the key in the mailbox.
She eased her Mustang into the parking spot beside the cabin, cleverly disguised by a thick border of shrubbery, then popped open the trunk. She’d no sooner done this than, like magic, a man in his forties dressed in Western boots, jeans and a plaid shirt arrived to help her with her bags.
“Ms. Callie Anderson?”
“That’s me.”
“Welcome to Big Horn Ranch. I’m George, the assistant manager of the guest ranch. You’ll be seeing a lot of me while you’re here.” He grabbed her bags then nodded for her to precede him along the path to the cabin. “We’ve got a basket of fresh scones waiting, as well as the fixings for either French-pressed coffee or your choice of tea.”
“What a welcome!” She stopped at the mailbox for the key, then went ahead and unlocked the door. Inside she found a charming room with a vase of flowers on a small table, a cozy quilt-covered bed and a love seat with a blanket folded over one arm. Hooked rugs were strategically placed on the pine plank flooring and several beautiful quilt squares hung on the walls.
“We aim to give you an authentic Montana ranch experience while you’re here—but we want you to be comfortable, too,” George said with a wink. He set her bags on a bench at the foot of the bed.
“Can I get you anything else? Dinner will be served in an hour, then we can go over your orientation after that. We were expecting you earlier, I hope you had no trouble getting here.”
“I’m sorry. I was held up by a couple hundred head of cattle crossing the road.” She smiled as she said this, thinking she was making a joke, but George looked very serious.
“That’s unfortunate. You must have come in the back way.”
“Yes. The recommended way, according to my GPS, but it was made very clear to me that I mustn’t do that again.”
“So you met Jason?”
“If Jason is the owner of this place, then I guess I did. He didn’t bother with introductions.”
“I’m not surprised. His name is Jason Dowcett. His family has owned this land for four generations.”
“He’s not the friendliest guy, is he? I’m surprised he runs a dude ranch operation.”
George sighed. “He used to be different.”
“Really?” Sounded like a story. Callie’s journalist instincts went on high alert. “What happened?”
But George acted like he hadn’t heard the question and went to the table to check a linen covered basket. “Naomi just brought these scones out of the oven ten minutes ago. You should eat them while they’re warm.”
He smiled, waved and practically ran out the door.
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