The Private Stable [Iron Spur Ranch 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2

  The ad went on to say that they were hiring immediately. There was no phone number given, only an unfamiliar address. Applicants were to apply in person. The first thought that flashed in her mind was Jason’s crude comment about no one wanting to hire her if they saw what she looked like. Although she rarely dared to weigh herself, the last time she’d checked, she was a good fifty pounds above the “recommended weight” for her height and age. A lot of that weight started to pack on when the abuse started, and then the vicious cycle took over.

  If she showed up at the Iron Spur Ranch, they’d probably laugh her off the property. She stared at the ad. It was so perfect. Rachel would have a place to live while saving up for her new, independent life. After contemplating every possible scenario, it seemed the best viable option. Every other path dictated that she’d need at least first and last month’s rent before leaving, which could take forever considering the state of their finances. She couldn’t wait, wouldn’t wait.

  Did she dare? What if they refused to hire her? She’d be living on the street, not a penny to her name. After nursing her extra-large coffee for over an hour, she realized living on the park bench would be preferable to another night beside Jason. I’m going for it.

  The very same day she bought a one-way bus ticket to the town of Glasburg with her small emergency fund. She’d been saving the money as her “escape fund,” but it had never managed to grow enough to be useful. Rachel left a note for Jason explaining her choices, and it was more than he deserved. If she’d been smart, she would have left ages ago. But it was never too late to start over.

  The bus terminal was cold and sterile. Her thoughts wandered as she sat waiting for her bus into the unknown. Was she making the right decision? Doubts began to fester as her fears grew.

  “Bags, Miss?”

  She snapped out of her daydreams and turned to the voice. An older man in a navy uniform was standing near her bench. “Sorry?”

  “Do you have any bags to store under the bus?”

  Rachel had managed to squeeze all her clothes and belongings into two large suitcases. It was pretty sad that it was all she had to show for the past twenty-eight years.

  “Yes, sir. Just these two.” She helped him wheel them to the bus. “How long is the trip to Glasburg?” she asked. Her decisions had been made so fast and under such stressful circumstances that she hadn’t been thinking straight. She’d never even heard of the town but assumed it couldn’t be too far if the ranch was advertising in the city newspaper.

  “Six-hour drive. Maybe six and a half.”

  Her jaw went slack. Her little venture had suddenly become so much more, taking “starting over” to the extreme. She was leaving absolutely everything behind and beginning from scratch. But that was what she wanted—a fresh start without all the old baggage. She didn’t even want to contemplate what she’d do if the Iron Spur Ranch refused her application. She had to have faith. Without enough money to buy a return ticket, she’d be forced to roam the unfamiliar town like a nomad or call her mother for help. The latter wasn’t even an option in her opinion. She refused to show her mother how rock bottom she’d hit. Her mother had been through enough, struggling to raise her without a father and often going without. The next time she called it would be to share her good news and happiness.

  It was too late to turn back now. She boarded the bus and sat in a window seat near the back of the nearly empty interior. Rachel would make this work, she had to. She’d already taken the first step in improving her life, the one she should have made years ago.

  Rachel stayed awake as long as she could, but the hum of the engine and endless fields of gold and green lulled her into unconsciousness. By the time she woke up, the bus had slowed down as they entered a small town. She sat up straight and ran her hands through her hair, trying to get her bearings. The world around her was new and unfamiliar.

  The speaker garbled before the driver announced their arrival in Glasburg. There really wasn’t much to see—a church, a coffee shop, and a feed store amongst the few buildings. They turned at the lights, so she wasn’t able to see the other stores lining the lonely main strip. It was as if the clocks had turned back time to simpler days.

  She tucked her purse closer for security and clenched the paper with the address in her other hand. This is it. Her plan would either succeed or fail miserably within the next couple hours. It was late in the afternoon when she finally stepped off the bus. Her body felt cramped from sitting for so long. She stretched out her legs as she took in the surroundings.

  The remote bus terminal was isolated on the outskirts of the small town, nothing but fields as far as her eyes could see. Rachel didn’t think the world could be so flat, so endless. The air smelled almost sweet, not like the choking exhaust fumes that assaulted her every time she left her apartment in the city. A massive flock of birds choreographed a beautiful show, swooping low and then rising with the wind. They seemed to welcome her to this foreign place.

  Now that she was here, she had no clue what to do next. Her initial goal had been achieved—she’d escaped. It felt good, a healing energy already working its way through her veins. It was time to move ahead.

  She didn’t have money for a taxi, not that she expected to even find one way out here. “Excuse me,” she said to a man smoking on the platform.

  The older man nodded once, a nonchalant air about him. His face was weathered, a testament to a hard life.

  “I need to get to the Iron Spur Ranch. Do you know how far it is from here?” She handed him the paper with the address, but he only shook his head, refusing to even look at it.

  “I know where it is.”

  “Can you point me in the right direction?”

  He frowned. “How do you expect to get out there by yourself, little lady? Someone picking you up?”

  “No, sir. I’m applying for a job. I’ve come all the way up from the city, so I’m not familiar with the area.”

