Colt

by Duncan Leigh

  Doris sipped from an ever-present cup of coffee. “The secret to a good biscuit is a light touch. I mix up all the dry ingredients and keep them over there.” She motioned toward a large ceramic bowl on the dry sink. “There’s oil in the cupboard overhead. Add it and the milk at the same time. Don’t stir any more than you have to. Pat out the dough. Don’t roll it.”

  Emma typed furiously, stopping only when Doris pushed her coffee aside and stood.

  “Or you can do what I’ve done the past ten years.” She crossed to the big Sub-Zero and pulled open the lowest storage bin. “You can use these.” She held up a popular brand of canned biscuits.

  Stunned, Emma sat back in her chair. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Doris pointed to an age-lined face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  Emma searched the woman’s blue eyes for a hint of humor and found none.

  “But—” she protested. “But what about the traditions Colt said were so important?”

  “Honey, Colt’s just like you—brand-new to the job and eager to make an impression. My advice? Don’t waste time on the small stuff. I’ve been serving store-bought at the house for the better part of a decade, and nobody’s been the wiser.” She gazed through the window over the sink. “I’d do it on the trail rides, but the cans are a mite harder to hide out there.”

  Emma blew out a long, slow breath. Learning the older cook had a few ready-made tricks up her sleeves took some of the stress off her shoulders. Her confidence bolstered, she returned to the task at hand.

  “Okay,” she said, “what’s next?”

  For hours, they pored over the cookbook while Bree chatted with Mrs. Wickles and played with her dolls.

  “I’ll never get all this right,” Emma mused when they finally took a break.

  Menus at the Circle P were at once simple and challenging. According to Doris, oven-fried chicken and mashed potatoes were nearly as popular as swamp cabbage, a dish Emma had never heard of, much less prepared. Apparently, it involved harvesting the hearts from palm trees.

  How was she supposed to do that, she wondered.

  “You’re gonna make mistakes. Everybody does,” Doris soothed. “The first time I fixed meat loaf, I was so proud of it. When I took it out of the oven, the bacon and tomato crust on top was perfect. The edges, dark and crispy. Seth said it was so pretty, it set his mouth watering. That was before I sliced into it.”

  She slapped the table, tears and laughter sparkling in her eyes. “It literally poured out of the pan. Seth ladled it over his mashed potatoes and said it was the best gravy he’d ever tasted.”

  Her laughter faded and she wiped her eyes with the edge of her apron. “I’m sure gonna miss that old man.”

  “I’m not sure Colt would think a ruined meal was something to laugh at,” Emma mumbled. For the life of her, she couldn’t picture the big man smiling about…anything.

  “My boys—they all have their moments—but I couldn’t ask for better sons.” Doris slanted her head to the side. “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his mother. Take my Seth, for example.” The older woman’s face crinkled. “Oh, that man. I was a sales clerk at the five-and-dime in town when he came in to buy a birthday present. For his mother, as it turned out.”

  Emma smiled at Doris’s meaningful glance.

  “One look at him, and I just knew I’d found the one I’d spend the rest of my life with.” She sipped her coffee. “You’ll see. It’ll happen for you, too.”

  Emma shook her head. The kind of love Doris and Seth had shared sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale. She doubted whether a modern-day Prince Charming existed. Certainly not one for her. Colt, with his piercing blue eyes and all that gorgeous thick black hair might look the part, but true heroes didn’t have his temper.

  And wasn’t she done with angry men?

  From her dad to Jack, she’d had enough. As for the chefs in the kitchens where she’d worked, if she’d had any idea how much they threw their weight around, she’d have chosen another line of work entirely.

  Here on the Circle P, things would be different. The ranch hands, from the little she’d seen of them, stuck to themselves or had families of their own. Soon, all the Judd brothers except Colt would leave. He’d only be here until his younger brothers took over.

  Knowing the man was another in a line of Mr. Wrongs, she’d keep her distance. Something that should be easy enough to do as long as she put dinner on the table at six and provided a hearty breakfast for the ranchers before their day started.

