Page 7 of Cowboy Peril

Knowing Parker was now in good hands, Colt excused himself and marched to the office of his boss, Dylan Wyatt. Helping a damsel in distress or not, he had work to do, and with Dylan on his honeymoon, both the boss and the foreman jobs fell on Colt’s shoulders.

The leather chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. He picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk blotter. What job could he give Parker, and how much could the ranch afford to pay her?

The day camps during the summer and the camping tours had put the ranch back into the black—that and the insurance money from the barn burning. Parker had absolutely no experience with cooking or children that he knew of. Maybe Mrs. White needed help readying the guest rooms for the survival-training classes that took place over the weekends, and for those who wanted to experience a bit of ranch life for a day or two. Parker could stay in one of the newly-built staff cottages that were slowly replacing the bunkhouse, since several of the ranch hands had expressed the desire to marry someday.

Fools. Didn’t they know that love only brought pain?

He’d been surprised to see Dylan marry. His first wife had died falling from a horse, then the new one had almost been killed by a madman.

Now, another woman set foot on the ranch with an alleged killer dogging her steps. Colt removed his hat and tossed it on a chair across from him. If he wanted to get to bed, he needed to finish the payroll. He didn’t have time for what-ifs. He’d dig deeper into the potential danger following Parker in the morning.

Staring out the window, he prayed danger wouldn’t come to the ranch. He also prayed for wisdom to make the right decisions that would save those living there.

Chapter Four

After a fitfulnight of shadowy figures looming over her bed, Parker shuffled downstairs in hopes of a cup of coffee. Mrs. White and another woman, Marilyn Cooper, if she remembered correctly, bustled around the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Mrs. White thrust a cup of coffee into her hands. “Colt is already out and hard at work. He said if you’re staying more than a day, we’re to put you to work. Are you?”

“Staying more than a day?” Parker blinked at the cup in her hand. Never a morning person, being bombarded with questions first thing didn’t register well with her. “Most likely, yes.” What kind of work? She could ride a horse but had never saddled or curried one.

“How about housecleaning before and after guests?” The aproned cook pointed toward a chair at the table. “Sit. Breakfast was served half an hour ago, but we saved you a plate.” She set a plate of biscuits and chocolate gravy on the table. “Something to pick you up a bit.”

“I love chocolate gravy.” Parker sat and picked up her knife and fork.

“Good, but don’t get used to the special treatment. Starting tomorrow, be down at six for breakfast, or you don’t eat. And you’ll have to eat what everyone else does.” She patted Parker on the shoulder. “But, since today is your first day, and you’ve had a hard time of it, we made an exception.”

“Thank you.” She stared at her plate for a minute, then dug in. She’d ignore the calories for now. A girl running from a madman needed sustenance. “Can I get the Wi-Fi password, please? And what are my hours, day off…?”

Mrs. White wiped her hands with a dishtowel. “The password is on the side of the fridge. You’ll only work on dayswe have guests coming and going, and you’ll be moving into a cottage out back. All the staff now have their own little houses, courtesy of Mr. Wyatt.”

“How long has he been gone?” Wasn’t he on his honeymoon?

“A couple of months. He’ll be back when he’s ready. The ranch is in capable hands with Colt running things.” She filled the sink with hot water while Marilyn cleared the table, sending Parker sideways glances. “He’s looking for horse-breeding stock in Europe.”

Her eyes lit up. “I can give him some contact numbers.” Her father had loved betting on the horse races and knew people in high places. Parker bit into buttery, chocolatey goodness and closed her eyes in bliss. She could almost forget about her trouble eating the wonderful gravy and flaky biscuits.

Add an action tag. “Great. Give Colt the info and he’ll email Dylan.” She plunged her hands into a sink full of sudsy water. “Your cottage is number three. Feel free to move in when you’ve finished your breakfast.”

She sipped her coffee while listening to the whispered conversation between the two other women. Occasionally, she’d hear the word,trouble, and,the sheriff won’t be happy. Enough to know they were talking about her.

When she finished, she handed her plate to Mrs. White, who held up a palm. “Scrape it into the bin, then place it in the sink.”

Right. Parker had a lot to learn about not having servants. Even in her apartment, she had a woman come in once a day to tidy up. Which reminded her that she needed to call Molly and let her know her services weren’t needed for the time being.

Parker put her plate in the sink, then went back to her room to pack the few items she’d pulled from her suitcase the night before. Dragging her bag behind her, she thumped down the back stairs to search for cottage number three.

Several men in cowboy hats spared her a glance before returning to their work. A horse nickered; a dog barked. To her left lay a pile of burned lumber large enough to have been a building. Just past that was a long rectangular building, the bunkhouse where she’d looked for Colt. She turned to the right. There stood five tiny houses cute and small enough to grace a postcard.

Number three was yellow with blue shutters. The door opened easily at her touch, revealing a living area, a galley-style kitchen, and a small bathroom. A set of stairs with drawers built into them led to a sleeping loft. Tiny but perfect for one person. Especially one who hoped to stay a short time only. Just until she could solve her parents’ murder and put the killer behind bars.

“Hope it’s sufficient.”

She shrieked and whipped around to see Colt standing in the doorway. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. You’re the first person to live in this one. Let me know if there’s anything you need. We can stop and pick up groceries when we head into town to speak to the sheriff. The cabinets are stocked with dishes and linens. You can do your laundry in the main house.” He rattled off the details in a detached voice as he might to a complete stranger.

She sighed. “It’s perfect. Sheriff?”

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