  Normally she’d never accept charity or even consider getting into a car with a stranger, but her circumstances were anything but ordinary, and the old man didn’t look like a threat. When he offered to drive her out to the ranch, she graciously accepted.

  The old pickup truck rumbled and jostled along the dirt back roads. She noticed how the blue sky seemed to go on forever in all directions. It was strange not having her vision obstructed by buildings, overhead wires, and smog. Her soul sighed contentedly within her as she absorbed all the natural sights.

  “What position are you applying for?” asked the driver.

  “Um, horse handler.”

  He briefly turned to the side, tilting his Stetson up to get a good look at her. He had a scruffy graying beard and thin face. “You don’t look like any horse handler I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, I’m one of the best,” she assured, wondering what visible qualities she lacked for the position. Or did she look unfit for the job because of her extra weight? She finally concluded it must be her lack of blue jeans and flannel.

  “If you say so. I know they’re itching for new staff, so they’ll be happy to have you.”

  “I hope so.” She tried to speak with as much confidence as she could muster. Inside she was a gooey mess, terrified of being ousted before she even got a chance to prove herself as a dedicated worker. Rachel may be unemployed at the moment, but she wasn’t afraid of hard work. How difficult could it be to groom a horse?

  Nearly twenty minutes later they drove through an elaborate iron arch with the name Iron Spur Ranch spelled out in dark, twisted iron letters. She felt a tingle race up her spine, an ominous feeling making her sit straighter in her seat. From what she could see, the ranch was massive. Rachel knew very little about the place, only concerned they were offering room and board with pay. As they navigated the long, winding drive, she began to recollect watching Dallas every Friday with her mother. It was one of her positive childhood memories, and she’d forgotten all about it until witnessing the sprawling fields, elaborate home
, and countless horses grazing in the distance.

  Rachel was thankful for the drive from the bus terminal. If she’d been forced to walk it would have taken her hours, the late afternoon sun baking her fair skin with every step.

  The old man parked the truck. “Owner’s name is Damien Holt. Can’t even begin to tell you how many men he has working for him. You’d be wise to pay a visit to him first, since he’s likely doing the hiring.”

  “Thank you so much. I–I don’t have anything to pay you.”

  “It was my pleasure. Good luck with the new job, sugar.”

  She smiled to herself as she hopped down from the truck. That had been the first kind word directed at her in years. It warmed her heart. He unloaded her bags and drove off the way he came. She watched him disappear with a sense of fondness, a billow of dust marking his retreat.

  She glanced around at the many buildings. There was a breathtaking plantation-style house in the near distance with white pillars that seemed to go on forever. There were also several massive barns, outbuildings, and a slew of house trailers dotting the periphery. She didn’t know where to start.

  There was so much ahead of her, and as much as she needed to be strong, it was tempting to give up. It would be so refreshing to have someone to lean on, to scare away those bumps in the night. But she’d only ever had herself to rely on, even now in this strange, new world.

  As she explored the area, the earth rumbled, and she heard the distinct cry of cowboys. It was like being in the center of an old Western. She cupped a hand over her eyes to see the distant paddocks where a herd of horses was being corralled. The sun was high in the sky, signaling she had little time before nightfall. She may have come knowing there was a possibility of sleeping on the street, but now that she was here, the thought wasn’t as digestible. The country was so much more foreboding than the city. Once the sun set she imagined it would be pitch black, nothing but wildlife creeping about. At least in the city there were streetlights, all-night coffee shops, and hostels.

  Rachel dragged her two suitcases to a trailer marked Office. So far she’d gone unnoticed, even though there were a lot of men on horseback within view. Now for Damien. She cautiously pushed open the door, unsure if she was supposed to knock first or just enter.

  “We told Lawson he’d have them on the twentieth. Don’t give me that fucking bullshit.” The man had his back to her, his broad shoulders pulling his shirt taut. He spoke on the phone, pacing the area between two desks. “Good luck finding another breeder. You know damn well you won’t get Holt’s quality on such short notice.”

  She felt like an eavesdropper, standing there without saying a word. The man was seriously pissed off and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end. Was this Damien? She hoped his mood improved before he had to decide her fate.

  He exhaled after tossing the cordless onto one of the desks with disregard. It skidded before settling against a nest of paperwork. “Assholes.” She was tempted to reverse course and pretend to reenter the office again.

  As he turned around, he finally noticed her standing by the doorway. He did a double-take, and then froze for a moment. The front of his checkered shirt was partially unbuttoned, exposing hard, toned pecs to match those strong shoulders. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a man so handsome outside of her fantasies. His eyes were greener than the fields outside, striking on his tanned face.

  “Can I help you?” he asked with curiosity rather than irritation. His tone relaxed her somewhat. She’d expected him to vent his rage on her. It’s what she expected of a man.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m inquiring about the ad in the paper for live-in horse handlers.”

  “Are they hiring again?”

  “You’re not Damien?”

  He smirked, and his previous hostility vanished. “No, ma’am. I’m one of the foremen on the ranch.”

