Temper was shocked enough to take a step forward, fists clenched, but Snow waved him back.
"Save that horseshit,” the foreman barked. “Hell, I don't even care if you set the fire. You're a lazy son of a bitch, and I was fixin’ to fire you anyhow. Now go in there and get your horse and tack. I want you off this ranch as soon as Ben gets back with your pay, which you wouldn't be gettin’ if I had a say.” Arcady snarled and spun on his heel, disappearing into the barn. Temper moved to follow, intending to keep bringing out the horses, but Snow held him back. “Wait."
A minute later Arcady stormed back out, his saddle under one arm, leading his bay with the other. He wrapped the reins around the corral rail, threw the saddle on the animal's back and tightened the cinch with a jerk. He then turned and stalked to the bunkhouse, passing close enough by Temper to shove him with his shoulder. Again Temper made a fist and stepped forward, and again Snow shut him down with a look. He pointed instead to the barn, and Temper grit his teeth and went in to fetch another horse.
When he came out, Ben had ridden back down and turned the Bastard loose in the training corral. Running a practiced eye over Arcady's mount, he checked the tack and loosened the cinch. The animal shifted and sighed. “That's better, ain't it,” Ben murmured, giving the pale flank a pat.
Arcady slammed out of the bunkhouse with his pack and saddlebags, brushing past Ben to throw them up over the horse's neck. Ben handed over the fancy pistol he'd confiscated months ago and held out a small bundle of bills, but didn't let go when Arcady moved to take it. “Don't go takin’ out your piss-poor attitude on that horse,” he warned.
Jerking the money free, Arcady glared at Ben, his teeth bared in a snarl. Temper found himself thinking back to their first day at the ranch, and the hungry, inviting look Arcady had given his new boss. There was no lust in the cowboy's eyes now, only smoldering rage.
"You go to hell, old man. You and all the damn perverts on this ranch.” He swung into the saddle and rode away without another word.
Ben watched him go, his face showing nothing but mild annoyance. “Damn it all. Obie was right about him. I'm never gonna hear the end of it. Snow, send word to Sam and Gus, in case he goes to them lookin’ for work.” He tipped his hat back and scratched his head, then frowned at Temper. “I know you're not standing here gawkin’ while my horses are in that smoky damn barn.” Temper all but sprinted into the barn, Ben's voice following him in. “I already fired one fella today—it ain't the time to go slackin’ off!"
* * * *
The following Saturday night, James Arcady was sitting at the corner table in the saloon, playing cards with his fellow mill workers and one ex-militia captain. Snow made the observation that it sure was handy to have all the folks who hated them all together in one little place.
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Chapter 8
Summer fairly flew by. Temper spent all his work time clearing out the overgrown lot, cutting trees and uprooting scrub brush and stumps. All the hands took turns helping, but more often than not it was Larry who showed up after the horses were fed, grinning and shucking his shirt. Eventually it became Larry's permanent job, which suited Temper just fine.
He'd always been a man who enjoyed peace and quiet, and with Larry, there was sure no shortage of that. The work was hard and hot. They took frequent breaks, escaping the sun in a little lean-to, sprawled side by side sipping lukewarm water. For Temper, those moments were both heaven and hell. Laying there, feeling the heat coming off Larry's lean body, scenting the sweat that trickled down his skin, hearing his little panting breaths....
And the dreams. Good Lord, the dreams he was having put that first one to shame. It was damned inconvenient when you slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Some nights he'd wake with a
"Save that horseshit,” the foreman barked. “Hell, I don't even care if you set the fire. You're a lazy son of a bitch, and I was fixin’ to fire you anyhow. Now go in there and get your horse and tack. I want you off this ranch as soon as Ben gets back with your pay, which you wouldn't be gettin’ if I had a say.” Arcady snarled and spun on his heel, disappearing into the barn. Temper moved to follow, intending to keep bringing out the horses, but Snow held him back. “Wait."
A minute later Arcady stormed back out, his saddle under one arm, leading his bay with the other. He wrapped the reins around the corral rail, threw the saddle on the animal's back and tightened the cinch with a jerk. He then turned and stalked to the bunkhouse, passing close enough by Temper to shove him with his shoulder. Again Temper made a fist and stepped forward, and again Snow shut him down with a look. He pointed instead to the barn, and Temper grit his teeth and went in to fetch another horse.
When he came out, Ben had ridden back down and turned the Bastard loose in the training corral. Running a practiced eye over Arcady's mount, he checked the tack and loosened the cinch. The animal shifted and sighed. “That's better, ain't it,” Ben murmured, giving the pale flank a pat.
Arcady slammed out of the bunkhouse with his pack and saddlebags, brushing past Ben to throw them up over the horse's neck. Ben handed over the fancy pistol he'd confiscated months ago and held out a small bundle of bills, but didn't let go when Arcady moved to take it. “Don't go takin’ out your piss-poor attitude on that horse,” he warned.
Jerking the money free, Arcady glared at Ben, his teeth bared in a snarl. Temper found himself thinking back to their first day at the ranch, and the hungry, inviting look Arcady had given his new boss. There was no lust in the cowboy's eyes now, only smoldering rage.
"You go to hell, old man. You and all the damn perverts on this ranch.” He swung into the saddle and rode away without another word.
Ben watched him go, his face showing nothing but mild annoyance. “Damn it all. Obie was right about him. I'm never gonna hear the end of it. Snow, send word to Sam and Gus, in case he goes to them lookin’ for work.” He tipped his hat back and scratched his head, then frowned at Temper. “I know you're not standing here gawkin’ while my horses are in that smoky damn barn.” Temper all but sprinted into the barn, Ben's voice following him in. “I already fired one fella today—it ain't the time to go slackin’ off!"
* * * *
The following Saturday night, James Arcady was sitting at the corner table in the saloon, playing cards with his fellow mill workers and one ex-militia captain. Snow made the observation that it sure was handy to have all the folks who hated them all together in one little place.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 8
Summer fairly flew by. Temper spent all his work time clearing out the overgrown lot, cutting trees and uprooting scrub brush and stumps. All the hands took turns helping, but more often than not it was Larry who showed up after the horses were fed, grinning and shucking his shirt. Eventually it became Larry's permanent job, which suited Temper just fine.
He'd always been a man who enjoyed peace and quiet, and with Larry, there was sure no shortage of that. The work was hard and hot. They took frequent breaks, escaping the sun in a little lean-to, sprawled side by side sipping lukewarm water. For Temper, those moments were both heaven and hell. Laying there, feeling the heat coming off Larry's lean body, scenting the sweat that trickled down his skin, hearing his little panting breaths....
And the dreams. Good Lord, the dreams he was having put that first one to shame. It was damned inconvenient when you slept in a bunkhouse with a dozen other men. Some nights he'd wake with a
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