Page 15 of Steers and Stowaways
He pinned his most ferocious glare on her, which wasn’t difficult since he was furious. “This is the screw-up I fired a few hundred miles back!” He’d play along with her little game, but he was playing it his way. Hopefully, she’d take the hint and skedaddle while she still could.
He took no joy in the way his words made her flinch. Or the way her heart-shaped face whitened beneath her fake tan, probably a spray job. It was the only explanation he could come up with for how she’d gained a Florida beach complexion during the three days since he’d last seen her. It looked good on her, too. Everything looked good on her—long hair, short hair, fair skin, darker skin, fitted jeans, and the baggy britches she was currently slumming in. If she weren’t in so much danger, he might’ve laughed at her antics. His only comfort was that the punk prancing around the two of them seemed to be buying her disguise.
To his dismay, she still didn’t back down. “I need this job,” she whined in a pretty convincing Southern accent.
A grudging sliver of admiration crawled through him. “Well, stowing away on my transport didn’t earn you any brownie points. All it did was slap dishonesty onto your growing list of offenses.” Since Chip didn’t have a direct view of Tucker’s face, Tucker blasted her with a look of warning.
“Slap away, sir. Just give me another chance,” she begged piteously, clasping her gloved hands beneath her chin. “I promise to make your trailer smell better, one scoop at a time, turning big cow pies into smaller cow pies.” She dropped to her shabby knees in front of him, a picture of contrition. “I’ll do so much of the dirty work that the flies will grow fat and happy. I’ll?—”
Chip howled with laughter, bending over double to clutch his sides. Cruz, who’d swaggered their way before Mallory finished her speech, studied her position on the pavement with a smirk as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Tucker couldn’t believe Mallory was clowning around with guys packing no less than three guns between them, a couple of knives, and a pair of brass knuckles…that he’d glimpsed so far.
But she was, and she had her two young listeners hanging onto her every word.
“Oh, come on,hoss!” When Chip could speak again, he rounded on Tucker with an imploring look. “We’ve got a long drive ahead, and she’s…” He searched for the right word. “She’s cool,” he concluded in a triumphant voice, as if coolness was the number one attribute every employer should look for in those they hired.
Feeling boxed in, Tucker considered his options and decided he only had one left. He curled his upper lip atMallory, wishing with all of his heart that she’d stayed home. “If I give you another chance?—”
She interrupted him with a rowdy whoop of elation and bounced like a Jack-in-the-box to her feet.
He gave her another dark, warning look before continuing. “I’m gonna be all over you like flies on a muddy dog. If you blow it again, you’re gonna wish you were never born.”
“Yeah, yeah, she gets it. We all do.” Cruz rolled his eyes, clearly siding with Mallory. “I’m Cruz.” He eagerly thrust a hand at her. “Cruz Burgos. I work for the hottie who owns these grazers.” He nodded at the cattle trailer, which had grown remarkably quieter since Tucker and Mallory had exited it.
Hottie?Tucker experienced the sudden urge to kick the legs out from beneath the mouthy ranch hand. What a disrespectful way to refer to the woman who wrote his paychecks! It was rude, offensive, and every other unacceptable adjective he could think of.
From the pink flooding Mallory’s cheeks as she shook the rascal’s hand, Tucker could only assume she was equally astonished by the punk’s brash words.
“And your name is…?” her newest ranch hand inquired boldly.
Her lips parted in confusion, alerting Tucker to the fact that her improvising skills were experiencing their first hiccup.
“Brat,” he suppled in a flat voice to stall for time. “It’s all I’ve ever called her.” He was more than happy to let her continue swimming through the sludge of her own making. For all he knew, she’d already written a mile-long description of her fictitious life as a lowly ranch hand. Far be it from him to derail whatever script she was following.
“It’s true,” she simpered, taking a step closer to the man she was forcing to pose as her boss.
He waffled between wanting to strangle her for her foolishness and wanting to hug her for her bravery. She had guts. He’d give her that.
“Get in,” he barked, waving both hands to herd his ragtag crew toward the cab of the truck. He aimed his thumb at the backseat and gave Chip and Cruz his sternest don’t-mess-with-me look.
They continued snickering as they climbed into the extended cab, yielding the passenger seat to Mallory with no fuss. It was almost too easy.
Tucker started the motor and turned on the heater, not liking the way Mallory was still shivering. She would’ve been in serious trouble if she’d remained exposed to the elements for much longer.
Before driving off, he chunked the glass bottle of water he’d purchased at the service station into one of the cup holders of the console. From the corner of his eye, he watched Mallory give it a thirsty look.
He was betting she didn’t have so much as a granola bar in her patched denim duffel bag. It was going to be up to him to make sure she had sustenance, which would’ve been nice to knowbeforehe’d made his purchases inside the service station.
He pulled his brisket sandwich out of his pocket next, wishing he’d purchased two of them. He unwrapped it, allowing the scent of smoked meat and barbecue sauce to fill the cab.
“Cruel,” Mallory muttered, turning her face toward the window. She gave another violent shiver.
He silently said grace over his sandwich and wolfed down half of it. “Wait a sec!” He waved his phone in the air,indicating he was about to take a selfie. “Huddle up, kids! You saw the poster inside about the drawing for free brisket sandwiches for a year.”
“I didn’t see it,” Mallory snarled, looking like smoke was coming out of her ears in the snapshot he took. Chip had two fingers lifted behind her head, giving her bunny ears. Cruz looked mildly annoyed, like he wasn’t sure he wanted his photo taken but couldn’t think of a reason to complain about it. Their expressions were perfect for what Tucker needed—certainly not to enter a dumb drawing. It was simply his excuse for taking the photo.
He shoved the remaining half of his sandwich in Mallory’s direction. “Hold this,” he ordered while he fiddled some more with his phone camera.
