“I’m sure they are,” Mitch said. “Tell you what. You might as well give me a hand with these bucket clamps and feed boxes until he gets back.”
John picked up a hammer, wishing he could tell Mitch what he really thought of the new hire—that Peter was nothing but a suck-up taking advantage of generosity and loyalty. But Peter hadn’t screwed up yet. Even though his attitude was less than desirable, his work made him valuable. At least for now.
“Mornin’, boss.” Peter’s voice drifted in with the breeze and dust.
John stepped out into the wide barn aisle. Sweat covered Bayberry, and the horse breathed hard. “How’d he get so hot? How hard did you run him?”
“Not hard. He’s just a little soft from lack of steady work.” A snide smile spread across Peter’s face as he looked John over. “Looks like he’s not the only one.”
John clamped his teeth together, biting back the retort on his lips. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you work hard. But don’t worry about me.”
“Good. Because we’ve got a long day ahead of us. The same section of fence is busted out again, up at the north pasture. And it’s even worse this time.”
“What are you talking about? You’re telling me the fence we fixed yesterday is broken again today?”
“Except yesterday it was about fifty feet and today it’s more like two hundred. I think we’d better get it fixed ASAP,” Peter finished, with a glance at Mitch.
“Get that horse dried off and put up, and then you two take the truck and get out there and fix it. I don’t know what the hell is going on but I sure hope somebody fixes it right this time. Can’t afford to have cattle dying for no good reason.” With that, Mitch walked on down into the barn and disappeared into another empty stall.
John immediately started off toward the equipment barn.
“Where you going?”
“To get the tools I need. You can stay here and help Mitch with whatever he needs done.”
“Come on, man.” Peter followed him. “You know you’ll need some help. That fence will get done a hell of a lot faster with two guys instead of one.”
John groaned as he reached the equipment barn, his muscles sore from fatigue and overuse. He stretched his arms down along his sides, feeling his neck and shoulders popping. Spending the day with Peter didn’t thrill him, but neither did tackling the fence by himself. And Peter was right. Faster was better, especially where the safety of the cattle was concerned. “Yeah, all right,” he said, grabbing his tool belt from where it was slung across the back of his chair. “Let’s fix this bastard in time for lunch.”
Peter laughed, his face registering surprise at his sudden good humor. “Hey, man, we’d need a miracle to finish that fast.”
“Get Bayberry dried off and meet me here. I’ll get my truck.”
“Your truck? Hell, no. We’ll take mine.”
A few minutes later, they loaded wooden fence posts and wiring into Peter’s truck. The brand-new black Ford F-150 gleamed in the sun. There was hardly any wear on it, only a light smattering of dust. He had to admit it was much nicer than his own beat-up old Chevy—not that he’d ever say so out loud.
“Got this baby brand new after I got hired,” Peter said, as the two of them hoisted a roll of barbed wire into the bed. “As a gift to myself.”
“You said two hundred feet need to be repaired?” He swiftly cut Peter off, not wanting to hear any more bragging. Though, he found it odd the guy would drop thirty grand for a job that was paying him thirteen dollars an hour. Who am I to judge? The kid could’ve had some money saved up prior to working at Three Keys Ranch.
“That’s no exaggeration, trust me. It’s seriously busted.” Peter shook his head. “Like a herd of mammoths tore through the fence. Just like last time. All the cattle are accounted for, though, so I guess they either came back or it was something else.”
“Something else.” John chewed on that thought as he swung himself into the passenger seat. The situation didn’t add up.
Peter drove slowly through the north pasture, easing the big truck up alongside the broken fence, whistling slowly as they took in the damage. “Man, some fucker went crazy, huh?”
The barbed wire lay flat on the ground, barely held together by the broken fence posts. Peter crouched by a shattered post. “It looks even worse now that I’m seeing it close up. I rode back fast the minute I realized it was out. We’ll be lucky to repair this all today.”
John glanced around, even though he knew whoever was responsible was long gone. The surrounding hills, decorated by western yarrow and lupine, were still and serene in the early morning calm. Somehow, the landscape’s remote beauty made the damaged fence feel even more outrageous. “Some drunk assholes who thought it’d be a great idea to go for a moonlight drive, most likely. Maybe a city hotshot with a new four-wheel drive and no idea how to handle it. See how the fence is crossed with tire tracks?”
Peter glanced over at him. “Somebody drove across it, for sure, but you’re forgetting one thing.” He pointed just beyond the flattened fence. “The reason the fence is here—that great big ditch. It’s practically a cliff. If those animals got out, your problem wouldn’t have been loose cattle—they’d all be maimed or dead.”
The fence had been torn out on purpose. Someone wanted Mitch’s cattle to get loose in the worst possible spot. How had he failed to miss such an obvious implication?
Peter’s thick hand clapped him on the back. “No worries, man. It’s easy to miss. But it looks to me like somebody’s trying to mess with Mitch’s operation.”
“You think a rival ranch did this?” He hadn’t considered this could’ve been a competitor. Mitch always greeted his neighbors by name when they met in town, and he was always met with smiles and handshakes. Of course, a smile could hide a lot of things.
