Stetsons and Stakeouts

by BA Tortuga

  Luis came pattering down the stairs, grinning. “Okay, so you’re forgiven for that bedroom. The bathroom is awesome!”

  He grinned, nodded. He was a bit of a bitch, but he wasn’t cruel.

  “Did you remodel?” Alison asked as they all rendezvoused.

  “Jerilyn said Bianca and Cecilia wanted a rain-bath shower instead of the princess tub.”

  “Oh man. Lucky dogs. Cool. My whirlpool tub is calling my name.”

  “Tonight, lady.”

  “Not together,” she snapped when Greg and Luis stared at them.

  “No. Queer as a three-dollar bill, remember? And she hates me.”

  “I do not.” Alison snorted. “I just don’t think you’re a viable mate.”

  “She sounds like a dragon,” Greg muttered.

  “She is. Okay, come on while I show you the coolest thing about the house.” A secret passage led from the office to the garage.

  “Oh fucking A, man. I will do undercover work for you anytime.”

  He was tickled that they appreciated his dad’s paranoia. His mom just smiled and nodded. “Fucking cool, isn’t it? Only share this with the team. No locals.”

  “Got it.” Alison raised a brow. “Is Four-Fingers running checks?”

  “He is. We’ll have it all tonight, as long as his equipment shows up.”

  “Ah. We’ll have everything then, won’t we?” Alison had total faith in Colt.

  “Right down to whether the carpet matches the drapes on each person. Movie theater is in here, billiard room here.”

  “Are we going to have movie night, boss?” Luis rolled his eyes.

  “No. No, not unless Colt can rig the screen to go over information.” He winked. “We’re going to eat lunch, make a plan to start the operation, and make sure all of the equipment is in place.”

  “Taskmaster.” He was going to beat Greg’s butt. They needed to get their shit set up, because locals were going to start bringing fucking casseroles out of sheer curiosity. This was Texas, after all. “I know, but I have to get my Massimo on.”

  “Okay, who is Massimo? Your dad, I think you said?” Luis stared at him, kinda challenging.

  “Yes. I won’t bore you with a list of titles, but he’s my father.”

  “Gold-plated asshole,” Alison agreed.

  “Yeah, yeah.” But he was Dad, and the man was a force to be reckoned with. “Mom can be scarier.”

  “No shit.” Colt popped up next to them, making them all jump, surprising the hell out of him. “Show me the movie room.”

  “Right.” Gianni was grateful he hadn’t tried to whack the little shit. Lord, Colt was going to give him a heart attack before they even got set.

  “You don’t need to see the movie room, butthead.” Alison snarled better than anyone he knew. Ever.

  “Yes, I do. I want to see if I can, indeed, hack the screen for meetings.”

  “Oh, I bet you can. Come with me. I want porn too, for when Gianni is entertaining.” Alison led Colt off, and Greg followed along behind.

  “Yeah, but you want het porn,” Colt groused.

  Luis shook his head. “You’re all nuts.”

  “You have no idea, fibbie. None.” They were insane. You couldn’t be DEA and not be nuts.

  “I’ve heard, but that guy takes the cake.”

  “Mmm. Cake.” He needed to see what else Jerilyn left in the fridge. Maybe there would be her famous Texas sheet cake. He headed in to start laying out lunch.

  Brisket. Coleslaw. Cornbread. Ooh… chocolate pie. “Score!” He pulled it out to show it off.

  “Yum.” Luis gave him a thumbs-up. “Texas, right? It’s the best.”

  “Aunt Jerilyn’s is amazing. There’s Reddi-wip too.”

  “Protein first.” Greg was back, rubbing his hands together.

  “Like stud boy here has ever eaten a carb,” Luis growled.

  Greg snorted. “I work out like a fiend. I fucking love chocolate.”

  “Huh. I’m impressed. Also, I have a stash. If you’re a good agent, I’ll share.”

  Greg clapped Gianni on the back. “You’re a prince.”

  “Nah, just a count, eventually.” Plates. Where the heck were the plates?

  He found some in the cabinets next to the fridge. Laying them out, he opened up brisket, beans, potato salad, coleslaw, bread, and sausage. Right. Brisket and beans. Jerilyn was a nut.

  “What about the other guys? Who feeds them?”

