Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Holy shit,” Richie breathed. “Are those… are those baby cows?” He pressed his hands together over his heart and wandered toward the fence as if in a trance.
I huffed impatiently. I didn’t have time for this. At all. But I couldn’t help but feel a little spark of… something at his reaction to my ranch.
After hard days like today, it was easy to forget just how incredible this land was, how amazing this world was. Seeing it through the eyes of someone who’d never been on a working ranch before was a needed reminder.
My internal musings were interrupted by a shocked gasp. “Wait… Why is that cow rolling around like that? And is that… is there something coming out of that animal?” Richie’s face had paled, his eyes wide and filled with horror. “What is wrong with… oh. Ohhh.” He turned away, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. “Ew. I can’t watch.”
I squinted in the direction he’d been gesturing and saw one of the heifers giving birth. “Jed,” I hollered. “1103 is calving. Keep an eye on her.” I snapped my fingers at Birdie, and she trotted off toward the foreman in case he needed the dog’s help.
After nudging a noticeably paler Richie back toward the entrance to the bunkhouse, I mentally rehearsed the set-down I planned on giving Oscar for convincing me to hire this guy. The front door to the bunkhouse opened into a small, neat little kitchen and eating area, though most meals were served family-style in the much larger farmhouse kitchen. To the right was an open living room with a few well-worn leather couches and a big-screen TV hanging on the wall. Straight ahead, a hallway stretched toward the rear of the building. The bare wood planks on the floor were neatly swept, most likely thanks to PeeWee Hatchett, who was a neat freak, thank the lord. He did the same kind of job in the equipment shed, where he ran everything like a tight ship.
“This is where you’ll be staying with the other hands,” I said, leading him toward the hallway. “Some live in town, but three or four stay here full-time. Temporary hands stay over during calving.”
I paused in the doorway to one of the bedrooms. It was bare-bones but tidy, two narrow beds arranged on either side of a window with a view of the calving pasture. A simple wooden table stood between them, an iron lamp perched on top. An old armoire was pushed against the near wall next to a bookcase stacked with a few worn cowboy westerns an old ranch hand had left behind years ago.
“Hmmmm…” Richie hummed through pursed lips as he stepped inside and turned, taking it in. “It’s quiet, I’ll give you that. And the whole rustic charm you have going on is definitely a style choice. Perhaps from a century ago, but you certainly embraced the rustic piece of that equation with gusto.”
He perched on the edge of one of the beds, giving it a little bounce. The springs squealed in protest, and his expression soured. He glanced around. “Where are the controls?”
I blinked at him. “Controls?” I honest to god had no idea what he was talking about.
“You know, so I can adjust the firmness? Raise the feet a little. I find that especially important after a long flight.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Helps with the swelling,” he said with a knowing nod.
If I’d maybe slept in the past three days, or if my head hadn’t been pounding from the stress of calving season, I might have lost my cool or even laughed at his naivety, but as it was, I didn’t have the energy to do anything other than stare at him. I reminded myself that I needed the pair of extra hands and that I’d been the one to tell Oscar whoever I hired didn’t need to be smart, just willing to work.
“Regardless,” he said, popping to his feet. “As quaint as this is, do you have anything a little…” He waved a hand in the air. “Brighter? Cheerier? Perhaps with an en suite bathroom?” He gave a pointed look at the small porcelain sink bolted to the wall.
“Bathroom is the last door on the left,” I said in an even voice.
A look of horror crossed his face. “There’s only one?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s plenty large. Anyway,” I continued, gesturing down the hallway. “You can grab your stuff and pick a room later. If you have to double up, I suggest avoiding bunking in with Mercy. Everyone else should be fine.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind sharing with a woman if it means getting a preferable accommodation. I’m gay. It’s hardly a problem.”
“Mercy Ferrell is a former bull rider who’s had his nose broke more than once and snores like a son of a bitch. It’s what keeps the coyotes away from camp when we’re out running cattle, that’s how I know. But if you’ve got a good pair of earplugs, have at it.”