  “So,” Doris asked at last, “do you think you’re up to the job? I hate to dump all this on you the minute you show up. But it sounds as if Garrett and Arlene could use my help.” She wiped her eyes. “It’ll be good for me to get away for a while.”

  Emma swept the immaculate kitchen with a gaze. She drummed her fingers on the cookbook.

  “Yes,” she answered with far more certainty than she’d felt at the start of the day.

  Alone with Bree a short time later, Emma flipped through recipes until she came to a cobbler that, according to her notes, was one of Doris’s favorites. It sounded like just the thing to prepare as a thank-you gift. She ducked into the pantry. As she searched the shelves for key ingredients, she tilted her head at an odd noise.

  “Bree, is someone knocking at the door?” she called.

  In the breathless pause before her daughter answered, Emma considered stepping into the kitchen for a look.

  “No, Mommy. No one’s here,” Bree said at last.

  Emma twisted a can to read the label. “Are you playing?”

  “I’m looking outside.”

  “Try not to jiggle the door, honey.” She pictured the four-year-old, her nose pressed against the screen, the door rattling against the latch. Adding jars of sliced apples to her pile, she gathered the items for the cobbler in her arms. Before she’d taken two steps into the kitchen, Emma froze. Sunshine poured in through the screened door, illuminating the vacant space where, minutes earlier, she’d left her daughter.

  Her heart in her throat for the second time that day, Emma gasped.

  “Bree!”

  “You sure you know how to fix it?” Colt leaned over his saddle horn to give his brother a doubtful look. The air-conditioning unit in the little house had spewed nothing but dust when Randy and Royce tested it this morning. It was broken, they’d insisted. It needed to be replaced.

  Colt slapped one hand against his jeans. A big bill would not get his stint as manager off to a good start. Especially since he was already going to owe the vet for a house call.

  “While you were busy earning a gold buckle on the rodeo circuit, I was fixing air conditioners part time to pay my way through college. Remember?” Palmetto rustled as Garrett guided his mare off the main trail, headed for the house that had been sitting vacant for the better part of two years.

  “Just don’t spend any more money than necessary,” Colt cautioned. He was all for making the place habitable. No more, no less. Not for a cook who probably wouldn’t stay on the ranch through the heat of summer.

  His stomach rumbled, a reminder that he’d missed breakfast. That she’d missed breakfast. He tipped his hat back to swipe his forehead with a damp sleeve and caught a glimpse of the sun on the wrong side of noon. His first day on the job, and he was already falling behind. Temporary repairs to the fence the Circle P shared with Ol’ Man Tompkins had taken longer than he wanted to spend on them. A permanent fix was in order and, with Garrett busy with other things, it was looking more and more like he’d have to take care of it himself.

  Tack jangled and leather creaked as he urged Star into a trot that would take them home for more supplies. Nearing the barn, he reined the horse to a walk when he spied one of the ranch hands lounging in the shade. His nose in a book, the boy gave every indication that there was nothing better to do on the busy ranch than stand there all day chewing on a piece of straw. Colt urged Star toward the young man who, ac
cording to Luke, tended to slack off whenever he could.

  “Josh, I need you to grab a couple of posts and some wire. Head on over to the spot where the creek runs between our land and Tompkins’s. There’re two places where his cows have broken through our fence again.”

  Josh barely looked up from his reading material. He shifted a strand of hay from one side of his mouth to the other. “Sure thing, Colt. I’ll get to it soon as I’m finished here.”

  Colt blinked slowly. “That’s boss to you.” Recalling how his dad had dealt with ornery ranch hands, he let his vowels stretch out, emphasizing his drawl to show he meant business. “I think that barn can stand on its own without your help. Unless you want to spend all night roundin’ up strays, you’d best get a move on.”

  Thpt. A tiny divot appeared in the gray sand at Josh’s feet. “I’m helpin’ the vet right now.”

  Excuse me? He’d expected the older hands on the ranch to test him. Not a young kid like Josh.