  “They’re out in the field right now. I would bet they grabbed something on the way in.”

  “Yeah? They won’t be dining with us?” Alison asked.

  If not, he would have Maria send food down.

  “They’ll be checking in with the foreman. They will be liaising with Colt, and Colt will be in constant contact with me.” Gianni needed someone who could talk to the other cowboys.

  “Oh, I get to liaze.” Colt built a plate while everyone stared. “Screen will work. Bye.”

  “Bye, Ghosty Dude!” Luis rolled his eyes. “That dude is scary, man.”

  “But kind of adorable.” Gianni fixed a plate, including sauce. “Remind me to show you the gym.”

  “God, yes. I need my gym time.” He bet Greg needed a metric shit-ton of gym time. Fuck, he would hang out and watch. A lot.

  Hell, he’d have to watch Colt and make sure he didn’t tape Greg’s workouts and sell them on the internet.

  The idea had him hiding a smile behind his fork.

  “So, how does an Italian count end up married to a Texas heiress?” Luis asked, munching a makeshift sandwich.

  “They were both having torrid love affairs with people in LA. Dad cooked for her. She brought him home, and they were married ten months later.” It was a love affair for the ages. Still. Dad didn’t look at anyone the way he looked at Mamma.

  “That sounds like one of those Italian movies,” Greg said.

  “Are you a closet Rossellini fan, Greg?”

  “Closet? No. No, I am an enthusiast. Rossellini. Fellini. Zeffirelli. I mean, around here I would guess most people would only watch Leone.”

  Gianni stared for a second, and then he started laughing. Tom did know how to put together a team, thank God. “We really will have to have movie night if we have time, man. My dad has all those post-World War II movies.” He was just grinning madly. His phone buzzed in his pocket, so he excused himself, heading out the kitchen door. Xavvy.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “You in town yet?”

  “Yeah, just like forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Can I come out? I’m dying to see you and get the fuck out of this house, man.”

  “Not yet, man. This is a new team. Give me today. I’ll totally take you out for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Damn.” Xavvy chuckled. “I hear you got a new foreman. Chris said he met him at the feed store.”

  “Yeah? Nobody y’all know? I haven’t met him yet. I’m going to be lording it by then.”

  “No, he’s not from here. Young kid, has no idea what he’s doing. Bonner something.”

  “Ah.”

  “Wife’s knocked up. The size of a house already.”

  “No shit? I knew a Bonner once, but he sure wasn’t knocking up girls.”

  “Yeah, I got nothing. Hey, you seen Chris yet?”

  “Nope. I told you, man, I just got here.” Man, Xavvy was fired up. “I don’t want to look like I’m hanging out with the law.”

  “Well, whatever he tells you, it’s a lie.”

  “Uh-oh.” Laughter bubbled up. “Sounds like old times.”

  “Yeah. You know it. Just… call me. We’ll have coffee in the morning.”

  “I will, man. I swear.” God, poor Xavvy. Gianni would go crazy being stuck with his family, not working. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Rock on. Remember, whatever he says, it’s a lie.” Click.

  Okay, so now he had to call Chris. He tugged his burn phone out of his pocket, heading a little farther out
into the yard. How far could Colt be listening?

  “Whitehead.” Crisp, cold, penal. Sexy.

  “Hot law enforcement voice, Chris. Super hot.” He grinned, waiting to see if the man recognized him.

  “Oh fuck off, Boyardee. You’re already causing enough trouble here.”

  “Am I? Why?” Now that was interesting. Buzz already? He was barely in town two hours.

  “News travels fast—new foreman, new drovers, horses coming in. They think your mamma’s coming home.”

  “Ah. They would like that more than me. What did Xavvy do?”

  “Ended up in the drunk tank. Busted up the biker bar on the highway. Someone called him names.”

  “What kind of names?” He knew Xavier hated people ragging on him, but he was usually more… choosy about his fights.

  “Oh, I bet you can imagine. Xavvy is… wearing his heart on his sleeve these days.”

  Goddammit. Xavvy had always fought the bit, especially where his sexual preferences were concerned, but to be wounded and flaunt it in a biker bar? Shit.

  “He’s pushing me already to let him in this deal. If he’s a loose cannon, though….”

