by S. Cook
Concern had already spread over my face.
“I’m just teasing,” Tina said with a loud laugh at my expense. “You should see your face. The old man had cancer, they just found it too late because he didn’t go to the doctor regularly. I was only joking!” She laughed in a good-natured way, then realized she’d upset me. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was only playing with you. I didn’t realize you would take me seriously. Mustang is harmless, really. As far as I know. He’s just...quirky. And a little weird. More than a little, if I’m being honest.”
“What exactly do you mean by quirky? My mama was quirky, and she’d shoot you for touching her remote control.”
I was still stinging from falling victim to Tina’s joke.
“You know, little things he does. Unique Mustang kind of odd things.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I have a few ideas about that guy, but I’ve never heard the term ‘Mustang things’ before.”
“Well, you know...like how he won’t go inside the house. Ever.”
I raised my eyebrows, having never noticed that about him, then remembering the way Mr. Munroe had talked about it. I’d dismissed it at the time.
“Try it if you don’t believe me,” Tina continued. “Next time you see him, invite him inside. Or better yet, ask him to reach something down for you that is located inside. He won’t do it, I swear. Not under any circumstances.”
“Wow, I never paid attention, but now that you mention it, I’ve never even seen him come up on the porch. But what about his own house? He lives somewhere else on the property, right?”
“Oh yeah, he lives out there on the ranch somewhere. He doesn’t live inside. Your house, your barn, and anything right there on your plot are the only buildings on the site. He might go into one of the caves, I guess, if it gets too cold. I know that he stays outside even in the rain. We’ve seen him over on our place from time to time, soaking wet and walking along like it’s just any other sunny day. The weather doesn’t faze him at all.”
I wrinkled my forehead, worrying over what I was hearing about the strange guy who was state-appointed to live on my property.
He couldn’t be dangerous, could he?
I couldn’t help the thought that crossed my mind.
After all, he’d taken a minute to teach me to shoot. Why would he do that if he had plans to hurt me? And he did offer to patch my roof for me. If he wanted me gone, he’d just let it cave in over my head.
“And you know,” Tina said, smiling slyly, “he’s not so bad to look at either. I don’t know how he keeps that six pack as toned as it is, but it must involve ripping tree trunks out of the ground and doing reps with them. Personally, I would love to get my hands on those biceps of his. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”
“I haven’t,” I said, hoping Tina couldn’t see through my lie.
The truth was I thought of Mustang quite a bit lately, especially at night when I was alone in my house. Tina hit the nail on the head when she said Mustang was sexy and good looking.
It had surprised me that I felt that way, since Mustang was the first tattooed man I’d ever really thought of as sexy. Usually I liked a clean cut, suit-wearing city man, with a wide vocabulary and the same interests as me.
Something about Mustang’s raw sexuality grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.
“Where do you want to go first?” Tina asked.
“What?” I replied, interrupting my thoughts of Mustang and his interesting tattoos.
“Still thinking about those biceps, aren’t you?” she joked.
We arrived at the first of several stores and I bought my supplies. Now that I’d been living there a couple of weeks I had a better idea of what to expect.
I managed to get a few names of reputable people who could help with my water well situation. Afterwards, we went to the hardware store to get an idea of how much to budget for my roofing materials.
The two projects were more than I’d bargained for, and I was glad the real estate agent in Seattle had emailed me telling me she’d had two offers on the condo already. I would be needing cash soon to buy the materials for the roof and to pay Mustang a reasonable fee.
I wondered if he’d charge double to work with his shirt off? It would be worth it.
The thought suddenly slipped into my mind. My cheeks turned warm and I looked around to see if Tina caught my guilty look.
As guilty as it might make me feel, it was true. His worn t-shirts and jeans barely concealed the tight muscles I knew were hidden underneath.
I managed to finish my errands without any more inappropriate thoughts about Mustang, deciding the best time for those images was when I was alone.
***
It was another three days before I had a chance to test Tina’s theory about Mustang.
He appeared out of nowhere when the team came to dig the well, watching them carefully as they backed up an enormous truck with what looked like the world’s largest drill bit on the back.
Mustang stood by and didn’t interfere, only glared with his enormous arms crossed in front of his chest in a way that made his biceps appear huge.
He looks like he’s standing watch while they dig, I thought.
What right did he have to show up on my property whenever he pleased?
Ignoring me completely while I tried to place pots under leaks in the roof, then standing there practically supervising the professional crew doing the digging?
Oh, right. He’s the caretaker of the ranch.
He needs to make sure they don’t do any additional damage.
Whatever issues made him “quirky,” as Tina had called him, at least he was doing his job. I found my attitude toward him softening a bit.
I wandered out to join the men.
“How are things coming along with the roof?” I asked Mustang when none of the men acknowledged me.
