Page 27 of Roaring Fork Wrangler

Two days later,I met with Hoss Schultz. My first impression of him reinforced everything I’d heard. Trouble sat just beneath the surface of this man. It was evident in his hooded eyes and the sneer he hardly tried to hide. Straight off, I decided I wanted nothing to do with the asshole. However, until I knew why I was being forced to spend a year here, I had to make nice.

“I’ll give you the rundown before you meet the crew,” he began, taking a seat behind the desk of what appeared to be the ranch manager’s office. From everything I’d learned from Pete, Schultz wasn’t involved in the cattle operation. However, if JD hadn’t named a successor before he died, and given what I’d also heard about Mrs. Covert’s health, I guessed someone had to have stepped up.

A quick but guarded study of the man told me I wouldn’t be answering to him on a daily basis, unless it was inside an office like this one. There wasn’t a single callous on his soft hands nor were there scars that every cowboy inevitably had just from mending fences. The numerous scars on the back of mine were a testament to what a bitch barbed wire could be.

“The way the former owners set up the estate is antiquated but functional, at least for now.”

The words “former owners” and “functional for now,” led me to guess Schultz believed a significant change in who held the property’s title was on the horizon.

“In total, there are five thousand acres. Forty-three hundred and fifty are held under a separate deed set aside for the cattle operation.”

My best guess was it had been done for tax purposes. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learn more from the man by what he chose to divulge. More importantly, what he didn’t.

If he’d meant it to, the size of the place didn’t faze me. It was a tenth of the acreage of Roaring Fork Ranch.

He paused briefly, then continued. “The other six hundred and fifty acres that aren’t forested, are utilized for residences, barns, and other outbuildings, including the estate’s winery and vineyards.”

I nodded once, then waited for him to continue.

His eyes scrunched. “You got any experience with a ranch this size?”

“Not this size, no.”

The man sighed and muttered something under his breath.

“What have you got? Three thousand head?”

He looked up at me. “About.”

“The last place I was at had closer to thirty-five thousand.”

Schultz quickly steeled his reaction, but I saw enough to know he’d heard me.

“What’s the size of your crew?” I asked, taking control of the conversation.

“Thirty, give or take.”

I didn’t react, especially when it became evident the man knew next to nothing about managing a cattle operation. There was no way so few cowboys could manage an operation this big. My guess, if and when I got the chance to look at any ledgers there might be, was their annual head losses were at least ten percent, but probably ahelluvalot more than that.

“Where are they?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

“The crew.”

He didn’t respond other than to pick up his phone. He punched the screen several times, then set it down.

“Jed is the foreman. He and the guys will meet you here in thirty.”

“We’ll meet them at the corral instead.”

He raised a brow but, even after I stood, didn’t speak. I was almost out the door but turned around. “Is this my office?”

He nodded once.

“How many bunkhouses are there?”

“Jed will answer questions of that nature.”

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