by Skye Turner
Seriously, is this what I’m going to see the entire time we’re here?! Everyone at the small airport was wearing big hats, probably Stetsons, jeans, and boots. Even the women. And not the fashionable kind. Like real leather hats and boots.
Not that I’m opposed to a sexy man who can fill out a pair of jeans, but ten gallon hats are so cliché.
How very Texas…
Natalee chuckles and leans in to say near my ear, “Think the itinerary left room for a Texas cowboy exploratory field trip?”
Glancing at her quickly, I see the appreciation in her eyes for our driver. Rolling my eyes, I reply, “You go right on ahead with that. I, however, do not have the same appreciation and they don’t have the same appeal. Unless Luke Bryan suddenly leaves his wife and proclaims his undying love for me, I’ll pass on that.”
Natalee laughs again. “Luke Bryan is from Georgia, Eliza. Not Texas. And, as beautiful as you are, I don’t foresee him knocking on your door. He seems quite happy with what’s waiting for him at home.”
God, I wasn’t serious!
I snap at her. “Whatever. Like I care and like I’d be with a man who abandons his family.
“Besides, rough around the edges cowboys aren’t for me. At all. I prefer my men more civilized and less likely to want a women to be barefoot and pregnant in the damn kitchen.” I roll my eyes. “Can you even imagine?”
She laughs again before it fades into a sigh. “Lord, yes…”
I groan, “Oh, please…” and look out of the window again to put an end to the conversation. The dots in the distance are getting bigger and more frequent. We must be getting close to our destination.
Yay! Closer to me walking around a damn open expanse of land filled with cattle and doing a show without an audience.
Why, oh why, are we doing this again?
I work best with a live audience. They feed off me and I feed off them. That’s what works for us. It’s our dynamic.
You know why, Eliza.
You wanted to take the leap from talk show host to real journalist. The market is so saturated with talk shows now… And no one is original… Everyone cuts everyone else’s throat for those coveted ratings. And with the recent lawsuits and bullshit from people claiming ownership over what they didn’t create… Ugh. It’s an ugly business and one I’m not inclined to immerse myself in anymore.
Heartfelt stories that actually matter… a journalist. That’s where I need to be.
It’s what I went to school for…
But, what if it was a terrible idea?!
What if it flops?
People love me for my opinion.
What if I lose my rankings and my audience with this experiment?! What if they want the cattiness and pettiness of a talk show over the honesty of a show with meat and heart?!
What if I fail?!
I can’t fail.
I won’t fail.
Eliza McCormick does not fail!
I’ve got this shit!
Sure it’s different, possibly insane, but I can do it. I have to.
Failure isn’t an option here.
I’m so engrossed in my own head that I almost miss that we’ve turned off the main road and onto a much smaller one. It’s slightly narrower and slightly less bone jarring.
Something catches my attention and I gasp as I catch my first glimpse of the Double Down Ranch.
Holy shit!
We drive through a massive black iron gate with the words Double Down Ranch welded to the top. The gate is wide open and it’s huge. The wording of the ranch is accompanied by what looks like a large bird with a horseshoe in its open beak. It’s actually really beautiful.
Archie is on his phone, “Get a shot of the gate with the logo and then leave the camera rolling as we drive up to the house… Yes… Try to get it now… We’ll use it in the opening of the show… Yes… Awesome…”
I can’t help it, I lean in to better see the house getting larger as we get nearer. “Oh, wow… this is beautiful.”
Our driver chuckles, “Ain’t it just?”
It is. It’s beautiful.
Natalee gasps beside me and mutters, “Holy, dream house. This is flipping gorgeous.”
My eyes are flitting from side to side, trying to see everything at once. But, it’s impossible to take it all in. There’s so much to see.
The gates were just the tip of the iceberg. The driveway, or road, I guess, is long, but it’s a straight shot to the house. On either side of the driveway are fenced in paddocks. I can see multiple horses and a barn on the left along with about five other buildings. The right side is also fenced, but it encloses a garden with what appears to be a greenhouse. I can see way back behind the garden what looks like another barn and more scattered buildings.