Chapter 8: Mustang
I glanced over at the clueless woman standing beside me as she asked the most ridiculous question I’d ever heard.
There were many things I could possibly say to her, but judging by the expression on her face, I gathered that the noise had gotten to her already and she was not in the mood for sarcastic answers.
“The roof is still the same,” I replied curtly.
“I can see that,” she said with a scowl. “I priced the supplies in town, and the hardware store is ready to deliver whatever you need when you’re ready to give the go-ahead.”
I nodded once at her.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well what?” I replied, not taking my eyes off the well-diggers.
“When do you want to get started?”
“When the materials arrive. Not before.”
“Yes, obviously you can’t start until the materials arrive, but I don’t need to have them delivered until you’re ready to work.”
“I’ll work whenever they arrive,” I said. “There wouldn’t be a point in starting before.”
“Okay, then. Just tell me what you need.”
“I’ll need roof sealant. Not the cheap kind, the good kind-”
“I need to write it all down,” she said and stepped away towards the main house. She stopped and looked at me expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
“I have a writing pad and a pen inside. You can tell me exactly what you need. We can discuss your fee as well. It’s really loud outside, so we can go inside the main house and talk where it’s quieter?”
“It’s not that loud. I need to stay here and watch the workers. Go get your writing pad and I’ll give you the list.”
I looked back at the well-diggers and noticed her angry expression out the corner of my eye.
“Why can’t you just come inside? This noise is giving me a migraine. I want you to get started as quickly as possible.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” I repeated, and I got the feeling that I would be repeating myself more often than I’d like to with th
is woman. “I need to keep an eye on the diggers.”
“I’ll go get my notepad,” she said before stomping off to the main house.
I briefly glanced at her ass as she walked away, admiring it for a few seconds. I sighed to myself and turned my attention back to the diggers. They weren’t doing too badly, and hopefully the well would be done today.
Luckily it was still early in the day.
I glanced at the sky hoping that there would be a bit of rain soon, to fill the tanks on the sides of the house all the way to the top. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I wondered how long it would take her to notice that there was water readily available.
Just not from the pipes.
She came flying out of the house again, with a notepad and a pen.
“I’ll need roofing nails. Fifty at least,” I said.
She scribbled down as fast as she could.
“Roof sealant and a big tarp too.”
“How much of each?”
“Just tell them it’s for a thirty-five by forty-five feet structure.”
“Okay,” she muttered as she scribbled down on her notepad again.
“I’ll need a new hammer and utility knife. Asphalt shingles, flashing, and plywood.”
“Is that it?”
“Maybe.”
She put her hands on her curvy hips and glared at me.
“Have you fixed roofs before?” she asked.
“Nope, never before.”
She sighed loudly.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
I glanced over at her for a split-second.
“Is there a problem?”
“No problem if you’re sure you know what you’re doing. I would hate to pay a ton of money to someone who doesn’t know how to fix a leaking roof.”
I shrugged.
“I’m the caretaker, and I wouldn't be here if I couldn't fix basic things.”
“So you can fix it? Enough to keep me dry?”
“Yes, but so can you if you wanted to.”
“I am not the caretaker,” she replied. “I’m the owner.”
“That’s right. Even better. It’s your house so you should learn how to take care of all of it, not just the fancy, pretty parts like tomato gardens.”
“Listen, Mustang,” she said, gritting her teeth together. “I don’t know what your deal is, but I need your help right now. My roof is leaking, and I need you to fix it for me. Even if I wanted to do it myself, I wouldn't because I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated for a second.
“I’m deathly afraid of heights. Even low heights. I don’t do ladders and I certainly don’t climb up on roofs.”
“We’re all afraid of something,” I said.
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
She frowned slightly. When she saw the uncomfortable look on my face, she changed the subject back to the roof.
“Okay since we have that settled, what about your fee for the labor?”
“I don’t know how much it will cost or how long it will take. I won’t know until I get finished.”
She pushed the hair back from her face in a nervous gesture.
“How am I supposed to budget for the labor on this project if I don’t know how much it will cost?”
“Beats me.”
She looked at me with extreme frustration. I realized I enjoyed pissing her off and seeing her blue eyes flashing in anger. I guess I should be worried about her trying to shoot me with her rifle if she got too worked up.
Not really.
She was a lousy shot, unless she remembered the right way to hold, line up and aim, which, in a moment of extreme anger, she wouldn't.
Bottom line, adrenaline and emotions made you dumb.
“I have an idea,” she said. “What if I just pick a number, and that’s what I decide to pay you?”
“How much is that number?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet,” she smiled, clearly trying to turn my own logic back on me.
Her buoyancy was short lived when she saw that my expression hadn’t turned even the slightest bit amused through the entire long-winded conversation.
“That won’t work,” I finally said.
