Page 37 of Taming the Wild Cowboy

*

Rain hit Trev in the face as he stepped out of the barn. Mac said a quick, “See you later,” before putting her head down and sprinting to the foreman’s house. Trev shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and headed for the maternity corral for a quick check, hunching his back against the wind. Everyone was on their feet and eating, so he retreated to the barn to continue working on the tractor, pulling off his hat and shaking the water from it. He hung the battered felt on a nail protruding from a rough-cut column and then adjusted the trouble light so that he could see into the tractor’s engine.

In a matter of weeks, his workspace would be warm and dry, and it wouldn’t smell of cows, dust, and forage. His clothing wouldn’t be splattered with betadine stains, and he wouldn’t have to scrape his boots or spray his jeans with a hose to keep from clogging the washing machine with mud after yet another calving adventure.

He’d be a button-down-shirt-wearing professional with an upward trajectory. Before the Copper Mountain Rodeo last fall, he’d divided his time between saving the company from hackers during the week and roping with Dylan on the weekends. Long weekday hours had been translated into PTO that he could use when he traveled to more distant rodeos. But now he had no outlet, nothing to look forward to. Just … work.

The barn door slid open, and Trev glanced at the cobwebbed clock on the wall over the window. Barely twenty minutes had passed. Maclyn’s hair was dry, and she wore a sturdy oiled canvas coat.

“You’re early.”

“Not much to do in the house. I’ve applied for every job possible, so all I can do is play solitaire and wait. Therefore”—she spread her arms—“I’m available for duty.”

“No luck?”

“I got a nibble from the Graff Hotel, but I don’t want to take a job just to quit if something horse-related comes up.”

“Where else have you applied?”

She rattled off names of ranches—most of them of the dude variety, scattered across the state—a few veterinarians, and a training facility up north. “I applied for hourly jobs in Marietta to tide me over, but again, I don’t want to leave anyone high and dry.” She leaned against the column he’d hung his hat from. “I’ll expand the search to Idaho and Wyoming, but I wanted to stay in an area I know.”

“You know that you can stay on here.”

“How would I know that?” Her tone was half-teasing, but her expression was intent.

“Because I’m telling you.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “For how long?”

“Until you need to go. Jordan’s on board.”

“You’re saying I’ve passed the probationary period?”

“For not knowing shit about cows when you got here, you’re doing okay.”

“Okay? Have you seen how taut those fence wires are?”

“Would that be the fence that the steers walked through?”

“I can’t be responsible for wildlife damage,” she said with a sniff.

He smiled as he grabbed the grease rag and wiped his hands. Mac continued holding up the column, hands behind her back, watching him in a way that put him on edge. He liked the feeling.

“Anyway, you can stay for as long as you need a job. Keep applying elsewhere, but don’t worry about getting pushed out into the cold. We just ask for some notice.”

“That’s generous, Trev.”

“You earn your pay. I’ve seen those taut fence wires.”

“Have you? I didn’t realize you checked my work.”

“You did well.” He moved to stand in front of her and then set his hands lightly on her shoulders to make his point, his knuckles brushing the rough wood of the column. “You were a good hire.”

“Told you I was a quick study.” She smiled a little, then looked over his shoulder at the window. “The rain is letting up.”

And the subject is changed.

“You feel like saddling a wet horse?”