Holy shit… again! This is huge. I mean, I imagined a ranch would be large, but this almost looks like its own small city.
The van finally rolls to a stop beside the house and our driver hops out to open the door for us. Archie slides out and stretches with Natalee and me following close behind him. Several other crew members file out behind us and I stare at the house as the rest of our entourage parks.
The house is breathtaking all on its own. It looks like a ranch house should look. Or what I think one should look like. It’s built from sun-faded wood and is two stories. A full length porch runs along the front, encased with a bannister of the same sun-faded wood. There are also large wooden columns that probably provide support as well as beauty. Several rocking chairs are scattered on the porch and at the far end, I can see a wooden swing.
The door to the house opens and a handsome man, wearing a Stetson, of course, and an older woman step out. She is wiping her hands on a red rag and her face is covered with a welcoming smile. I can’t help but smile back as my eyes meet hers.
Natalee gasps beside me and I hear her mutter, “Oh, sweet Jesus…” Looking at her quickly, I see her staring at the man in the Stetson now standing at the top of the porch steps. The driver is apparently forgotten.
Reign yourself in, girl. Good lord. No need to lose your shit at the first sight of testosterone.
She whispers, “Lord help me… I’m in love,” from the corner of her mouth.
I whisper back. “Oh my, God! You’re a grown ass woman, not a teenager at a damn One Direction concert! Stop it. Act your age!”
In answer, Natalee sighs again. She mutters, “Oh, Harry Styles has nothing on that man.”
Is she serious? He’s just a man, Nat. Yes, he’s attractive, but you see attractive men all day, every day! We live in Los Angeles for God’s sake!
The man hops down the steps and holds his hand out to shake Archie’s before turning to me and taking my own into his. His palm is warm, and I can feel the strength in it. Amongst the strength, I also feel a few callouses. A working man’s hands. He smiles down at me and my stomach jumps a bit.
Damn… ok, I get it. Here’s a real man… but nothing to lose my mind over.
His voice is rich and deep as he says, “Welcome to the Double Down Ranch! I’m so glad y’all could come out. Was the drive in, ok? I hope Duke, one of our foremen out here, took good care of you on the way in. Y’all got an introduction, right?”
Archie nods. “We did. He did and thank you.”
The man nods at him and looks at all of us again. “Sorry. I need to introduce myself. I’m Rowdy Donovan, part owner of this beauty.” He holds his hand out to encompass the ranch before reaching behind him to include the older lady patiently waiting on the stairs. She smiles at him before walking down the stairs. “This, here, is my momma. Bessie. We’re so happy y’all are here.”
“Let’s get y’all into the house and settled. I’m sure y’all want to rest up a bit after the trip. We have several of y’all in the main house and the rest of the crew is spread out amongst the bunks.” He points to the scattering of buildings behind the greenhouse.
He gestures to the van we just stepped out of. “If you six want to come with me, I
’ll show you to your rooms while Duke and some of the other fellas get your bags.
“Momma has some fresh squeezed lemonade made and she whipped up something, that sure smells good, to hold off the hunger until it’s time for dinner. We do dinner at seven out here.”
An “Excuse me, ma’am” from behind me has me stepping back. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Duke unloading the luggage from the back of the van and stacking it in the dirt of the drive.
Oh, God! That’s going to leave stains on the fabric.
Several men in jeans and dusty shirts are carrying various pieces of luggage. One of them is behind me with my lip printed rolling case in his large hands. He offers me a crooked smile and says, “Excuse me, ma’am,” again while pointing to the house.
I nod at him and step back again. My four-inch-heel catches on the uneven ground. I scream as my arms flail and I stumble backwards a few feet, desperately trying to catch myself and prevent myself from falling and showing all of these cowboys what’s under my silk dress.
It’s no use. I’m scrambling backwards. My heel sinks into something soft and I scream again as I trip. I’m going to fall… My feet are swept off the ground and I gasp as my back hits cold water and then, I’m thrust under it. I choke as the water fills my nose and mouth.