“Well, it’s what you’re expecting me to agree to,” she said and crossed her arms, causing her breasts to protrude slightly over the low neckline of her white t-shirt.
I tried not to look at them for too long, but it was no use.
“My eyes are up here, cowboy,” she muttered, and I slowly averted my eyes to hers.
Her face was flushed either with anger or something else.
“You want me to pay you whatever you decide to charge me after the fact, but you’re not willing to let me decide how much to pay you. That’s hardly fair, is it?” she complained.
“Nope, I didn’t say it was fair. Then again, I’m not the one who needs a roof now, am I?”
I swear she almost flipped her shit.
She was seconds away from blowing steam out of her ears. I suppressed a smile and my jaw clenched from the effort.
Then I had an idea.
An idea that would not sit well with her at all, but hey, I was here to irritate the shit out of her, so why stop now? This was proving to be the best entertainment I’d had in months.
“Let’s have dinner tonight,” I said. “We can talk more about it then.”
She glanced up at me in shock.
“What? Dinner? Where?”
I looked at her and tilted my head.
“After the crew leaves. Let’s eat dinner.”
She shot me a sarcastic smirk, which I expected and said, “I fully intended to eat dinner sometime after the crew leaves. Or were you suggesting that we both eat dinner at the same time, in the same place?”
“Yes, I was suggesting precisely that.”
“Fine. Come back after they leave, and I’ll cook for us.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She sighed tiredly, defeated even and muttered, “Alright. What is your suggestion then, Mustang? You’re kind of hard to read, you know?”
“I’ll make dinner, and I’ll bring it here.”
She seemed surprised at my offer.
“I would say I’ll bring the drinks, but if this crew doesn’t hurry, I won’t be bringing any liquids unless it’s bottled.”
I nodded and turned back to the diggers.
Before I prepared dinner, I needed to have a few words with the foreman. I walked over to him and he glanced at me then went back to working on the well.
“Mustang,” he said, nodding stiffly.
“Kurt,” I reciprocated the gesture.
“How are things going?” he asked.
“Good.”
“The new owner looks like a real hot pistol.”
“Yep.” I nodded and motioned at the diggers. “How long do you think it will be?”
“Not too long. The soil is on the softer side, no boulders or granite yet. We should be done a little later on.”
“I’m heading out, so if she needs anything, just keep an eye out for her.”
“Will do.”
When I turned, I noticed Leah standing on the porch.
She wasn’t looking at me, her attention was elsewhere, and I didn't dare try to take it away. The light wind was ruffling her hair and she looked contented, with a soft smile on her face.
Almost as if she felt at home here as ridiculous as the idea might be.
I found it hard to tear my eyes from her. When she glanced in my direction, I headed out into the pasture and towards the rocks where my home was completely hidden.
No one could find it, and I intended on keeping it that way.
After being in Leah’s company for a while, I’d come to the conclusion that she talked too much. Much more than was necessary.
It must be a city thing.
Even Jeb, the previous owner wasn't this talkative, and he was from Cal
ifornia. I guess he’d had enough of the city life, causing him to retire here at the ranch.
I missed that old man.
In the five years that he’d been the owner of the ranch, he’d become like the father figure I’d always wanted.
Sure, my real father was still alive, and it wasn't like I was lacking in that department, but my father was different.
He also talked way too much.
Even my mother, a strong, Texas gal, had told him that many times.
“Joshua, you should really learn to say things without talking so much,” my mother would say, and typically my father would not have any idea what she meant.
He would just ignore her and carry on with whatever it was that he was doing.
I was a lot like my mother.
We didn't talk much and didn't really believe in small-talk. We said what we needed to say and even though it wasn't all that much, it had substance.
I didn't want to chit-chat talk to someone just for the sake of filling the silence.
Silence was often the best way to get to know someone.
I figured that out while in Afghanistan.
Silences could be comforting and equally stressful.
Then again, having bullets rain down on you and grenades explode beside you leaving you momentarily deaf, was even more stressful.
I don’t regret ever going to Afghanistan or joining the Army for that matter. What I did regret was not getting the help that was freely provided for me afterwards.
Post-traumatic stress disorder hit me hard and instead of going to meetings to express my feelings, I isolated myself from the whole world in the solace of nature.
That was where the ranch came in.
It welcomed me with open arms and I embraced it in the same way. Jeb was an Army vet too. Like me, he was not the same man when it was all over.
He knew what I was going through.
We shared our trauma in the silences around campfires. I felt understood for the first time since I came back from my last tour. I was twenty-four and already broken.
Fucked beyond any recognition.
Jeb had been there as a silent supporter, and silences were part of our therapy.
When he died, I had to try and pick up the pieces by myself. The pieces that Jeb had held onto were now left on the floor, sharp and ready to cut me open once again.
