Page 5 of Don't Trust the Cowboy

“How come?”

He gives me a look. “Ah, never mind.”

I change the subject. “If your interview didn’t show up, how come you didn’t call me.”

“I don’t need the trouble.”

I look at him. “More trouble than what you’re in now, you mean?”

“I can handle it.”

“Where’s your brother? Is he your partner in crime?”

“Not anymore.” He answers, and then he takes another bite.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

I decide to take a different approach. “You mind if I use your washroom?”

“Be my guest.”

I rise and go inside. The house is a disgusting mess. Papers everywhere, books piled on top of other papers, dishes piled up in the kitchen, a computer that’s switched on, showing unpaid bills, a mess of accounts, a spreadsheet that hasn’t recorded anything in a month, and a pile of unopened envelopes, some stamped in red with ‘Final Notice’. It’s a risk, but a risk worth taking, as I organize some of the piles, open the mail, and start inputting bills into the computer. The passwords are handwritten on sticky notes, stuck to the side of the computer monitor, so it’s easy to navigate.

It takes me all of five minutes to enter the newer bills and start a ledger for the next month. That’s when I hear him come into the house. Feeling brave, I simply keep working, acting like I don’t hear him, hoping that he’s still too tired and defeated to chide me. He draws in a deep breath and releases it, looking around. “Well, what’s your assessment.” He says as more of a statement. “Am I in deep shit or what’s the damage.”

“Money’s not your problem, Mr. Barnes.”

He grumbles. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. First, you shouldn’t leave your passwords all over the monitor. Second, if you set up automatic payments, half of these bills wouldn’t be an issue. Third, I know a young girl that can clean up this place in two hours, twice a week, and charge you next to nothing.”

“Greeeat. So, you don’t clean.”

“I didn’t say that. What I’m saying is that you need someone to do your books way more than you need someone to clean your house, and Missy is desperate.”

“Who’s Missy?”

“My former dormmate’s younger sister. She’s a year younger than me and her folks won’t let her work for a fast-food joint.”

“Can’t say I blame them there.”

“Anyway, if you have resumes, or if you want me to set up some job postings, we can get you ranch hands that won’t care about your reputation around town. I assume that’s why you haven’t hired anyone local?”

He nods. “That’s right. Nobody will work for me. It’s just the damn builders, but they’re from Dallas.”

I turn the monitor around so that he can see it. “I’ve got these invoices set up to pay. If you give me your banking information, I can get them done automatically. We can work on a temporary basis if you want to see what I can do first. You can pay me minimum wage if that’s what you want, to start, and then we can go from there. I can work from seven o’clock in the morning, until two o’clock in the afternoon if that suits you.”

He draws in another breath and releases it, and I think I'm wearing him down. He looks at me, like I’m going to be the death of him. “Answer me one question.”

“Sure.” I answer, thinking that this may be an interview yet. Then he shoots me with one I don’t expect.

“Why in the hell are you living in your car?”

I hesitate, tilting my head, and I level with him. “I’m sure you heard that my folks died in a car wreck.”

A simple nod. “I did.”

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