
Rory nodded and wondered why his feet suddenly felt like they were stuck in mud. He wasn’t an insecure man, and he knew he was more than qualified for any position on this ranch. If he had to wheedle his way into a job, that was what he’d damn well do. He did, however, slap his Stetson on low and hope that it, along with keeping his head tilted down, might buy him some time before Chance made any snap judgments.
He couldn’t put off raising his head—well, he didn’t have to raise it too far, or he’d be looking down at his potential employer—forever. Stepping up to Galloway and tipping his chin up, Rory offered his hand.
“Rory Calhoun, Mr Galloway.” Rory watched Chance’s eyes widen and then narrow to unhappy-looking slits . Hells bells, he’s gonna be all bent over my age, among other things. The idea ticked Rory off, but he only smiled politely instead. “Should we step into your office, Mr RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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Galloway?” Anger was replaced with amusement once Rory realised the man was looking kind of shell-shocked.
“Do I know you, Mr Calhoun?” Those molten brown eyes were narrowed as
Galloway’s gaze seemed to jump all over Rory, trying to answer the question themselves.
“No, sir, I believe you do not.” At all, but if you really want the opportunity, I’m game. Rory stopped that train of thought before it left the station—and him with a hard on he wouldn’t be able to hide. That was definitely not the kind of first impression he wanted to make.
Galloway gave Rory a slow nod, still looking a little suspicious and displeased.
Irritation with the man’s attitude burned at the base of Rory’s spine before settling in his gut.
He wasn’t going to lose this job just because Mr Chance Galloway had a hang up about age.
What was that called anyways? Age-something? Ageism? He’d better know that word because he was pretty certain he’d have to toss it out there.
“Please step into my office, Mr Calhoun.” The tone of the man’s voice made Rory feel like something to be scraped off of his prospective boss’ shoe. He didn’t like it one bit. Spine stiffening until Rory thought it just might snap, he held his head up high as he walked past Galloway and into the office.
“Have a seat, please, while I look over your information.” Galloway flipped open the folder and started reading, eyebrows winging up in surprise and grunting softly.
Rory removed his hat before sitting, then had to picture a naked woman to keep his cock from springing to full mast. The man across from him was entirely too sexy, and that grunt had Rory thinking… Grandma in a bikini—an image seared into his memory like the worst sort of nightmare, from when he’d visited the grandfolks in Florida—caused a meltdown of the grey matter in his head, but it did the job and knocked his libido down to his ankles.
This time when Galloway met his eyes, Rory was ready for the jolt of electricity that he felt arc between them—and he had no doubt that the other man felt it, even though he didn’t like it. Rory wasn’t going to do a thing to help the man out—he’d keep his expression flat and a chorus of Grandma-Grandma-Grandma ringing in his ears.
“You worked at the Mossy Glenn ranch in Montana for eight years, Mr Calhoun? You seem awfully young to have been working that long.” The skepticism in the man’s voice had Rory itching to poke at him. The implication he was lying threatened to override his common sense, something he could not allow to happen.
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“Rory, please, Mr Galloway. And yes, I did.” Here it comes…
“Yet I can’t call for a reference? Why is that?” Rory was tempted to tell Galloway that if it was possible he should let just a little more disbelief drip from his tongue, but he knew he’d be acting as immature as the older man thought him to be. Taking a deep breath, Rory dropped his defenses just enough to answer.
“That would be because my father, Ian Calhoun, wouldn’t give me one. You can confirm that he is the owner of the Mossy G with a few clicks of a mouse.” Rory twirled his Stetson around and around on his fingers, not giving thought to how much of a tell the action was. “I listed a number for my sister, who still lives and works on the ranch. She can give you a reference and again, it’s a simple enough matter to confirm.”
The darting of Galloway’s eyes to the spinning Stetson had Rory stilling the felt hat immediately. The older man’s eyes stayed on that hat where it rested high on Rory’s thigh.
Queen Elizabeth shot into his mind, dancing a jig.
“Would you…can you tell me what happened to end your employment at the Mossy Glenn?” Chance’s voice sounded distracted as he continued staring at what Rory hoped was his hat, but was beginning to suspect otherwise.
Rory didn’t let the tone fool him. He could almost see the curiosity rising off Galloway.
“No, sir. I can only tell you that it was personal, having nothing to with my job performance.
Again, you can check with Annabelle on that. She won’t tell you the why, either, though.”
