Page 8 of Baker
Bella returned to the table with the coffeepot, pouring it as if this was some high tea at Buckingham Palace instead of four strangers pulled together to place a cheating shit-stain of a man in the ground. Granny frowned and gave the next slice to Bella, now sitting in my usual seat.
“Well, about that,” Linc ventured to break the distressingly long silence my last announcement had brought. “While your offer is generous, we all know that this land is worth way more than ten grand.”
“Obviously, but that was all I could get from selling the beefers,” I explained once more.
“Right, and we all get that. Now I can’t speak for the others, but I’m here to stay.”
I blinked at the hairy bear of a man. Granny gave Linc more cake.
“Stay? But you own a bar in Chicago,” I stammered as the others sat with forks in hand, watching the two of us intently.
“Did. Ididown a bar. When I heard that Dad had died, I did some soul searching, realized I hated that bar and sold it to an old friend. I want to be a rancher.”
If someone had told me that Santa Claus had just been elected governor of this fine state and was planning on making flying reindeer the state mammal, I would not have been more shocked.
“But…you tend bar.” I stammered and got a funny little smirk from my big, bearded brother.Half-brother.
“Yeah, and I did it well. But I need to get out of the city. My stress levels are astronomical, and my doctors said I needed a change of life or I’d never see forty.” Dodge nodded his red head strongly and the queasy feeling Linc was stirring up in my gut doubled. “Also, the closer I get to the big four oh, the more tired I get of pulling beers and breaking up drunken frat boy fights. So, I have my half of the money from the sale. I can invest it in the ranch. Buy back some cows. Maybe spruce up those cabins we saw on the way to the family cemetery and rent them out to city people who want a western vacation.”
My jaw dropped. Literally. I sat there, mouth agape, as the others dove into this moronic discussion as if it were the best thing since sliced bread as Granny would say.
“Those would be adorable little places for people to stay in,” Bella concurred, then gave Ford a not-so-gentle nudge in the side.
“Totally. Bella and I also kind of wanted to stay here for a while. She wants to open a dress shop in Bastian Grange, and I could work on the ranch. We have some money to add to the pot to fix things up and buy more cows.”
Granny’s eyes were as round as her cake plate by now.
“Since we’re all laying our cards on the table,” Dodge said, running a hand through his neatly combed cinnamon hair. “I’m looking to put down roots somewhere my son can grow up with fresh air and an appreciation of where his milk comes from.”
Granny was so close to exploding out of her seat only her bad hip kept her bottom in her chair. She was fairly vibrating with joy. Everyone at the table was now staring at me with bated breath.
“Beef cattle,” I corrected as Granny sat there with the final slab of cake on a plate pointed in my direction. “We don’t have dairy cows. We raised beef cattle. You don’t milk a beefer for God’s sake. Also, none of you know the first thing about ranching or how fucking hard it is on a man’s soul. This isn’t some Hollywood dude ranch rom-com. This is real life.Mylife.” I slapped my chest with my palm. “While you three were off playing in the big city, I was here working my fucking hands to the bone to keep this ranch and the legacy behind it alive. And now you show up because the asshole who donated his DNA and nothing else to us croaked and told you that you could be ranchers? That you could sashay in here with no experience and just take over because this work is so simple a dentist, a bartender, and a…” I flung a look at Ford, who mumbled something about a fry guy at a fast food place. “Of course. A dentist, a bartender, and a fry guy walk into a bar.” I snorted in derision as I waved at Ford. “This really is a joke. My God. So Frank French Fry here thinks he can just drop his apron and become a farmer. Jesus H. Christ. Like, all you had to do was buy a cowboy hat and learn a few lyrics to a Garth Brooks song. No, fuck that. Take your money and shove it up your entitled, urban asses. I’ve done this all by myself for forty years. I’ll keep doing it myself!”
Granny yanked the slice of cake back with a glower that meant my ass was the grass and she was the lawnmower. She would have to catch me first, though.
I left them all gawking at me as I pounded out the back door with no coat, no keys, and a head of steam that might possibly peter out when I hit the Oklahoma/Kansas border.
4
Chapter Four
Anger and something, perhaps even a bit deeper, had my thoughts clouded.
I threw open the big sliding door to the stable, intent on grabbing Prissy and riding to Canada to become a Mountie, and skidded to an abrupt stop.
About twenty feet from me stood Hanley Welsh, stripped down to his jeans, with a wet washcloth in his hand, eyes flaring wide at the intrusion. His chest was a lovely sight, covered with soft light brown hair, some of the curls reflecting gold in the overhead light. Firm and fit, he had abs for days and a well-defined treasure trail that led downward into the unzipped top of his battered old Levi’s.
“Shit!” he gasped, holding the wet cloth up to cover one nipple. “Fuck. You scared me. Whistle or something.” He let the cloth fall from his chest as I stood there like a dipshit, eyes roaming over all that damp manly flesh like a creeper. “Did you need to get a horse?”
“Sorry, no, sorry.” I turned my head so fast my neck cracked, my sight flying to Prissy peeking over the stall door after hearing my voice. “I mean…” He stared at me as I bumbled over myself. “I was…no, no, I’m not taking a horse.”
I had been strongly considering it, but I wouldn’t have really taken my mare out in the dark. There were too many dangers, such as reduced visibility and wildlife meetups, as well as the higher spook ratio for some horses in the dark. They are prey animals after all, so no, I would not have put my girl at risk.
“Okay, so you’re out here to visit her then?” He chucked the cloth into an old black rubber feed dish that he had scavenged for a washbasin and shrugged into a soft blue flannel shirt. The long hair on his neck was wet still as were some wild strands that tickled his brow. “Or were you hoping to strike up a conversation with me?”
I blinked softly, unsure whether he was flirting or if I was just projecting. The manwaspretty, no doubt, and a good hard fuck in the barn would surely purge my head of the family horseshit.
“To be honest, I forgot you were out here.”
