Page 23 of Wrangled

Dad narrowed his gaze. “Then start. Coffee builds character.”

I chuckled. “My dad says a lot of things build character, like eating sprouts.”

Teague grimaced, and Dad laughed. He sat at the table, his gaze locked on Teague. “What’s your name, son?”

“Teague, sir.”

“And how old are you?” His brow furrowed. “Don’t even think about lyin’ to me.”

Teague swallowed. “S-sixteen.”

He frowned. “And are you bringing trouble to my door, Teague? Anyone gonna come looking for you?”

Teague shivered. “No, sir. He don’t care. And he’s too far from here for me to worry about.”

Dad glanced at me. “Where’d you find him?”

“In the barn.”

He arched his eyebrows. “And what were you doing in the barn at this hour?”

“I woke up, went outside for some air… and then I heard a noise, so I investigated.”

Dad studied me for a moment, then pointed to the fridge. “Grab the bacon. There’s biscuits in the freezer. I think Lou put some sausage gravy in there too.”

Another loud growl filled the air, and Teague’s cheeks were scarlet.

Dad chuckled. “I think you’d better hurry.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit, son. Robert will sort you out.”

Teague sat, his hands clasped on the table.

Dad leaned forward, his chin resting on his laced fingers. “So what are we gonna do with you, Teague? Do I send you home?”

He shivered. “No, sir. Please don’t do that.”

Dad flashed me a look, and I mouthedLater. He nodded. “Okay then. You can stay here. But you’re gonna earn your keep.”

Talk about a transformation. Teague’s face lit up. “I will. I’ll work night and day, I promise.”

Dad cackled. “We don’t work at night here, son, but the day starts awful early.” He cocked his head. “Can you ride a horse?”

“Only the big old mean bastard my dad used on our farm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dad glanced at me. “Find him a horse.” I nodded. Then he addressed Teague. “He will beyourresponsibility, you hear? You feed him, clean him, exercise him—”

He nodded so vigorously, I felt sure his head was about to come off. “I understand. Thank you, sir.”

Dad fired me another glance. “When he’s eaten, take him to the bunkhouse. Butch’ll find him a bunk.” He pushed his chair back, and picked up his cup of coffee. He gave Teague a warm smile. “Welcome to Salvation.” Then he walked out of the kitchen.

Teague watched him go. “That’s your dad?”

“Yup.” I set the pan on the stove, then grabbed three eggs from the basket on the countertop. “Scrambled okay? Except it’ll have to be, ’cause that’s all I can do with ’em.”

“Scrambled is good.”

I cracked them and dropped them into a bowl, then whisked them with a fork.

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

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