Galloway finally met his gaze, considering. He tipped his head to the side, baring a corded neck that made Rory’s mouth water. Giving up on the dancing Queen, he crossed an ankle over his knee and let his hat slide against his groin. Galloway’s eyes narrowed but Rory refused to crack. Stoic, he could do, mostly.
“So what happens, Mr—Rory,”—Galloway caught himself before Rory had his mouth open more than half an inch—“when your dad decides to drop whatever it is that pissed him off?”
Stoicism collapsed under the weight of bitter laughter. “Oh, no, no, Mr Galloway. I can assure you that isn’t going to happen, not at all. And before you ask about the ranch, it’s already been deeded to my sister upon his death. If she tries to sell it to me or let me step one foot on the property, it will be sold to the current foreman, and let me tell you, that man purely hates my guts.” Rory clamped his mouth shut,
shocked he’d said so much. Galloway, however, just continued to study him closely. Rory tried not to fidget but felt exposed after RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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his lunatic breakdown. Now if he lost the job, he wouldn’t be able to use the ageism defense.
Galloway leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin as he stared at Rory. For his part, Rory felt like he was dissected by the dark, driven gaze, and it unsettled him in a way that nothing else in recent memory had. He kept his jaw locked tight and did his best to appear sane after his rambling outburst.
“All right, Rory. You’re hired, though I will be checking with your sister, you understand.” Galloway rose and Rory followed quickly, trying to hide his surprise. He’d expected a tougher battle for the job, though inside, he felt like he’d been thoroughly stomped by a bull. Amazing the pain family can cause.
“Thank you, Mr Galloway,” Rory murmured as he took the older man’s hand for a quick shake. He buried the thought that he was certain Galloway hadn’t made Max’s job conditional on a reference check. “I won’t let you down.”
Galloway gave a sharp nod, still watching him with an intensity that belied his disinterested attitude. “You can put your things in the bunkhouse—right now it’s just Max and you. Hopefully I’ll be able to add a couple more hands in a few months.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you again, Mr Galloway.” Rory turned and headed out of the house, willing himself not to babble in gratitude and make himself look like an even bigger fool.
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Chapter Three
Chance flopped back into his desk chair, comforted by the creaking noise the leather made at the impact. His eyes were drawn back to Rory’s file before he could stop himself.
He’d been prepared to find some reason not to hire the man, stupid as it may have been, because he was first and foremost too damned attractive.
Despite being young and having the face of an angel—he even had pale blond curls that framed his gorgeous face, for Christ’s sake, and eyes so deep a blue they almost appeared black—he appealed to Chance on a level that frightened him with its intensity. He’d had to hide his hard on behind his desk until he could get some small manner of control. Rory had given him that with his pain-filled laughter when asked about the reason his own father had fired him.
Fired—hell, disowned was what it was, and Chance had a sneaking suspicion he knew why. Didn’t believe it was wishful thinking, either. When the younger man had let his hat slip down to his lap, Chance had actually gone from having a sneaking suspicion to a damned good idea of why. He would have laughed if it had happened to someone else—as was usually the case, it wasn’t funny when it happened to oneself.
Now he had in his employ one sexy man who, if he’d been fifteen years older—or at least ten, Chance could have handled ten—Chance would have…done nothing. He needed help on the ranch more than he needed to get laid, no matter how much his prick thought otherwise.
That particular part of his anatomy had sat up and taken notice of the blond man like no one before, with the exception of the stranger at the bar Saturday night.
“Must be it—damned stranger with the magic hands turned me into a horny old man.”
Not that Chance really thought forty was ancient or anything, but in a world that worshipped youth and beauty, it was hard not to feel old and worn down. Which was a good reason to keep the younger man at a distance. He wouldn’t feel any sympathy for the…Rory.
Hadn’t been anyone to pick Chance up when he’d been toppled by life, and he’d made it.
Not without an issue or two, but who didn’t have at least a couple?
And all this self-examination was a stalling technique and he knew it. He would not RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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allow himself to feel guilty for doing this to Rory only and not Max as well. Chance trusted his gut, and he was certain that Max was legit. When it came to the younger of his employees, however, there were just too many feelings swirling around in Chance’s head and body for him to believe his judgement sound towards Rory.
Chance picked up his cell phone then dialled the number listed for one Annabelle Calhoun and was treated to hellacious music on the other end as he waited for her to answer.
Who had ever thought that bit of technology was a good idea?
“Hello,” a rough voice barked across the line. Chance bit back a snicker of surprise and hoped like Hades that wasn’t Rory’s sister on the phone. If so…eesh.
