Page 10 of His Fresh Start Cowboy
Probably for a while.
Ugh. Why couldn’t life have stayed as simple as it had been before Hugo Turner marched back into his family’s ranch?
Chapter Four
It took Hugo a few minutes to figure out the scooter the next morning—mostly because the mug of instant coffee he’d made wasn’t doing him any favors with his slight jet lag—and then he was puttering down the state road toward Woods Ranch. His stomach roiled with nerves like it always did on his first day at a new job, but at least he knew people here and had support. Rem had his back. He had no idea what Brand thought about this whole thing, because he’d been cagey as hell during dinner last night.
Hopefully, he’d get at least one private conversation with his new foreman today.
He admired the wide-open skies on his drive up the dirt lane to the ranch. Ever since he was a kid, he’d loved being outdoors, free to run around and experience nature. Maybe that was why he’d never landed in a big city, preferring small towns and small jobs as he wandered from state to state. Trying to leave his past behind in another small town not too far from here.
A few other vehicles were parked near the barn, so Hugo left the scooter there. Woods Ranch was a small, family-run operation with only a handful of employees, so the hands didn’t live on-site anymore. The structure of the former bunkhouse stood behind the barn and was mostly used for storage, Rem had told him. No one had lived in it in all the years Hugo had known Rem.
A tall, well-muscled, tanned man stepped out from the open doors of the barn, hands on his hips. He wore a typical arrangement of boots, jeans, a light jacket, and Stetson, and his pointed look settled directly on Hugo. “You the new guy?”
Hugo nodded. “Yes, sir. Hugo Turner. I was told to be here by eight.”
The man glanced at his wristwatch—something Hugo wasn’t used to seeing much anymore since most people had cell phones. “You’re two minutes late.”
Oh good grief, really?“I apologize. I’ve never ridden Rem’s scooter before and wasn’t sure how long the drive from Elmer’s place would take me.”
“Do better tomorrow. Name’s Jackson Sumner. Brand told me to show you the ropes today.”
“Nice to meet you.” Hugo shook his hand, unsurprised by the tight, calloused grip. Jackson definitely had “career ranch hand” written all over him. A few of the guys he’d worked with in California had had a similar look and feel to them, and Hugo definitely wanted to stay on Jackson’s good side. “I’m somewhat familiar with the barn and land, since I was here a lot as a teenager.”
“That’s fine, but I imagine a few things have changed, including our gradual switch to organic, grass-fed beef. Today is easing you into our routines, learning where everything is kept, meeting the horses you’ll be riding, and the lay of the land. The grass-fed have a lot larger grazing pasture than the other beef, so we gotta keep a special eye on wanderers.”
“Understood.” Hugo glanced around but didn’t see Brand or Rem anywhere in sight yet. “Is it just us?”
“Nah, Rem and Brand will be out soon enough, I reckon. Other guy we had broke his hand a few weeks ago and is on leave, so things are a little tight with the workload around here. You’re in for long days, kid.”
The “kid” comment irritated him a bit, because Jackson didn’t look that much older than him, but appearances were often deceiving. Especially when you met someone for the first time. “I’m no stranger to hard work. I came here to work and I’ll do my part.”
“Good man. I’ll show you around.”
They went into the barn’s small break room first, which was basically a converted horse stall with a half-sized fridge, microwave, and three-seat table. But it was clean, and Hugo put his sandwich in the fridge to eat later. The barn was mostly what he remembered, from the horse stalls to the tack room full of equipment, to the area where the horses were regularly cleaned and/or tacked for riding.
“We’ve got a fair mix of mares and geldings,” Jackson said as they peeked into various stalls. “Good mounts, and they know how to act around the cattle.”
Hugo didn’t see nameplates on the stalls, and he glanced in at a beautiful palomino. The horse approached and let Hugo stroke her velvety-soft nose. “What’s this one’s name?”
“No name.”
“The horse doesn’t have a name?”
Jackson tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow quirked. “No name.”
“Why haven’t you named the horse yet?”
“I said No Name.”
Then it clicked. “Wait, the horse’s name is No Name?”
“That’s what I just said.”
Hugo felt like he was in the middle of an Abbott and Costello skit, and he very nearly asked “Who’s on first?” but refrained. Jackson didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d take well to the joke. “That’s, um, an interesting name.”
“Mr. Woods chose the name when the horse was born two years ago. Based on the lyrics of a song he loved.”
