Page 11 of Wrangled

Butch laughed. “I’ve been around since before they built the bunkhouse. Hell, when I first got there, Diana hadn’t gotten married yet.”

“Diana? Are there women on the ranch too?” Not that I minded.

“Dude Ranchmight be kinda misleading. Dude’s a neutral term around here, and yeah, we do get female guests.” Butch grinned in the mirror. “Some of ’em have more balls than some of the guys. But Diana is the boss’s sister. She don’t live there—she’s married to Newt Webster, and they run a dude ranch too. Maybe you saw her place when you were Googling this one. Now thatisone swanky place.”

“How long have you worked on the ranch?” Garrett asked.

“Old Mr. Thorston gave me a job in 1989. I was nineteen. Diana was sweet sixteen.”

Declan chuckled. “You old dog. Had a thing for the boss’s daughter, did you? I never heard about that.”

Butch shook his head. “You’ve got it the wrong way round. She had a thing forme. When her dad got wind of it, you’d better believe he dragged her under Newt Webster’s nose quicker than you can say wedding bells.”

I arched my eyebrows. “So the boss didn’t want his daughter getting involved with a ranch hand?”

Butch’s gaze met mine once more in the rear-view mirror. “He knew what he was doing. He knew what I was.” Then he focused on the road ahead.

Nowtherewas a cryptic statement.

We lapsed into silence for the remaining ten minutes, and I gazed through the window at the rolling landscape surrounding us. One minute we’d been in civilization—or Bozeman, at least—and the next, we were out in the middle of nowhere.

Except nowhere came with fences, sturdy barriers constructed out of hefty-looking logs, enough to stop cattle from straying where they shouldn’t, I guessed.

When we reached a gap in the fence, Butch turned into a long, straight gravel driveway. At the end of it were two posts, and balanced on them over our heads was a hefty log with the wordSalvationburned into it. Ahead of us were three white barns, trimmed with green. In the middle of them was a sand-covered paddock where a horse was running in circles, tossing its mane.

“Oh, would you look at that.” It was a beautiful palomino, its coat a glossy light brown, with four white socks. Then I noticed the man standing in there with the horse. He wore his long black hair loose, and he exuded an air of calm.

“Who’s that?” Garrett asked.

“Paul Stormcloud. Best goddamn horse whisperer I’ve ever seen. He’s also our wrangler.” Butch pointed to the nearest barn. “That’s where you’ll sleep, eat, piss, shower…”

I glanced up at the hill to the left of us. At its summit was a house, a truly grand version of a log cabin. A porch ran along the two sides I could see, and it had two stories. A stone-covered chimney rose into the air.

“Who lives there? Is that the boss’s place?” It had to be.

“Yeah. And don’t expect to see much of him. He may own the place, but he leaves the running of it to Teague McKay. He’s the foreman. I’ll introduce you.” He stopped alongside the bunkhouse. “End of the line. Grab your stuff and follow me.”

I got out of the truck and went around to get my bag. I couldn’t help looking once more at the majestic horse. Such a magnificent specimen.

The guy stroking it wasn’t half bad either.

Maybe this will be better than I expected.

I scanned my surroundings. “I don’t see any cattle.”

Butch chuckled. “That’s ’cause the herd is in the north pasture. We’ll be moving them to the south pasture the week after next, and it’ll take us a couple of days.”

“How far is the pasture?” Garrett asked.

“About thirty miles. Not that far.”

He gaped. “It takes that long to move them?”

Butch laughed. “Dude, we’re talking over a thousand head of cattle. They don’t move fast. And once they’re on the trail, they might stretch out one or two miles. As it is, we move ’em in two groups. Some of you will set out Monday morning, with seven or eight guys, and the second group leaves the next day. Once the herd reaches the south pasture, you’ll get one day to relax at the camp before it’s time to head back. The horses will need to rest too.”

“How many horses does the ranch have?”

Butch rolled his eyes. “Can we save the questions for later? Because I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”