Page 13 of Wrangled

He grinned as we shook. “Zeeb Nolan. Welcome. And this is Paul Stormcloud.” He sniffed. “Damn, that smells good.” His eyes gleamed. “What are the rest of you fellas eating?”

Butch gave him a mock glare. He removed large plastic boxes from the bag and popped the lids. Steam rose from them. Paul grabbed large bowls from one of the cabinets, and Zeeb thrust a ladle into Butch’s outstretched hand.

“So, what did you think of Bozeman?” Butch asked as he filled the bowls and passed them around.

“I didn’t see enough of it to be able to pass a comment. I guess it’s a big enough place that you can get anything you need there.” The food smelled amazing. “Does Matt drag all the food down here from the house every time you eat? He must be a regular mountain goat.”

Butch pointed to a door. “That leads to the kitchen. Runs the length of the bunkhouse. Matt usually cooks for us in there, then goes on up to the house.”

“He also shops for groceries and takes care of the house,” Zeeb added, helping himself to a hunk of cornbread.

Two more men came into the bunkhouse. One of them was again probably close to my age, but the other appeared younger.

Actually, he looked a lot like Tyler.

Butch pointed to them. “This here is Walt,” he said, indicating the younger man. “He’s the one who keeps all the fences as they should be so we don’t lose any cattle.” Butch grinned. “He’s also the baby of the outfit.”

Walt rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-fuckin’-eight, Butch.”

The resemblance to Tyler was uncanny: the beard that wasn’t much more than five o’clock shadow, the dirty blond hair, blue eyes…

“And already a potty-mouthed bastard. You mind I don’t wash it out with soap.” Butch winked at me, and I recalled his remark about how things rolled at the ranch.

Yeah, I was going to fit in just fine.

“Wash your own out first, you red-necked fucker,” Walt retorted.

I burst out laughing. “Are you always this snarky and foul-mouthed around new guests?”

The other guy stared at me, his lips twitching. “Well, that was fast.”

“This here is Teague, our foreman.” Butch grinned. “He eats with us lowly mortals, but he don’t sleep with us.”

Teague fired him a glance before addressing me and Garrett. “I have my own place beyond the big barn. Not much, just a little cabin.”

Walt cackled. “Yeah, and you don’t get to line up for a shower, or the sink, or to use the john….”

Teague smiled, and his face was transformed. The man was gorgeous. “Hey, you can have my place, provided you do all the work that comes with it.”

Good Lord, iseveryoneworking on this ranch a fuckable specimen of manhood?

“And to answer your question…” Teague pulled out a chair and sat. “We’ve been doing this for a while now. At first, we played nice, gave the guests a couple of days to settle in…”

“Didn’t work,” Butch said bluntly. “Okay, it did for some of ’em, but for others, when they got to see how we rolled, they didn’t cope, and they left. So now?”

The light dawned. “Now you drop guests in at the deep end right away, to see who sinks and who swims,” I surmised.

Teague grinned. “You’re smart. You’ll do just fine.”

“And to be honest? We’ve only lost a couple of guests in the last six years,” Butch added. “So I guess we’re pretty much what people expect to find on a ranch.”

I laughed. “I take it you meanlostas in they left, not that you lost them someplace.”

Butch rolled his eyes.

Teague surveyed the table. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

I had to admit, the food was great. There were huge chunks of beef in the stew, andLord, they melted in the mouth. The cornbread was perfection.