  “Give him something to do. Anything.” Chris chuckled. “He’s bored. Broken. He needs a job.”

  A job. Sounded like he needed a keeper.

  “I’ll try. Look, I need to meet with you. Just you. Somewhere not here.”

  “Come to the house. I’ll text you the deets. Drive one of the work trucks.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I have coffee with Xavvy in the morning, but anytime tomorrow evening….”

  “I’m not on call tomorrow. Come at six. I’ll grill burgers.” When had Chris got all sure and confident?

  “Sounds perfect. This is my burn phone, so don’t give it out, huh?”

  “You mean even to Xavvy? You got it, man. Tread carefully there, okay?”

  “Thanks.” He hung up. Christ, he hoped he had enough control over Colt to hold this whole thing together. He hoped any of them did.

  They were in for a world of hurt if one of the moving parts wasn’t greased right. He headed back inside to eat, his stomach growling. Man, it had been a long day already.

  Gianni had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

  Chapter Eight

  “OKAY. YOU can do this.”

  There was no fucking way. No way on earth was he gonna manage. When Miss Jerilyn said ranch, he’d reckoned a hundred acres. Tops.

  Not—not this. This place was vast, King Ranch vast. The end of the earth vast. Herds of fucking cattle.

  His whole experience on a forty-acre Texas plot was nothing compared to this. Not even a drop in the bucket. Milk cows and horses and a few chickens, sure. Three pastures just to grow hay? Jesus. And the horses. These guys were…. They stole his breath.

  He had a meeting with the wranglers tonight over supper in the bunkhouse. Two of them were new like him, so maybe he had a chance to fool them, but he wasn’t sure he could pull the wool over the others. Still, Bri needed him, and he had to fake it, at least for a few months, right?

  The house they were in was nice—two bedrooms, a kitchen, all furnished with way better than early American garage sale. He’d never had a place so nice, and he knew Bri hadn’t either, so he reckoned he was going to have to buck the fuck up and deal.

  At least he didn’t have to cook. There was a lady named Maria who’d sent down a chicken spaghetti for Bri and him, and a huge pan of enchiladas with pots of rice and beans for the hands. There were five, all told. Harrison, Kody, Colt, Hank, and Mr. Franklin. Hank and Mr. Franklin had been there for years, both men about as grizzled and worn as the land. Kind, as much as they treated him like a not-yet-weaned baby.

  He made his way into the bunkhouse, finding them all in the kitchen, sitting around the big table and drinking coffee.

  “Evening, gents,” Bonner said, hanging his hat beside the door.

  “Hey, boss,” Mr. Franklin said, and he chuckled.

  “Right. Bonner, please. I’m pretty sure I’m no one’s boss. You boys know this is my first big foreman job. I’ll need y’all’s help to understand the running here.” Harrison and the Kody guy shot each other a look, but it was the roper that nodded.

  “At least you know when you’re in over your head.”

  Mr. Franklin snorted, all dramatic and shit. “Of course he’s in over his head. He has babies coming.”

  Kody widened his eyes. “Babies?”

  “Twins,” Bonner agreed. “I’m a desperate man.” None of that was a lie.

  “Christ. On purpose?” That was Hank.

  “Fuck no.” Not. Even. Close.

  “Oh, well then, you ain’t stupid too much,” Mr. Franklin murmured.

  “Not too much.” He sat, and Colt handed him a cup of coffee moments later. “Thanks.” Surprised and pleased, he smiled.

  “Sure man. So, how does it work, exactly? Do you give out daily assignments or weekly or what?”

  Hank’s eyes cut to the wall where a laminated chart hung. Bonner winked, mouthing his thanks. “Looks like it’s been weekly, and I imagine that can work until it’s branding or haying. Y’all usually bring in extra help for that?”

  “There’s a call list. We tend to rotate on the big places, sharing equipment and folks.” Hank shrugged. “It’s straightforward work; there’s just a lot of it. Biggest thing is exercising the horses.”

  “Well, good thing we all like to do that.” So why were three new guys just brought on?

  “That’s my specialty, y’all. I’m a farrier, got a shit-ton of vet tech training too. I hear the big boss is bringing in a bunch of new stock.” Colt looked damn excited. “My roping horse is in the barns. That was my one request, that Dunny have a slot.”

