Page 15 of Mister Cowboy
“My mistake. Well, thatiswhat the job pays.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’s too much. I can’t accept this. One thousand dollars is far more than is appropriate.”
“Says who? You said so yourself that you’d never done an entire estate.”
“It’s too much,” she repeated.
“It’s non-negotiable.”
When she didn’t respond, he nodded and stepped back toward the door. “Edward and I will pick you up out front at five and we can go to dinner from here.”
“Wait,” she called, finally finding her voice. “I need to go home first before dinner.”
“Sure.” His smile was slow as he turned back to her. “How about I pick you up for dinner at seven. I prefer to drive my own dates anyway.”
“It’s a business dinner,” she corrected him.
His lips pulled higher into a wicked grin. “Right. Seven o’clock for ourbusinessdinner.”
* * *
“The ranch is onlyabout half the size it used to be. We’ve got a little under fifty head of cattle and six horses.”
Timothy led her through the barn where the smell of hay and the scent of manure filled her nostrils.
“Only? That sounds like a lot of animals. What’s a, er, head?”
“A head of cattle—we have one hundred head or one hundred cows.”
“Why not say one hundred cows then?”
He smiled and shook his head but continued with his spiel as they walked through the barn. “A ranch with this much acreage can handle a lot more. Most of the livestock was sold off before Sam, Mr. Blackstone, passed away.”
He shifted uncomfortably from one denim-clad leg to the other, his unease apparent. What had Sam Blackstone been like? And why was everyone so reluctant to speak about him?
A clanging sound rang out through the air—metal on metal—and Timothy’s face lit up. “Breakfast is ready. Come on.”
He pulled her arm playfully, leading her out of the barn. An older woman with blonde hair that bounced in a mess of curls around her face and an apron tied around her waist, waved a metal stick around a silver triangle hanging from the porch beam.
“Is that what I think it is?” She laughed through the question and tried not to trip.
Timothy nodded. “It’s partly tradition, but it isn’t like we’re checking the time very often when we’re out here. Louisa has us all trained to listen for that sound.”
“I guess I didn’t think of that.”
“Louisa, this is January,” Timothy introduced her, and Louisa dropped the metal stick and held out a hand. “Louisa is our chef, she’s been here longer than any of us.”
“Pleasure to meet you, January.”
Timothy held open the door for them, and the smell of fresh biscuits was so strong that January’s mouth watered.
The food was laid out buffet style along the dining room wall and men and women moved through it, piling their plates high and shoving bites in as they walked to the table. The atmosphere was friendly, if not chaotic, but Timothy made no comment so she fell in line, assuming this was how it always was.
He introduced her to everyone as they moved through the line and to the table. Every etiquette rule she’d ever been taught was being broken and so casually discarded that January moved in a haze. Her manners usually served to camouflage her, but in this group, she stood out. No one stared as she carefully cut her food and laid her napkin in her lap, but only because they were solely focused on eating. Conversation was replaced with the sound of forks scraping across plates and water being gulped noisily.
There was no sign of Tina, which didn’t surprise her. Tina would fit in around this table about as much as Brecken would in his purple suit.
The man sitting across from her shoved the last bite of a piece of bacon into his mouth and pushed his chair back. “Any word on when Brecken’s planning on listing the place?” he asked, looking over to Timothy. A second later, everyone else turned to him as well.