Peter folded his arms as he leaned against his truck. “Jealousy and greed make people act crazy. And with the economy being what it is, Mitch’s success could ruffle some feathers.”
He nodded, turning back to the damage. He did not look forward to breaking this news to Mitch. “If Mitch sees us standing around chatting with a broken fence at our feet, it’s our feathers that are gonna be ruffled. Let’s get to work.”
For the next couple of hours, the two worked side-by-side, unloading the new wooden fence posts from the bed of the truck, and repairing the fence. The insistent sound of hammering drifted over the valley, interspersed with the occasional grunt.
As they worked, John noticed Peter worked much faster than himself. With every swing of the hammer or the twisting of the fence’s wiring, Peter became more and more energized. He, on the other hand, found it harder to raise the hammer with every swing.
Peter finally stopped, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. “Hey man, you don’t look so good. It’s a hot day and these fences can be real bitches. I once spent an entire week re-fencing a pasture like this, and felt like I would drop dead when I was done.”
John continued to swing his hammer, unwilling to take the bait.
“What do you say, boss man?” Peter tried again. “Need a drink?”
His throat became more parched in response to the question. He lowered the hammer and stepped back, catching his breath. Dr. Evans is always saying I need to recognize my limits and accept help. And accepting help from Peter was probably the equivalent of an entire therapy session. “What do you got?”
“A few light beers in a cooler. Nothing too good, but enough to take the edge off of this god-awful job.” Peter laughed and dropped his hammer to the ground.
Christ, this is probably like a morning jog to him. “A cold beer sounds awesome right about now.”
Peter dug through a small toolbox near the cooler. “I’ve got some ibuprofen handy. Want some?”
John stared gratefully at the two little pills nestled in Peter’s palm. He grabbed them and threw them into his mouth. He shook his head at the bottle of water Peter offered, taking a beer instead.
&
nbsp; The two men sat on the tailgate, taking swigs of beer as they assessed the work they’d completed. He had to admit, Peter was a conceited ass, but he was still one good ranch hand. Maybe I’m being too hard on the guy. He can’t help having the personality of sandpaper.
“What do you think of working on this ranch?” Peter took an extra-long swig of his beer and leaned back, letting the sun hit him in the face.
He didn’t know how honest he should be with Peter, especially since they seemed to have struck up some sort of nonverbal truce.
“It’s pretty decent.” His tone remained gruff and unemotional. “I like working with my hands. Never been the kind of guy who could sit behind a desk nine to five.”
“I hear ya. My dad wanted me to go into business, but I’ve never been the corporate office type. My career path has always been what you might call non-traditional.” Peter laughed and took another swig of beer. “But I do like it here. Mitch is a cool guy. So—what do you think of Katie?”
John was silent for a moment. He took another long drink of the beer before finally answering. “She can be a real pain in the ass, but I guess she’s used to running things around here. And who can blame her? This is a job to us, but it’s her home.” He put his beer to the side, having worked up a nice buzz. “And I guess we need to get this done before we both end up passed out drunk—or worse—down in that ravine.”
Peter laughed and hopped to the ground.
The two men fixed the last of the fence right as the sun dipped below the horizon.
John stood back to survey their work. “There’s enough reinforcement in those posts that if anybody tries to tear it up again, it’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”
Peter pulled off his work gloves. “That fence put up one hell of a fight, but I think we won.”
“Yeah. I guess we did.” John flung the last of the busted fence posts into the cargo bed of the F-150. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
The two men climbed into the truck and rambled their way back to the ranch house.
The barns were deserted and full of shadows, but the farmhouse was brightly lit. As Peter slowed the truck, John spotted Katie’s silhouette moving around in the kitchen.
Mitch walked out of the front door onto the porch with a wave. “You boys come on in for dinner!” He turned and walked back inside the house, not waiting for a response.
“You staying?” John asked, as the truck rolled to a stop.
“Not tonight. I’m heading out for the evening. I have a hot date and I don’t think she’ll stay wet if I’m late.”
“Knock yourself out,” John said, as he hopped out of the truck.
Peter sent the gravel flying as he took off down the driveway toward the main road.
There was no denying Peter was prime, grade-A douchebag material—but at least he was a hard worker. John stepped up onto the front porch of the ranch house and knocked on the door. Forget Peter. Dinner with the Lockes was going to be a challenge all on its own.
Chapter 11
“Set two extra places, Katie.” Her dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, heading for the sink. “I’ve invited John and Peter to join us.”
A scowl covered her face as she continuing to wash the salad leaves. She’d heard her father’s invitation through the window. Taking in hard-luck cases is bad enough without feeding them, too! She gave a cursory look at her meal. So much for having leftovers to eat tomorrow. A growl rumbled in her chest.
The sound of gravel careening off the ranch buildings tipped her temper over the edge. Flinging down the lettuce leaves, she darted through the passages, flinging open the front porch. “What the hell—”
John’s form remained still, his hand raised to knock on the front door. “What’s for dinner?”
“Was that you spraying gravel out there?”
“Not unless I suddenly have the ability to be two places at once. That was our newest ranch hand leaving. He has a date.”