  “Right on.” So there was a chance—a good chance—Mr. Colt here had seen his name on the roster. Good to know.

  Kody looked at the little guy, all admiring. “We’ll have to rope sometime. My specialty is logistics if you need a hand, Bonner. Moving herds, rotating pasture.”

  “Excellent. Good to know. Mr. Harrison? What about you?”

  “I’m happy to do whatever. Ride, rope, string fence, what have you.”

  So would he. If he’d known Miz Jerilyn was hiring hands, he would just have applied for that. “Sounds like we got all the bases covered,” he said. A timer dinged, and Harrison hopped up to pull a huge dish out of the oven.

  “You mind if we eat, Bonner?”

  “Nope.” He looked longingly at the enchiladas. Bri had eaten two-thirds of the chicken spaghetti. She was eating for three.

  “There’s plenty, kid,” Colt murmured. “Come on and join us.”

  “Thanks. My—my girl is just hungry as hell.” He grabbed a plate, thankful that cowboys were the same all over.

  “Yeah. I bet you’re over here a lot in a couple months.”

  He had no doubt. He just shook his head a little. “She already just wants to be left alone.”

  Mr. Franklin hooted. “Well, you make sure she don’t get lonely, though. She’ll need a ton of reassurance.”

  “She will?”

  “God yes, kid. When my Marianne had hers, I had to do a lot of loving on her. She passed on, what, ten years ago, Hank?” Mr. Franklin asked.

  “Yessir.” Hank made a sorrowful face. “God rest her.”

  Bonner bowed his head, paying his own respects.

  “Thanks, son. Anyway, make her feel special.”

  “I will.” He had no idea how, since he usually made his sister feel special by whacking her head.

  Oh, that was a happy-making thought. A nice whack with a pillow. Satisfying and painless. He grinned, and Mr. Franklin slapped his thigh.

  “That’s it, son. That’s the thinking.”

  He nodded, then took a bite of enchiladas. Oh God. Yum.

  God, could he stay in here? Learn the workings of the ranch from the guys? Do a little roping?

  Wild hope rose up in his chest, and his heart thudde
d against his ribs.

  Of course not. He had a “wife” who was the size of a house and scared to death. He guessed they could always “break up” when Bri wanted to move on and go back to her life, which she would, even with two kids. She was too young to be hidden out here.

  That would be cool, though. Once they were all safe, Bri could go make a home, and he could go back to cowboying, maybe even with a real job at a real ranch. Well, this was a real ranch. He’d googled it after the interview. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

  “Y’all got any questions for me?”

  All of the guys stopped shoveling food into their mouths to stare at him.

  Bonner hooted. “Guess not.”

  “You’re not a roper.” That was Harrison.

  “Roughstock—broncs and bulls both. Texas circuit and Turquoise.”

  “Hmmph.” That was Hank, but Bonner wasn’t offended. He would work his ass off to prove himself.

  “I know. I can throw a loop, but you got to admit the roughstock events pay better.”

  “True enough.” Colt held up his hand. “All roping does is lose you fingers.”

  “There you go. ’Course, I’ve had five shoulder surgeries and two ACLs.”

  “Ouch!” The guys all chimed in with sympathy.

  “When do I need to turn over the schedule?” he asked once the meal was over.

  “We have Sunday supper at one of the main houses sometimes. Sometimes we just play cards. One way or the other, Monday is the new work week.” Hank shrugged. “If you want to change it, you can. I have Monday and Tuesday off, Franklin has Wednesday and Thursday. We do it that way because….”

  “There’s less work on the weekends?” Colt asked, and they all cracked up.

  “I got it.” He winked broadly. “Thanks, guys. Y’all are making it easy right now.” He knew ranching wasn’t easy, but they were making him welcome, not at all weird.

  “Look, kid. You’ll manage. We all have cushy jobs; you’re the one that has to deal with the big boss. He’s rumored to have a bitch of a temper.” Mr. Franklin shrugged.

  “Oh? Miz Jerilyn is who I deal with when he’s not here, right?”

  “Yeah, but he came in this morning and ain’t nobody even seen him yet.”

  “He’s a foreigner?” Harrison nodded. “I hear he’s from Italy. Like a prince or something. Real ballbuster.”