  Behind his sunglasses, Colt’s vision narrowed in on Jim Jacobs’s truck parked near the holding pen.

  “That the vet?” His voice deceptively mild, he inclined his head toward the man who sat in the front seat, his phone pressed against one ear.

  “Yep. That’s him.”

  “Seems to me, he doesn’t need your help this minute.” Squaring his shoulders, Colt pulled himself erect atop Star. Clearly, it was going to take a firmer hand than he’d expected to keep things on an even keel on the Circle P.

  “Now, I’ve told you what needs to be done. The choice is up to you. Get movin’ or start packin’.” He glared at the young man, daring him to argue.

  Josh faced him for a long second before he shoved his book into a back pocket. He started toward the shed where they stored fencing materials. Watching him go, Colt let out a slow whistle. He patted Star’s long neck and wished everyone who worked on the ranch was as easy to handle as his horse.

  “Come on, boy.” He gave the reins a tug. “Let’s go say hello.”

  The man who stepped from the vet’s truck a few minutes later had put on thirty pounds and lost his swagger, but Colt easily recognized the former rodeo competitor. After their first season on the circuit together, Jim Jacobs had chosen vet school over bronco bustin’ and calf tying. Now he peered up from beneath a baseball cap, sorrow showing on a face that had aged since they’d last seen each other.

  “Sorry I wasn’t able to make it to the funeral. I got stuck at the Carson place. That big bay of theirs ran through an electric fence and got himself all cut up. What a mess.”

  “We had a good turnout.” Colt concentrated on combing his free hand through Star’s mane. He’d been in such a fog during the service and the gathering at the house afterward, he wasn’t sure who’d shown up and who hadn’t.

  Jim stood with his hands on his hips. “Everybody around here’s gonna miss Seth. I heard one of you boys was gonna take his place. Who drew the short straw?”

  “News travels fast.” The privilege of running the Circle P was one he had asked for. Colt grimaced, his gut tightening. “It’s gonna be tough, but I’ll manage.” He added an aw-shucks grin to let his old friend know he was up to the job.

  Jim mulled over the news and then, with a grunt and a nod, he grabbed his bag from the front seat. “You’ve been around horses and cattle all your life. You’ll do just fine.” He crossed to the holding pen where an enormous bull stood, docilely chewing his cud. “Now, let’s see about this bad boy.”

  Colt eyed a bright gash in the animal’s glossy brown coat. After ten years riding some of the meanest bulls on the rodeo circuit, he knew a thing or two about them. Some had dispositions as gentle as the one in the picture book that had been his favorite when he was Bree’s age. Others could be sweet as clover one second and madder than a wet cat the next. Whatever their mood, two thousand pounds of muscle and horns earned the animals a healthy dose of respect. But livestock weren’t pets. They didn’t have names. As the third of four bulls on the ranch, this one was simply referred to by number.

  “Three tangled with some downed wire a week or so ago. It’s probably infected.”

  “Anything else I should know?” Jim reached for the latch.

  “I don’t know much more than that,” Colt admitted. With a start, he realized Josh had probably been tasked to provide more details on the animal’s history. “You need someone on the gate?”

  “Nah, I got this,” Jim said.

  Only, he didn’t. Instead of raising his head the way he should have, Three didn’t so much as twitch when Jim slid back the latch. The animal didn’t even look at the man entering his pen. In fact, a low, rumbling mmrruuh was Three’s only indication that he was paying attention at all.

  “Uh, Jim…” Colt reached for his rope.

  The warning came too late. No sooner did the vet ease the gate wide enough to step through than Three charged across the pen.

  Jim yelped and jumped to one side. Stumbling out of the bull’s path, he lost his grip on the metal bar. The gate swung wide.

  Three exploded out of the pen and into the yard.

  “Aw, crap,” Colt muttered. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Jim scramble over the fence and into the pen. Though he was probably safer there than out in the yard, that still left the not-so-little matter of a loose bull for somebody to deal with. The animal stood in the center of the space between the barn and the greenhouse.

  “No harm. No foul.”

  Slowly, Colt walked Star toward the beast.

