“Next!” I shouted from the trailer I had set up all the way at the far side of a series of dilapidated goat pens.
For some reason, three dozen Shifters had showed up on my doorstep at the ass crack of dawn the day after I moved into this hellhole.
The roof leaked. My mattress was lumpy. And the AC unit was busted. I’d only gotten about two hours of sleep.
Mrs. O’Hare was not awake yet, so now I was sitting here, angry as fuck, with no coffee or breakfast in sight, interviewing a whole gaggle of furry fuckers.
“Sir?” a shortish guy with a long beard interrupted my inner tirade.
“What?”
“Uh, nothin’. I was just waiting for you to finish with your interview to talk about my fees for maintaining this place while you were gone,” the man said, swallowing.
“What kind of Shifter are you?” I asked, not recognizing his scent. I knew it was rude of me, but whatever.
“Prairie Dog,” he replied straight-faced.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Prairie Dog, sir.”
“And you say you’ve been maintaining this place?”
“Yep. Feeding the animals and keeping it from caving in on itself,” he replied.
“Name?”
“Jed.”
“Okay, Jed. Tell me, why are these here? Was it you?” I asked, rubbing my head in a feeble attempt to stop the aching.
“That would be the newsletter,” Jed replied and showed me his phone.
What the actual fuck?
The subject read The Nightly News Digital Edition, and below that was a section of announcements. I frowned.
I sure as shit had not advertised for experienced ranch hands and farmers, and management positions at the Motley Crewd Ranch owned and operated by Maximillian Leeds.
Surprise. Anger. Shock. All flowed through me, but I think curiosity won out in the end.
Motley Crewd what now?
Who the fuck came up with that name?
“Avail,” I muttered.
This had my cousin’s stink all over it.
Scoundrel.
Avail was undoubtedly enjoying himself at my expense.
I knew he was. This entire project of Grandmother Leeds was ridiculous. Me playing at being some kind of urban cowboy. Running this ranch/farm, or whatever the hell this place was, was a completely alien experience.
What were they thinking?
I huffed an annoyed sigh and handed the phone back to Jed, the Prairie Dog Shifter.
“Should I call in the next fella, sir?” Jed asked and waved in a man who was even shorter and older than he was.
He smelled like licorice and piss.
I crinkled my nose.
“Morning, Hoss. I’m JD,” the man began.
“Don’t bother sitting. Leave your, uh, application, and, don’t call us, we’ll call you,” I said and watched the confused man, JD, leave.
“Sir?” Jed asked.
“Jed, I’ll handle this. But I need you to call someone to replace the central air unit and fix the roof. Can you do that?”
“Uh, no, sir. That scary woman in your kitchen told me not to do anything like that before she left. Said you need to do it yourself,” Jed replied, and scratched his head.
Scary woman?
Mrs. O’Hare.
I didn’t even want to think about her right now. Of all the people in my life, I would have never expected Molly O’Hare to just walk out on me.
She didn’t even say goodbye. Just left me a note.
Dear Max,
I’ve known you since birth, and it pains me to say your grandmother is right. It is time you met your full potential. Fix this place. Find your promised. Become the man you were meant to be.
Forever your fan,
Nanny Molly
“NEXT!” I bellowed, angry at the memory.
“Mister, you keep screaming like that and those goats of yours are gonna give you nothing but sour milk for a week,” the next Shifter said as he ambled towards me.
I narrowed my eyes and sniffed.
Great.
The guy was a Wolf. And worse, he had a Texas drawl as big as the Lonestar state itself.
Just what I fucking needed.
“So, you know about goats?” I asked, eyeing the buff, tattooed blond Wolf.
“Yep,” he answered with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“How about cows?”
“Them, too.”
“What do you know about horses?” I asked.
I rubbed the place on my hand where one of the horses that came with the property bit me when I went to toss some hay into his stall last night.
Animals didn’t normally sense my supernatural nature, but some did. And that was going to be a problem, for sure.
“I could fill a book, Mr. Leeds.”
“I bet you charge an arm and a leg,” I said and leaned forward.
“Hardly. But I worked as foreman for one of the most successful ranches in Texas for the last six years.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Let’s call it personal troubles,” the Wolf answered with a shrug.
“Fine. We’ll call it that. So, what? You looking to be the manager, er, foreman here?”
“I reckon I’d be good at it. But I tell you what. You can reserve that position for when I earn your trust. What I really need is steady work, a place to stay, and four meals a day.”
“Four? Isn’t three customary?”
“Maybe, but I’m a Wolf, not a normal, and I need the meat to keep steady,” he said, and his voice deepened with his animal.
I leaned forward, intrigued. I wasn’t sure if I liked the Wolf. But I was self-aware enough to recognize I knew jack shit about running a place like this.
Truth was, I needed all the help I could get. At least he didn’t stink of licorice and piss.
“How come animals trust your Wolf?” I whispered.
“Don’t know. But I can teach you how to not get bit, and maybe you can help me find some balance,” the Wolf said.
“Okay. What’s your name?”
“Emmet Quinn.”
“Okay, Emmet Quinn, first order of business, help me pick a Crew. Then help me fix my roof,” I grumbled and tossed half the stack of applications to the Wolf, who snatched them from the air.
“No problem, Boss,” Emmet said and grinned.