High Country Hideout. Elle James
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got too dark.
“This will be your room. We have a bunkhouse, but we haven’t had a need for additional ranch hands since I came. Since there’s only one of you, it would cost more to refurbish and heat the bunkhouse than to put you up in the big house. That, and with the troubles, CW and I thought it would be best for you to stay here.” Jo pushed open a door. The room was spacious with rustic log walls. Centered on one wall stood a giant four-poster with a thick goose-down comforter spread across it and a quilt folded across the foot.
“I’ll get a blanket for the dog to bed down on the floor,” Jo offered.
“Thanks, but he has his own dog bed. I’ll bring it in later. I promise he’ll be no trouble. He’s got better house manners than some people I know.”
Jo laughed. “Good, because if he has any accidents, you get to clean up after him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Angus liked the woman’s candor and frankness. He dropped his duffel on the floor.
“The bathroom is across the hallway.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get outside.”
“You bet. Supper is prompt at six o’clock. I’m making ham and beans, so don’t be late.”
The thought of a home-cooked meal warmed Angus’s insides and he smiled. “I’ll be there.”
Jo gave him a serious look. “I’m glad you’re here. The boss can’t manage this big place alone. Especially with the troubles.”
“What troubles are you having?”
“Accidents. Lots of accidents. A torn girth on a saddle...a loose floorboard in the loft of the barn...a gate hanging off its hinges. Hay bales falling off the stacks.”
“Those sound like normal wear and tear on a ranch this size.”
“It wasn’t until the cut brake line that CW and I started putting two and two together. I’m not superstitious, and I don’t believe a whole lot in coincidence.” The woman planted her fist on her hip. “I’ve been here more than half my life. Things just aren’t right. That’s why CW and I decided it was time to call for some help.”
“Fair enough.” Although Angus wasn’t sure how much help he’d be. “I’m here to do the best I can.”
“And God bless you for it.” She touched his arm. “I’d hate for anything to happen to the Davises.”
Angus left through the kitchen and strode in his somewhat awkward gait toward the barn where CW had disappeared.
Inside, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting from a dingy bulb overhead. He found CW mucking a stall.
“Grab a fork and get to work. I like to have the stalls clean before the boss gets back from the field.”
“Does he need help out there?”
CW avoided his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow. It’s getting late.”
Angus found a pitchfork and went to work tossing soiled bedding into a wheelbarrow for transport out behind the barn to the compost heap. The scent of horse manure and hay brought back memories of his youth, the reminder so sharp and poignant it made his belly knot.
With every forkful of straw, his back strained and his leg throbbed, but he pushed on, enjoying the muscle strain and sweat.
Thirty minutes later CW checked on his progress. “I have to make a run to town for grain for the horses and to pick up the young’un. Anything you need?”
“Nothing I can think of except maybe a pair of work gloves.” Having been in rehab for several months, his hands didn’t have the calluses he needed for the kind of work he was doing. It would take time to build them up again.
He’d worked on strength, lifting weights and resistance training. But real, honest, hard work tasked so many more muscles than he remembered.
“I’ll pick up some at the hardware store. When you get finished in here, there’s a gate hinge that needs adjusting on the pasture fence, if you have time to get to it. Tools are in the tack room. Help yourself.”
“Will do.”
CW left, the silence a balm to Angus’s soul.
He finished mucking the stalls and spreading fresh straw on the ground. Once he hung up the pitchfork, he headed outside in time to see the sun crest the peaks, the waning light lengthening the shadows from the surrounding hills.
Dragging in a deep breath, he filled his lungs with cool mountain air, the crisp chill making him feel more alive than he had in months.
As he released the air from his lungs, the bellows of livestock filled the air and a small herd of cattle appeared over the rise, a lone horseman riding at the rear, keeping the herd from straying too far to the right or left.
The rider appeared to be angling the cattle toward a holding pen in the corner of the pasture closest to the barn. With the setting sun at the rider’s back all Angus could make out was a slender silhouette, guiding the animals home with a calm confidence only years in the saddle would produce.
He wondered how old the boss was or if he was just a small and wiry man. Handling a ranch and cattle required strength and stamina. No wonder he was having trouble and needed a ranch hand to help out.
Pushing aside his doubts about the boss’s physical capabilities, when his own were in question, Angus angled toward the pen to see if he could help. He slipped through the wooden rails and waded through the cattle milling around waiting for the gate to open with the promise of being fed on the other side.
The rider nudged his horse toward the gate and leaned down to open it. Apparently the latch stuck and refused to open. Still too far back to reach the gate first, Angus continued forward, frustrated at his slow pace.
As the horseman swung his leg over to dismount, the gelding screamed, reared and backed away so fast the rider lost his balance and fell backward into the herd of cattle.
Spooked by the horse’s distress, the cattle bellowed and churned in place, too tightly packed to figure a way out of the corner they were in.
The horse reared again. Its front hooves pawed at the air then crashed to the ground.
Unable to see the downed cowboy, Angus pushed forward, slapping at the cattle, shoving them apart to make a path through their warm bodies.
Afraid the rider would be trampled by the horse or the cattle, Angus doubled his efforts. By the time he reached him, the cowboy had pushed to his feet.
The horse chose that moment to rear again, his hooves directly over the rider.
Angus broke through the herd and threw himself into the cowboy, sending them both flying toward the fence, out of striking distance of the horse’s hooves and the panicking cattle.
Thankfully the ground was a soft layer of mud to cushion their landing, but the cowboy beneath Angus definitely took the full force of the fall, crushed beneath Angus’s six-foot-three frame.
Immediately he rolled off the horseman. “Are you okay?”
Dusk had settled in, making it hard to see.
Angus grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him over, his fingers brushing against the soft swell of flesh beneath the jacket he wore. His hat fell off and a cascade of sandy-blond hair spilled from beneath. Blue eyes glared up at him.
The cowboy was no boy, but a woman, with curves in all the right places and an angry scowl adding to the mess of her muddy but beautiful face. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my ranch?”
Reggie Davis never got thrown from her horse.