Page 9 of Cowboy Devil's Embrace

“It’s not that bad,” Mrs. O’Hare said, but it was that bad.

Truly, it was.

What the hell was I going to do here?

Aside from the deplorable state of my new home/ranch/farm, Barren County had the smallest population of any other county in New Jersey.

No people.

No women.

But it did have land.

Good, wholesome, fertile farmland. The kind that made New Jersey one of the top ten producers in the entire country ofblueberries, cranberries, peaches, tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, apples, spinach, squash and asparagus.

Considering the size of the Garden State, that truly was remarkable. It was the fourth smallest state in the good old USA.

Apparently, the folks who founded this county had a sense of humor. Or maybe they just named itBarrento keep competitors away.

Fuck if I knew.

“Oh, come on, Max. Let’s see the inside,” Mrs. O’Hare said.

I paused and looked at my former nanny and current housekeeper. She just cocked her head, stuck out her tongue, then turned and took in the sprawling ranch house.

“Molly, have you been drinking this morning? Not that bad? One sneeze and the whole place will collapse!”

“Not necessarily. And of course I’ve been drinking. I added a shot of Bite to my coffee with breakfast.”

“Molly,” it was my turn to chide her.

“What? I had to get in the car with you, you demon!”

“I don’t drive that bad,” I muttered.

“And I remember when you failed your test three times in a row, thank you very much. Now, the house is likely good inside. They built these things to last back then,” she replied, and slid out of the suped up Ford F-150 Lightning Platinum pickup truck I just parked my classic cherry red Camaro for.

That fucker, Avail, better not be driving it while I was stuck here in wherever the fuck I was.

Oh yeah, the lovely town of Dry Creek. Feeling beyond put out, I patted the truck, hands on my hips, and scowled.

Hard.

I had no experience ranching, farming, or whatever the fuck else I was going to have to do here.

But maybe Mrs. O’Hare wasn’t wrong.

Fine, I could see some good points. The house had character. And space. Miles of it.

Snort.

I was too used to posh estates and luxurious surroundings. But I’d been bored with that life, right?

So yeah. This could work. With a little construction and some maintenance, of course.

A fresh coat of paint.

New fences.

---