I’m going to die. Oh, God… I’m going to die in front of a bunch of hat wearing red-neck men. They’re covered from head to toe in red dirt.
My tombstone will read, “Here lies Eliza McCormick. A successful talk show star who freakishly suffocated in water in a hick town in Texas before she reached her true potential.”
Scrambling for purchase in whatever is trying to drown me, I find the bottom and grip the sides, managing to break free from the surface of the water. I feel my hair sticking to my face and swipe at it to try to breathe and see. I cough a few times and spit water out.
Exhaling in shock, I open my eyes. My lashes stick together.
The sound of muffled laughter infiltrates my dazed brain and I turn to glare toward where my dazed brain thinks the sound is coming from. I see Natalee about ten feet away, near the porch, looking horrified as she stands there with her mouth gaping open, waiting for flies to come in. Archie blinks and sputters, “Are you ok?”
Rowdy and his mother are both wide-eyed and appalled. He races toward me. “Oh, my god… Are you alright?”
The laughter comes again from beside me and I screech as I turn my head to see who dares to find this humorous.
My breath catches as I settle on the most gorgeous and offending man I have ever had the misfortune to see standing beside me… still chuckling. As he looks at me, a crooked grin settles on his stubbled cheeks. He chuckles again and bends down to hold out his hand, “And… who are you, darlin?!’”
Falcon
Well, so much for my avoiding Miss Fancy Pants… since she just went ass first into my horse trough and is currently looking at me like she wants to stab me through the eye with her ridiculous shoe while screaming loud enough to have my horses racing for Oklahoma.
A grin covers my face. She’s soaked and not looking quite so fancy at the moment. Though, the way her light pink dress is clinging to her every curve is quite eye-catching. I can see the lace of her undergarments.
I can’t help myself from goading her, “And… who are you, darlin.’?!”
Her eyes widen in disbelief and then a sneer covers her face as she gives me the once-over. She stands in the trough and grimaces as she wobbles once more. Her eyes never leave mine as she haughtily says, “Who am I?! Who the hell are you?
She sputters. “I am Eliza McCormick. And, you, you are no gentleman! Instead of preventing me from falling into this… this pig tray and almost drowning, you chose to laugh.
“You are still standing there soaking up the free entertainment! Just you wait!” She points a perfectly manicured nail at me.
“Your boss, Mr. Rowdy Donovan, is right over there, you dirty imbecile.” She flicks her finger toward Rowdy. “Oh, you can kiss your job goodbye.” She sneers again.
My boss? Oh, she thinks Rowdy is my boss, does she?
And did she just call me a dirty imbecile while she contaminates my horse’s water with whatever thousand dollar perfume she’s wearing?!
My nose wrinkles as I glance down at myself.
Ok, so, I am dirty. But, I’ve been working the land all damn day.
Ranching is a man’s job. It’s good, old-fashioned dirty work.
No way to do it and keep your hands… or your clothes, clean.
With a smirk, I offer her my hand. No sense in watching her scramble more to get out of the trough.
She slaps it away and I chuckle.
Ok, darlin’. Have it your way.
This should be good.
I stand tall and cross my arms over my chest to watch her.
Ignoring me, she bites her lip as she looks from the trough to the ground, weighing her options, and then while purposefully snubbing me, she holds onto the side while throwing one leg over. One of her black heels floats beside her on the top of the water. Grabbing it, she flings it to the dusty ground before sliding the other leg over the metal of trough. Her saturated skirt rides up to her smooth thighs as she scoots onto her toes.
Careful, darlin’. You’re about to flash me a peek of those lace panties I’m pretty certain you don’t want me to see.
The whole thing is so undignified, I’m trying not to allow the humor I’m feeling to explode from my chest.
She probably would stab me with that shoe.
Glancing at me, she pulls her skirt down and nods her head as if she’s proud of herself.
Standing at her full height, about five foot six, by my observation, she tosses her hair over her shoulder. It sticks and makes a slapping noise.
I chuckle and she glares at me again before dismissing me with a flick of her eyes and calling out, “Mr. Donovan, your employee is appalling!”
