Page 68 of Brett and Rowdy
“Miz Rose, this is Brett, this is Rose. And that’s Rick and Frank.”
“Morning. Nice to meet you. Where can I give Mr. Mann a little bowl of breakfast? He’s not food aggressive or anything, but I figure this morning he could use a little private treat.”
“We can put him in the mudroom,” Rose said. “Come with me, señor, and I will show you.”
“Thanks.” Brett touched his shoulder on the way by, and that made Rowdy glow a little. Lord, he had it bad, which was nuts, because how much did he know about Brett really?
But then again, he’d touched that coffee table and explored Brett’s workshop. That told him all he needed to know about the modern Brett, and he knew he liked what his hands saw.
And they still fucked like a dream, didn’t they?
The tappy tap of toenails told him that Mr. Mann was dancing in anticipation of his treat, which had Rick laughing.
“Not like the shepherds at all, huh?”
“Worried this is going to become a hound ranch?”
“That would be pretty loud, Boss.”
“That might be hilarious, though.”
“Salsa, señor. At noon. Sour cream just to the left of it.” Rose started plopping more things on the table.
“Gracias, lady.”
Brett came back and pulled out a chair, the scrape on the floor light and careful. The man was tiptoeing around, and that was gonna have to stop. But he’d let it flow easy instead of pushing it. This was a lot to take in.
“Oh, welcome to the Triple Diamond D.” He could hear the smile in Frank’s voice. “The boss here is glad to be home, I understand.”
Brett snorted. “He was chomping at the bit to be back here, no question. Him and Madison both. You’re the foreman, you said?”
“For right now, I’m fixing to retire. I’m just waiting for everybody to start doing interviews to replace my happy ass.”
Rowdy hated this. Frank had been the foreman here for as long as he could remember. He knew there had been someone named Beau Blanchard before—he had the vaguest memory of a cowboy who looked a little like Santa Claus, and the photos were all over the ranch, but he’d always—always—worked with Frank.
Dammit.
“Is Madison not gonna do that?” Brett asked, distracting him from his thoughts, and he and Rick both immediately cracked up.
Then he heard his dad. “Son, let me tell you something. One, Madison? That girl is a boss. She is not a foreman. She’s the boss. One day, she will be the owner.”
Rowdy chuckled. “One day far, far away from now.”
“Yes.” Dad sat across the table from them. “Burritos look good, Miss Rose. Thank you.”
“De nada, Jefe.”
Dad sighed, then continued. “Second, Madison is an idea person. She thinks about things a lot. And she does stuff, don’t get me wrong, but she’s really not the actual get up every day and go out. This is not a five in the morning getting up and wrangling cattle kind of girl. I’ve seen her do it, but this is not her life goal.”
Dad smacked his lips, and he could feel Brett beside him, trying not to shake with holding in the laughter. “Now, if we need somebody to arrange marketing, or we need someone to go out and be the face of the company. Madison, she’s our girl. And I have no doubt she is going to have ideas that change this place and make it more profitable and more interesting and better for the world. No question.”
Rowdy ate his burrito, Dad’s words pouring over him. God, he did love green chile, and Rose made his breakfast up just like he liked it.
“But unlike her father, who is a stubborn butthead, she is unlikely to be out there on a horse rounding up goats.”
“You still ride?” Brett sounded surprised.
He frowned over. “Sure I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I very rarely go out by myself for any length of time, but I’m more than capable of saddling up somebody and having a trail ride or just going out and having a wander.”
