reached into the backseat of the four-door truck and retrieved his duffel bag. Then he snapped his fingers, and Ranger leaped out of the truck to the ground at his feet. When he walked toward the porch, the dog kept pace, glancing up for reassurance. Angus reached down to scratch the dog’s head. He’d get him a bowl of water and some food as soon as he got settled.
Careful not to limp any more than he had to, Angus measured every step, wanting to prove himself capable without any preconceived handicaps. As he approached the steps, he was glad for his hard-core therapist, who’d insisted he relearn how to climb. He took the steps one at a time, placing his feet carefully.
Ranger walked up with him.
Jo held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jolene, CW’s better half. Everyone calls me Jo.” As he shook her hand, she glanced at Ranger. “Not sure how the boss would feel about a dog in the house, but I guess it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, especially when the boss isn’t around. Follow me.” She led the way into the house.
The door he stepped through led into a large, airy kitchen with a ceramic-tiled floor, massive kitchen table and an oversize stainless-steel gas stove against one wall. Everything was neat and clean and the scent of coffee filled the air.
“I just put a pot of coffee on, if you’re interested,” Jo said. “You can drop your things in your room and come back through for a mug.”
“As good as it smells, I’ll wait. I’d like to get a feel for the place before sunset.”
Jo led him through an open living room with a cathedral ceiling and an entire wall of windows facing the mountains rising up around them. The sun was on its way toward the peaks and would duck behind soon. Angus wanted to check out the barn and animals before it 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
