The Wrangler. Lindsay McKenna
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Snorting, Gus said, “Don’t ma’am me! Call me Gus.”
“Yes…Miss Gus,” Griff murmured, trying to curb a smile over the elder’s spunky personality. Andy had warned him Gus took no prisoners.
Val brought over the coffee and set it in front of them.
“Sit down, Val,” Gus ordered, pointing to the chair next to the wrangler.
Val took a seat next to Griff. She could see her grandmother measuring and weighing the wrangler as he poured cream into his coffee. He was tall, muscular and relaxed.
“Take a couple of cookies, too,” Gus ordered him. She pushed the plate directly in front of Griff.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching for one. “I don’t usually get home cooking and these look real good.” He bit into the cookie, filled with chocolate chips and walnuts. It melted in his mouth. Griff couldn’t speak but held up the remainder of the delicious dessert to Gus to show his appreciation.
Gus glowed. “Now, young man, this is an interview for a job as our wrangler here at the Bar H. You understand that?”
“Yes, ma—I mean, Miss Gus, I do.”
“Val told me you’re from back east.”
Griff swallowed the cookie, nodded and told her the story of how he’d wound up in New York City, as well as how he landed back in Jackson Hole.
“So, you were filthy rich and lost it all in the crash on Wall Street?” Gus surmised. She saw the sunburned wrangler’s brow dip.
“Yes, I lost everything.”
“And did your brother Slade call you and invite you back to your family ranch?”
Her questions were sharp and painful for Griff. “No, he didn’t call me. I wanted to come home because I had nowhere else to go. I thought I could stay with him and we could rebuild the Tetons Ranch together.”
“Well,” Gus said, brows knitting, “everyone in the valley knew Slade was a heartbeat away from losing his ranch. When the economy went south, he and a whole bunch of ranchers were walking the line on bank foreclosure. If it weren’t for Dr. Jordana Lawton and his horse, Thor, winning that ten grand at the endurance race, the bank would own that ranch by now.”
“I know. I helped them out during the endurance contest.” Griff finished off the cookie. Gus was firing off questions almost faster than he could answer them. Just as Andy had warned him she would….
“So how come you’re not working for your brother now?”
Moving uncomfortably, Griff said, “We got split up at six years old, Miss Gus. I was bad about staying in touch with him over the years, and I guess it took its toll. The fault was mine. I was living in a rich, wealthy city and frankly, I looked down on him and the ranch. Half the ranch is legally mine, but it was Slade whose hard work, sweat and blood kept it going. Not mine.”
“You’re honest to a fault, aren’t you?”
Griff gave her a twisted grin. “Is there any other way to be?”
“No, frankly, there isn’t. But the generations ahead think it’s okay to tell half-truths or no truth when it suits them. In my book a lie is a lie, pure and simple.”
Nodding, Griff said, “Some do, that’s true, but not all of them. I’m from the same generation you’re talking about.”
“Points scored,” she said, respect clear in her voice. She glanced over at Val, who looked worried. Gus couldn’t fathom why. So far, this gent was the real deal. “Okay, Mr. McPherson, you tell me why you think you’d be a good addition to the Bar H.”
Griff wondered if Val had shared with Gus his answer to a similar question she’d asked him. Devoting his attention to Gus, he replied, “It’s clear to me now that Wyoming is where I belong. I couldn’t help that Slade and I were split up at six and sent to different uncles to be raised. I’m grateful they were there for us. Coming home after the stock market crash, at first, I hated it. Then, every day, it seemed as though Wyoming was working a little more of her magic on me. It was scrubbing off all those city years and I was rediscovering what I really loved to do. Working with my hands gives me a satisfaction that no Wall Street job ever did. Mending a fence and making sure it’s stout and can withstand a bull makes me feel good.”
Gus saw some redness appear in the wrangler’s cheeks. He was struggling to put his feelings into words. She studied his hands. “You got work hands,” she confirmed. Holding up her own, she added, “Hands to thrust into the rich soil of Wyoming. To help things grow. There’s a feeling that comes with being one with the land. And if you weren’t born here, you couldn’t understand.”
“Right.” Griff studied the old woman’s long, thin hands. Her knuckles were slightly enlarged due to arthritis. He saw the calluses across her palms. Her nails were short and jagged. Despite her cane, it was clear nothing could stop her from working on the ranch. He liked the sturdy, straight-talking elder. Griff wondered if his mother had lived, would she have turned out to be like Gus? He wanted to think so because the elder had a backbone of steel.
“I was missing something out in New York. I had the best of everything. My aunt and uncle loved me fiercely and I loved them. In my heart—” and Griff touched his chest “—I felt an emptiness and I never understood it until I arrived back here. When I worked with Slade at the Tetons Ranch, the ache started to go away. Later, I realized I was starving for my roots. My real home.” He became serious, his voice low. “I want a job as a wrangler because I feel I can contribute. My heart is in my work, Miss Gus. It’s true, I don’t know everything about wrangling, but I’m hungry to learn.”
Nodding, Gus shot a look across the table toward Val. She looked vulnerable, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. Gus knew she hadn’t been yearning to come home the way Griff was describing. Pinching her lips, Gus swung her gaze back to Griff. “Young man, I like where you come from. It’s true, you aren’t a fully realized wrangler yet, but I feel over time it will happen. Now, I can’t give you much money. Ten dollars an hour for eight hours a day. And you know you’ll be workin’ twelve hours a day, from dawn to dusk.”
“That’s more than fair,” Griff answered, grateful. “I’ll prove my worth to you.”
“I expect that. Now we got a problem. The wrangler’s bunkhouse was destroyed by a fire. One of the wranglers my daughter hired burned it down smoking in there one night. I ain’t hirin’ anyone who smokes. Too darned dangerous. Anyway, I hope to get that bunkhouse rebuilt next summer and you can move into it then. Meantime, we’ve got no bunkhouse for you. But, if you’re okay with it, I have another bedroom upstairs with its own bathroom and shower. It’s yours if you want it. I won’t charge you rent.”
Surprised, Griff looked over at Val. She looked displeased but refused to meet his gaze. Gus, on the other hand, looked like an excited child. He smiled a little hesitantly and said, “That’s very decent of you, Miss Gus. I’ll try not to get underfoot. And I’ve never smoked.”
“I do the cookin’ around here,” Gus warned. “And I’m a darned good cook, too. But I do expect you to wash and dry dishes every other night. And you’ll do vacuuming and dusting once a week in this house. You got a problem with that?”
Grinning, Griff said, “Miss Gus, if those cookies are any indication of your cooking ability, then I’m in hog heaven. And I don’t mind cleaning up after myself or doing housework. It’s all the same to me. Just tell me what you want, when you want it, and I’ll be happy to do it.”
Giving him a keen look, Gus asked, “You got any plans to leave Wyoming anytime soon, young man? Once this economy staggers back to its feet, are you going to leave and go make your millions again on Wall Street?”
“No, ma—I mean, no, Miss Gus, I won’t.” Griff looked around the warm, beautiful cedar kitchen. The cabinets shined red and gold in the afternoon sun that poured