  Think again, he told himself a second later when Bree Shane peeked around the corner of the house. The girl gave a quick wave before ducking out of sight.

  Colt’s chest seized. “Stay away. Stay away,” he whispered.

  Moments later, Bree raced around the corner. This time, she didn’t stop, but headed straight into the yard, pigtails flying. Colt’s mouth filled with sawdust.

  The motion drew Three’s attention. His head lowered, he pawed the ground.

  Colt swore. His heart rate kicked into a gallop.

  “Get back,” he yelled, not caring whether the bull or the child obeyed as long as one of them did.

  Bree skidded to stop. “Mr. Colt,” she called. “Can I pet the cow?”

  “No!” His eyes on a bull that could charge with devastating results, Colt spurred Star into action. Dirt sprayed from the gelding’s hooves as he positioned the horse between the girl and certain death.

  “Get back in the house!”

  Bree didn’t move. Star’s hooves pranced over the dirt, throwing up clods.

  “Get inside. Right now!”

  The kid’s mouth dropped wide open. More sound than Colt ever thought possible spewed out. The high, shrill voice startled the bull. Three shook his head, turned and trotted toward the greenhouse.

  Watching a ton of hooved, horned danger hustle to escape the noise, Colt spared a look behind him. The slap of the kitchen door told him Bree had scampered to safety. Relief uncoiled through his chest and he sucked in air. He unfurled his rope and worked it into a lasso. Step by step, he advanced on Three, flung the business end of a lariat over the bull’s massive horns and led him toward the pen.

  While Jim clambered over the fence again, Colt dismounted and gave Star a well-deserved pat. Trying to make light of the situation, he grinned and nudged the vet.

  “This time, don’t let him out.”

  But there was nothing lighthearted about the way his stomach dipped when Colt considered what might have happened if he and Star hadn’t been there.

  “I’ll send someone out to help as soon as I can,” he told Jim. “First, though, there’s a little kid who needs to know the importance of doing what she’s told.”

  Intending to read both Bree and her mom the riot act, he headed for the house. Luke Parker met him halfway there. The owner hiked a thumb over one shoulder at the kitchen he’d just exited.

  “I wouldn’t go inside if I was you. Crying kids. Angry women. General confusion.” Lu
ke doffed his hat. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  Colt squared his shoulders. “My fault.” He refused to dodge the blame. As manager, anything that happened on the Circle P was his responsibility. “I didn’t realize Three was an escape artist. I should have known better. Should have let Josh help the vet like he was supposed to.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Luke wanted to know.

  “Just my pride.” Colt clenched and unclenched a fist. “We were lucky.” He eyed the door at the end of the path. “You want to tell ’em for me?”

  “Nah, man. I’m smarter than that.” Luke’s feet were already in motion. “I’ll help Jim with the bull.”

  Colt didn’t doubt for a minute he’d drawn the tougher job. One look through the kitchen door only reinforced his certainty that if he had anything better to do, he’d choose it rather than face the crowd clustered around Bree.

  He eased into the room. Knowing he’d have to wait for the excitement to fade, Colt grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a tall iced tea. He drank it down in one long gulp while he tried to steady his hands.

  He closed his eyes, but the image of massive horns tossing a tiny body into the air played against the backs of his lids. He groaned, thinking of all the times he’d been thrown from a bucking bull’s back. Landing always hurt. And there’d been that time in Laredo when Ol’ Hickory got his head under him and sent him flying. Nothing about that night had gone well.

  Behind him, Bree’s sobs gradually quieted down enough that a man could make himself heard. He pushed away from the counter. Tea sloshed in his empty stomach as he spun to face the room.

  Still clutching her daughter to her chest, Emma turned a tear-stained face in his direction. Her hair had spilled from its ponytail. It hung in a tangled mass around her shoulders, tempting his fingers and evaporating all thought of yelling at the woman. Her face flushed and, when her eyes met his, fire flickered in her dark orbs.

  A knock sounded, and thankful for the interruption, he turned toward the doorway where Jim had appeared.