Page 2 of Haunted

No, that was the drawings Toby’d had done. Sturdy beams complete with hooks, solid metal rings attached to posts, cabinets, and some benches that had provoked a lot of speculation, not to mention the drain in the middle of the concrete floor.

Why do they need a drain there?

Not that it was any of his business. Butch wasn’t about to become one of the imminent guests for Salvation’s new venture. Every time he thought about it, he imagined guys in leather chaps and very little else, wandering around the ranch, the air full of strange new sounds of implements connecting with bare flesh. Maybe thecrackof a whip too, although that might have nothing to do with horses.

That part had him more than a little curious, with a spoonful of fascinated thrown in for good measure.

Butch figured the bill for all this construction would be enough to makesomeone’seyes water. He guessed that would be Toby. Then again, Toby had said it was an investment.

He’s not only investing in Salvation, but in the boss too.

That was certainly paying dividends. Butch hadn’t seen Robert Thorston this relaxed, this content in his own skin, for a long time—well, for five years since Kevin Porter had fallen off his horse and broken his fool neck. Kevin had been good for the boss, and as for how he’d gotten Robert in that particular state?

That had provoked alotof speculation, not just on Butch’s part. And now there was Toby, working his own brand of magic. Several of the hands had wondered out loud a few times just what Toby did to get Robert into that state of being, Butch included, but he soon scrubbed the thought from his mind.

I don’t want to know. Like I said, it’s none of my business.

But it sure was intriguing.

One thing was for certain, however. The way they gazed at each other when they thought no one was looking? The slight touches now and then?

Something was growing between them, and it appeared to be a whole lot like love, even to Butch’s inexperienced eye.

Good for them.

Butch surveyed the ranch stretched out before him. Little by little, a new Salvation was emerging, nothing like the one Robert had inherited when his dad passed.

Which is a damn sight more than I’ll get whenmydad goes.

Dear Lord, when was the last time he’d thought about the old man? And hewouldbe old by then, about seventy-seven by Butch’s reckoning, long past the age of working his ranch. That was probably Deke’s job now. Butch’s younger brother had followed Dad around the ranch since he could toddle.

Butch hadn’t laid eyes on any of his family for thirty-four years. And counting.

There were days when he told himself that was a good thing. He and Dad had never seen eye-to-eye. They’d busted heads ever since Butch had gotten into his teens, and he didn’t suppose that relationship would’ve changed much.

Nothing like the relationship between the boss andhisdad, that was for damn sure. Calvin Thorston had been one tough old bird, but he’d treated his workers well and earned their loyalty, a skill he’d clearly passed down to Robert. The boss always said Salvation was their home, and they were family.

He was easier to get along with than his dad too.

Butch patted his pocket where his pack of cigarettes were stowed, and sighed.

You know the rules.Cigarettes and hay were not a good combination. He’d have to wait until he was off the ranch. Fuck, he’d been trying to quit anyhow.

He strolled toward the barn that had been standing back when he’d arrived at Salvation in 1989, a tall, stocky nineteen-year-old misfit. A year of moving from farm to farm, ranch to ranch, working his ass off, had worked wonders for his build, but left him tired of not having a place to lay his head and space to call his own.

Going home had not been an option. Too many goddamn memories.

Calvin Thorston had offered him a home, but not until they’d had a long chat. Butch didn’t blame him for that. He’d wanted to know if he was inviting trouble to come knock at his door. And he’d appeared satisfied with Butch’s responses.

For the most part.

Butch couldn’t tell him what he was doing on the road. He certainly didn’t tell him why he’d left Wyoming. And in the end, Mr. Thorston had come to a grudging decision.

Butch was welcome to stay—he just wasn’t welcome to get too interested in Mr. Thorston’s daughter, Diana. Not that he’d said the latter part out loud. His glances and hard stares should have been enough to deliver that particular message, and he seemed to keep that expression for every hand under the age of twenty-five.

That was fine by Butch. He was happy to keep his distance. He wasn’t about to get hauled off to jail for messing about with a girl Diana’s age. Two years later, however…

But it wasn’t me who was doing the chasing then, now was it? That was all on her.The same rules still applied, but by then he’d found it a little easier to ignore messages he didn’t want to hear.

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