She looked behind him but found no signs of Peter. “Our, nothing, Mr. Rathborne. My father wants Peter here, so he’s here. That’s all. But I can’t forget you recommended him, and I found out yesterday just how charming he really is. Almost as charming as you.”
He walked past her, heading straight to the kitchen. But he came to a sudden halt, and she narrowly missed colliding into him. “I respect the fact that having an unexpected guest sprung on you last minute isn’t the best. If I’m going to be in your way, say so. I’ll tell your dad I just have time for a quick chat.”
She scanned his face. Large bags hung under his glassy eyes, which were at half-mast, neck and ears bright red from sunburn. He needed a rest before driving home. But if he passed up on dinner, behind the wheel was exactly where he’d end up.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“I know.” She bit her lip. Being forced to accept he was truly an honorable man made it harder for her to ward off her growing attraction. But she didn’t know him. Not really. And she wasn’t about to trust someone she didn’t know. Nor would she be able to forgive herself if he crashed because he fell asleep while driving. “It’s no bother. Besides, if you eat with us, you can crash in the bunkhouse again and start earlier tomorrow.”
He laughed. “Always thinking about the ranch, huh.”
“You two coming?” Dad called out a cheerful greeting from the kitchen. “Or are you planning on eating in the hallway?”
As John stepped into the kitchen, making his way to the sink without so much as an excuse me, Katie remained in the hallway for an extra second to catch her breath. Studying his face had sent her pulse dancing. Even dog tired, he looked sexy. She cleared her throat and shook her head.
“Peter’s not joining us?” her father asked as she entered the kitchen.
“He apparently had other plans.”
“John, how much did you two get done today?”
“Fixed the whole thing, sir.” John pulled out a chair from the table.
Her jaw fell open, her eyelids blinking rapidly. “All two hundred feet? Was it really as bad as Peter said?”
He nodded, levering himself carefully into the chair. “I hate to say it, but it looks deliberate.”
“Nonsense.” Her dad shook his head. “No one round here would do such a thing.” He turned the conversation to other topics.
Katie chewed her lip, not liking that both times the fence had been broken so close to the ravine.
“Hope you’ve got an appetite, old man.” She brought the pan of lasagna to the table, leaning over to place it carefully in the center, well aware her guest could glimpse down her shirt—white lace bra and all. And she had no idea why she didn’t try to cover up.
They might have called a truce, but she still desired to get a reaction out of him. She turned to get the salad, conscious that his eyes followed her every moment. She remembered looking up from cleaning a stall, only to see him just turning away. Has he been watching me this whole time? An unfamiliar feeling presented itself. Confidence. She’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
“Oh, come now, Katie. John isn’t old.” Dad laughed, taking a seat at the table. “I’m the old man around here.”
“Dad, you know that’s not true. You’re just as young as me, especially when you’re out in the fields with the horses and the cattle. I swear, you could pass yourself off as twenty.”
“I appreciate that, sweetie.” He patted her on the arm as she took her seat next to him and began passing around the salad bowl.
As they always did at the dinner table, she and her father dove into conversation about the ranch. And for a few minutes, she forgot John was even there, genuinely surprised to look up and see he had hardly touched his salad or his lasagna. She frowned. “First time I’ve seen someone who claimed to have been repairing fences all day pick at dinner. Guess you didn’t work up much of an appetite, Mr. Foreman?”
He tugged his collar, seeming almost embarrassed. “If it’s not any trouble, could I have
a glass of water?”
“Water?” She was puzzled. He struck her as a beer guy.
“The lasagna’s great. Almost as good as my mom makes it. But she doesn’t use as much salt as you do.”
Her face and neck heated with humiliation and more than a little anger. Her hands tightened around her knife and fork as she glowered in his direction.
His eyes turned back to his plate and he cleared his throat. “I’m just thirsty from being out in the sun all day.”
Her chair screeched as she stood. Grabbed a glass from the cupboard, she filled it with water.
“We didn’t have to invite you to eat dinner with us, you know.” She thumped the glass down on the table with so much force the water spilled.
“Katie! Take it easy.” Her dad held up his hand. “He was just joking with you.”
A growl passed through her lips. The kitchen became so quiet she could hear the grandfather clock in the hallway gently ticking away the seconds. No one moved. John sat perfectly still, his eyes locked on her.
Dad stood up and walked to the refrigerator, bringing back a chokecherry pie. Figures. Of all the fruits in the world, her dad loved chokecherries the best. She never understood why the indigenous fruit appealed to him so much since they didn’t get their name for nothing. But every year, he and Linda would go to the festival in Lewistown and return with a myriad of chokecherry delicacies.
“Speaking of old people,” Dad said, forcing a smile, “who’s hungry for some dessert?”
Without saying a word, she grabbed her plate and dumped it into the sink. She turned to catch John flinching at the clatter of cutlery. The familiar reaction to surprise noises caused a pang of guilt to surface. So much for a pleasant dinner.
“Katie!” The fury in her father’s voice made her guilt grow.
She spun on her heels and raced down the hall, pushing open the screen door with such force, it rattled the porch when it slammed shut.
Hearts Unleashed Page 8