“I’m calling for Annabelle Calhoun. May I speak to her, please?”
“Who is this? What do you want with Annabelle?” Chance had a sneaking suspicion the angry man on the phone was Rory’s dad, and as much as he was tempted to tell the man why he was calling, because he was sure Ian Calhoun would tell Rory’s story in a vitriolic outburst, Chance had enough integrity to hold himself back.
“Is she available?” Chance kept his voice reasonable and calm. He wanted the reference check on Rory—the cursing coming across the line proving he was irritating Calhoun senior with his perseverance was just a bonus.
“I’ll just call back at another time.” Like when you’re better adjusted to your psych meds.
Chance disconnected the call and turned his phone off for a bit. He was pretty sure he’d have some fun messages to listen to later.
Right now, he needed to head over to the bunkhouse and give his employees the detailed worklist he’d made up, as well as discuss salary with Rory.
Odd that the man hadn’t even asked about it, and Chance had to acknowledge that he’d been too busy trying to suffocate his attraction to the younger man to even think about salaries. He would have to get his brain out of his balls and act like the boss instead of an old horndog. Chance just prayed he was up to the challenge.
Chance’s stomach sunk down to his kneecaps when he discovered Max alone in the bunkhouse.
“Hey, boss, what can I do for you?” Max’s grin was infectious, reaching out to Chance RORY’S LAST CHANCE
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and inviting him to share in a laugh at the world in general. How could the man be so cheery? It wasn’t natural.
“I came to give you and Rory the worklist, answer questions about it if y’all had any.
Also realised I needed to discuss something with Rory we completely forgot about in his interview. Do you know where he is?” Chance didn’t want to ask—he did not want to be alone with the all-too-appealing man if possible.
“He got a phone call a few minutes ago. Couldn’t help but overhearing a man’s voice yelling at him. You know how loud those cell phones can be.” Max eyed him in a way that made Chance wonder just what the smaller man was seeing.
“Yeah, they can be very…um. I guess I can leave the list with you and you can fill Rory in on it. I’ll just catch up with him on the other thing another time. Or he may be back by the time we’re done. If you want, I can wait while you look the list over. Just in case you have any questions.” Chance sneaked a peek out the door and still didn’t see Rory anywhere.
Maybe he’d gone out behind the barn. He turned back to find Max studying him intently.
“He’s probably done and checking out the place. Said he was gonna do that right ‘fore his phone rang, if ya want to go see,” Max suggested.
“No. I doubt he’d want anyone overhearing…whatever is going on in that call if it’s not over.” Guilt tickled Chance’s brain—had he inadvertently sicced Calhoun senior on Rory?
The idea made him feel like a jackass. Of course he had. The kick he’d got out of provoking Ian Calhoun had flung back around and caught Rory upside the head.
“Shit. Okay, Max, here’s the list. You’ve both had enough experience for it to be self-explanatory anyway. If either of you do have questions, just come up to the house. Any time you need any
thing, don’t hesitate.”
Chance had barely placed the paper in Max’s hand before he was turning and striding out the door, trying to keep a little dignity by walking fast rather than running. He stopped and listened, hoping to catch the sound of Rory’s voice but heard nothing other than the occasional cow or horse. Going on instinct, Chance headed to the barn, rounding the corner when he reached it. He spotted Rory slumped against the wall.
“Holding up the barn?” God, when had he got so lame? Chance knew without a doubt he was never going to get laid again with lines like that escaping out of his mouth. Rory’s profile was every bit as fine as the man looked head-on. His full mouth tipped up in a slight smile, at least on the half Chance could see.
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“Look, Rory…” What? I’m sorry your old man’s an ass? Sorry I tried to check your references but not Max’s? Sorry I’m an ass?
“Annabelle will be calling you as soon as she can get away from Ian, probably tomorrow or the next day. She texted me after she got her phone back from him. Good thing he doesn’t know how to delete numbers and such, huh?” Rory kept his gaze down, staring at, Chance would bet, nothing other than what was playing out behind his eyes.
He walked closer to the younger man, unable to keep his distance in the face of Rory’s pain. Chance wouldn’t, however, let himself reach out for Rory. That’s what he thought, at least, and was therefore the more startled of the two when he brought a hand to rest on Rory’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry. Please let your sister know that the references are unnecessary.” Rory’s dark blue eyes met Chance’s and there was no way either man could deny the heat that passed between them. Chance pulled his hand back, tucking it down deep into his front jeans pocket to keep it from slipping away from him again.
Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance Page 2
