Page 12 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

Inside, a decent king bed anchored the room, and bookending it were two nightstands that held lamps on either side. A set of plain gray sheets covered it, but a quilt made of blue, brown, and gray interlocking strips of cloth rested at the foot of it.

The headboard, dresser, and closet door were made of the same slab of plain wood. A study desk was pushed up against the window that opened up to a view of the back east pasture. A simple, worn brown leather armchair was in the corner near a small table stacked with books—and, on occasion, a bottle of brandy.

“A shower, clean clothes, and ten hours of sleep sounds like heaven right now,” I said to myself while heading to the en-suite.

Within twenty minutes, I’d showered, shaved, and was dressed in my most comfortable sleeping pants and T-shirt. Before tumbling between the sheets, I checked my phone for any messages from the mayor but found none.

It didn’t matter anyway. I would be seeing the man by tonight.

Putting it on DND, I dropped my head on the pillow, thankful to be away from Zara and the troublesome thoughts that sprung into my head at times—but damned if she didn’t show up in my dreams anyhow.

Isaac, one of the newest—and youngest—ranch hands, came to call me down for dinner. When we stepped on the back porch, with dusk dawning all around us, I found Zara gazing at the spread as if she had never seen food in her life.

“Something amiss?” I asked.

“Is this….is this normal or did you pull out all the stops for little old me?” she asked.

I snorted. “This is daily, Za—Miss Harrington. We’re cowboys. We eat a lot.”

“You could feed half the West Coast with this,” she replied. “And half of Texas, too.”

“Trust me, I have been to ranches in Texas. This is a fraction of what they eat down there,” I replied, nodding to the trays. “Imagine all that casserole and fresh salad with every cut of beef you can imagine and then triple it.”

“Any ranch in particular?”

“The Twisted Twines Ranch stands out for me,” I replied while taking a plate and sitting. “Their stud program is very unique and truly ahead of its time.”

“How is that?”

“Well, for one, the owner’s got degrees in animal husbandry and microbiology…or was it genetics.” I shrugged, hating how my mind was failing me now. “Well, whatever it is, it's working for him and his wife, who happens to be a vet.”

“That’s the dream ticket, isn’t it?” Zara shared a square of casserole. “To marry someone who has the same goals and drive you do.”

“So, I take it you’re looking for a well-heeled man wearing a sharp suit, coke bottle glasses, with a Rolodex brain and fast fingers,” I jabbed.

“If he put them in the right place, sure,” she muttered.

I pretended I had not heard that.

“Oh man,” Santos, another ranch hand, leaped onto the porch, rubbing both hands together. “I am star—ving.”

“No, you’re not,” Lucas, my fourth ranch hand, joined us. “You just inhaled a double beef burger from Millies.”

“One that I’d kept in the barracks fridge for two days,” Lucas wrinkled his nose. “That was not appetizing in the least.”

Zara looked from one to the other. “Are you all ranch hands?”

“Yep,” Frankie grinned. “But I’m the one who wrangles these knuckleheads in place. I’m the foreman here. Isaac is the baby, so he is the all-rounder. Lucas breaks horses. Santos deals with the calves mostly, but we all pitch in where needed. You know Marie, she is a godsend because none of us can cook for shit?—”

“Mind the cursing.” I warned him.

Of course it went through one ear and out the other.

“Connie here is our gearhead, an occasional cowgirl, and you can find her working on one ATV or another at any time of the day, and though she isn’t here yet, Doc Evie is our vet,” Frankie replied.

“How many bulls or steers do you guys handle per day?” Zara asked.

“Around two hundred,” Santos replied, reclining in his chair and rolling his neck. “When the birthing season is over, that increases to about thirty-five. But they stay in the nursery for a couple months until the doc gives the all-clear.”

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