Rowdy looks from me to her and then says, “Um, my employee? Ma’am…”
I interrupt him. “My apologies, Mister Donovan.”
His brows raise and his forehead wrinkles as he says, “Why are you calling me Mister, Falcon?”
Momma laughs and shakes her head before calling out to us, “Miss McCormick, I apologize for my son.” She waves her hand at me. “Sometimes he forgets how to act around pretty women. I did raise him with manners, you know.” She shoots me the look.
I smile sheepishly. Miss McCormick looks from me to Momma a few times and I can tell by her face that she’s not inclined to believe what Momma just told her. Her mouth drops open and I shrug before tipping my hat. “Falcon Donovan, at your service, Miss McCormick. I’ll be sure to make a notation of your complaint in my personnel chart.” Holding out my hand, I gesture for her to walk past me.
She blinks before glaring at me and sputters, “What?! You… you’re the other half of the Double Down Ranch!?”
Shoving my hat back from my forehead, I smile at her. “Yes, ma’am. I sure am.” I wave my hand again and raise my brow. “After you, darlin’…”
Her light brown eyes snap and her jaw clenches as she brushes past me, making certain not to touch any part of me. Her dress is clinging to her every asset and when she gets a glimpse of her face and the smears of that makeup… I have a feeling she’s going to scream like a banshee.
A grin covers my face as I watch her stalk toward the others, leaving behind wet footprints in the dirt.
I chuckle and mutter, “Oh, boy…” and follow after her to help with the rest of the bags.
Chapter Three
Eliza
“Are you kidding me? He… that arrogant man is the owner of the ranch? That asshole is the man that I am going to be interviewing?!” I’m flinging my wet clothes off in the spacious and pretty bathroom attached to the room I was escorted to. They make plopping noises as they hit the floor. Cringing, I look at my shoes. They’re soaked. Probably ruined.
Natalee calls out from the other
side of the door where I can hear her unzipping my suitcases. “Eliza, please tell me that you packed something other than heels? You already fell and heels are not practical on a damn ranch.”
She rummages through my suitcase. I can hear the fabrics as they brush against the canvas and I roll my eyes, imagining her hands wrinkling my carefully packed clothes. “I packed a pair of Asics and a pair of flip flops for when I’m not filming. Both are in the medium suitcase, under the two pairs of jeans.”
I hear her sigh before she unzips another suitcase. She groans and reaches around the door to hand me a stack of clothes. She says from the other side of the wooden door, “You didn’t pack right! How are you going to manage with one pair of decent shoes and two pairs of jeans, Eliza?! You were given a checklist. You didn’t follow it. I told you I should have packed for you but you told me that you had it covered!” She mutters, “This shit I see in your suitcases is not covered!”
Pulling the door open, I glare at her as I twist my hair into a messy bun and clip it, just to get the wet strands off my neck.
She stares back and I sigh. “Well, I don’t wear that stuff. The list said comfortable shirts, including a few button-ups, sturdy boots, and durable pants…” I shrug. “My jeans cost $200 a pair! I don’t own any boots that don’t have heels, and I don’t think I own a single button-up shirt that isn’t made out of silk.
“I figured I’d just look spectacular every day and mostly stay near the house…”
It’s not my fault that I don’t own things that would fit in here…
I dress for my life and my life isn’t jeans, boots, and cotton shirts.
Natalee grunts. “Yeah, because that’s going to get to the meat of the story. Eliza, you know damn well that won’t work for the type of piece you’re doing. This is not like what you’re used to. You’re used to live audiences, audience preppers, production assistants, and commercial breaks. You wanted something different…
“This is different. This isn’t Chat Time with Eliza McCormick. This is real… This is shit that matters. This is what you wanted. And, you’ve already made an ass of yourself by wearing stilettos in Texas and falling badonkadonk first into a freaking horse trough.” She laughs and her hand flies to her mouth. She tries to stop her fit of giggles, but she can’t. I feel my own lips twist, but, I refuse to laugh.
