Page 4 of Roaring Fork Wrangler

“I’ll send the details via email. You do have email, don’t you, Cord?”

“You’re an asshole,” I said, ending the call. It was a tossup as to whether he’d heard me or not. Either way, I didn’t care. Six-pack might only be the messenger, but something told me he took a perverse pleasure in sticking it to us Wheatons.

I sent a group text to my brothers, asking them to meet me in the main barn as soon as they could. Each one of them must’ve sensed what was up since no one asked why.

“I heard from Six-pack,”I said when Buck, the last to arrive, walked in. “I have to be in New York by Sunday night.”

All four of us sat on hay bales, but no one spoke for several minutes.

“Where in New York?” Buck asked.

“Near Buffalo.”

He rubbed his chin. “As you know, I’ve spent time in New York City, not that I know much about it. I know even less about that part of the state. Did Six-pack say why?”

I shook my head. “He’s emailing the details.”

Porter stood and walked over to one of the horse stalls. “Good thing National Finals Rodeo is over, or we’d be fucked.” It was the biggest event of the year for roughstockers and where we made the majority of our money. Unfortunately, the second biggest was right around the corner.

“National Western Stock Show starts mid-January,” I reminded him.

“We’ll get the Rice boys to send some of their animals,” he said, chewing on a piece of straw.

“I’ll go,” Buck offered. “I’m sure we’ve got enough hands on this ranch who would jump at the chance to go to Denver for a few nights.”

Porter nodded at Buck, then looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s your decision, Cord. I’m sure as hell not going to answer for you. This operation is just as much your creation as it is mine.”

“Whatever you do about NWSS is fine with me. My hands are tied, Port.”

I stared down at the dirt, then at my phone and the email I received from the attorney, and read as far as the line saying I’d be required to remain somewhere called the Lilacs for a period of one year from the day I arrived.

“I’ll head out at zero dark thirty tomorrow.” I kicked the same dirt I’d been staring at. “Guess I’ll see you guys next Christmas.”

I made bettertime than I thought I would and pulled into East Aurora—a Podunk of a town, but not any more so than Crested Butte—at eight, Saturday night.

“Welcome to the inn,” a guy younger than me said as he opened one of the two big, wooden entrance doors. “Are you in town for the holidays?” he asked.

“No.”

“Can I help you with your bags, sir?”

“No,” I said a second time. “Thanks,” I added as an afterthought.

“Right. Okay. Well, check-in is right over there.” He pointed to a desk. As I got closer, I saw two women.One was seated behind it, the other in front. I stood a few feet away, waiting for them to finish.

“Hey, Juni. We’ve got a check-in,” said the doorman.

“Sorry,” she said, getting up.

“Take your time. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I am, though.”

I’d removed my hat when I came inside, but with my square-toe boots, barn jacket, and flannel shirt, I had to look like someone straight out of a Western movie to whoever she was. “Cord Wheaton,” I said, taking a step forward and holding out my hand. Her grip was strong when she shook it, and her eyes met mine straight on. I liked her already. Not to mention she was about the prettiest girl I’d seen in as long as I could remember. She stared up at me with her big gray-green eyes and smiled, then glanced over at the guy who stood not too far from us. Boyfriend, I’d guess. Pity.

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