  “Do you know who I could talk to about the job?” She swallowed hard. What she wouldn’t give for a man like him. He was absolutely dreamy, making her think up all kinds of wicked scenarios. But he likely saw her for what she was—a gross, overweight nobody that wasn’t worth his time. Like Jason frequently reminded her, she’d never get better than him. It had taken her a long time to realize having nobody was preferable to a life with Jason.

  He stepped forward, forcing her to hold her breath. Up close, he was even taller, towering over her five-foot-four frame. “You can talk with me, if you like.” He tilted his head and stared so deep into her eyes she began to feel wobbly on her feet. Men didn’t look at her like that. It was unnerving.

  “Well, I’ve travelled all the way up from the city for this opportunity. I’d love to work for the Iron Spur Ranch. I’m a hard worker. I learn fast. I don’t cause any trouble. If you just give me a chance, I could prove myself an asset. I—”

  “Whoa…Slow down there, little lady.”

  “I’m sorry. I just really need this job.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from rambling. Rachel was so damn nervous and desperate to get the position.

  “We’re in need of a few more handlers. I was expecting men to apply, but I won’t turn you away if you’re up for the work. You do know what we do around here, don’t you?”

  Think, Rachel! She must have stood there, slack-jawed and silent for a few moments too long.

  He chuckled and tweaked her nose. “Just playin’. Of course you know what we do here. If you can hold tight, I’ll get one of the crew to show you the ropes.”

  Did that mean she had the job? Did she have to prove her skills on the field? She’d never even met a horse up close and personal, but here she was, miles from home, impersonating a trained professional. The shit was getting deeper by the second.

  * * * *

  Wyatt’s day had been one headache after the other. Then the little brunette showed up on the property. She was a beauty, with enough curves to make him forget all coherent thought. They had a couple young women doing odd jobs around the ranch and one giving riding lessons, but they were all stick thin, leaving much to be desired. It didn’t help that he knew most of their fathers or brothers.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…”

  “Rachel. Rachel Price.”

  “My name’s Wyatt. Come on, darlin’.” He waved for her to follow, pushing open the door of the trailer. The resulting relief was instantaneous. He hated being trapped behind a desk handling paperwork, but the owner’s sister was away on holidays, and she usually handled the business side of things. He much preferred to be in the saddle, the warm wind against his skin.

  Colton, one of the other foremen, had mentioned an ad going into area papers. The owner, Damien, wanted to expand the tourism end of the business. Their breeding operation was already the largest in the country, producing some of the world’s top race and show horses. But they also took in rescues and sold pleasure and working horses as well.

  It would be a distraction having Ms. Price underfoot. He tried to envision her in the company uniform of Wranglers and tight black T-shirt with the Iron Spur Ranch logo. Just the thought made his balls ache. With the busy season underway, he had little time for relationships or brief encounters. Ms. Price was a treat for his senses.

  Wyatt was one of five foremen on the ranch, all answering to Damien directly. He had fourteen cowboys under his leadership. It was busy and crazy at times, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

  “Where do the employees sleep?” she asked.

  She was shy, hesitant, often looking to the ground when speaking. Rachel was nothing like the headstrong cowgirls he frequently dealt with. She piqued his curiosity and enticed his dominant side.

  Wyatt pointed off to the area between two of the larger barns. “We have a few trailers set up around back. There’s everything you need—bed, shower, and meals are in the mess hall.” When he thought about it, there weren’t any women staying in those trailers. The few working the ranch went home every night since they were local girls. Maybe it wouldn’t work
out for Ms. Price after all. He couldn’t very well stick her in with a bunch of his crew. They’d eat a lush thing like her alive. And he wasn’t so sure he could trust himself to behave, either.

  “Do I need to meet the owner?”

  “First I’ll have you spend some time with Ethan, one of my best men. He’ll teach you a few things and see if you have what it takes before we take the next step. Mr. Holt doesn’t like to play games.”

  He noticed her face blanch slightly. She was more nervous than a startled doe.

  They entered the main barn. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of light streaming in through the knots in the wood. The hay-littered concrete floor needed a good sweeping, another testament to their lack of staff.

  He planned to set Rachel up with one of his best cowboys because he still needed to supervise the branding of the new Arabian stock in the far-east paddock. Wyatt also needed to ensure Mr. Lawson’s order would be ready for the promised date. His mind was a whirlwind of thought, and there weren’t enough hours in a day for him to get everything done. Isabella needed to get back to the office before all hell broke loose. He certainly didn’t need any more trouble on his watch.

  “This is one of the main barns you’d work in. The horses are brought in here before they’re shown to prospective clients or shipped off to their new owners. You’d have to wash and groom them, of course. We have a thriving breeding program, so I hope you’re experienced in breaking colts and fillies. All our stock need to be green broke before we show them.”

  “Right.”

  Ethan and Colton were at the other end of the barn, their silhouettes highlighted by the late afternoon sun streaming in the open bay doors.

  “Ethan, come here a minute, will you?”

  Of all the men he was responsible for, Ethan was his closest friend. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, rarely needing to speak when communicating. He considered him the brother he never had. The only family.

  As Ethan approached, he slowed his steps. It wasn’t often a new girl showed up on the ranch, so he was likely getting his fill of their guest. She was certainly something to look at with her hourglass figure and big green eyes.