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Bryce stopped the Gator alongside the stock tank in the easternmost pasture, one of the newly annexed parcels of land Derek had bought when Kenny McMillan quit ranching. He hopped out of the ATV and checked the drain and seams in the galvanized tank.
Piece of crap.
No way would it survive as a watering station for any cattle grazing this pasture. No point in trying to repair it. New or nothing. Cattle ranching might be about the land, and Derek had increased his holdings by a good third with his purchases, but he’d have to fork over a bunch of bucks to be able to use it effectively.
On a positive note, the spring rains had left the pasture filled with an excellent growth of tall grass which provided a bounty crop of meadow hay, which in turn, would save on feed bills.
He continued checking the new acres, although Derek had inspected everything before he bought the place. Derek had moved McMillan’s herd of cattle onto the Triple-D, but eventually, he’d use McMillan’s pastures. Bryce had promised Derek another assessment so he climbed into the Gator and drove it along the fence line, marking spots that would need mending.
Another potential job for Grady, but not until Derek was ready to invest in a lot more fencing materials. Bryce would suggest starting with this pasture, since it was nearest the old Triple-D property line.
He worked another hour before parking the Gator on a high spot and surveying the vistas below. The cattle dotted the landscape like scattered pieces of assorted chocolates. Watching them graze filled Bryce with a peace he got nowhere else, and he knew this was the reason he’d come out here. Not because of the vague promise he’d made to give Derek another assessment of the recently acquired land. There was no pressing need to do it today.
Face it. You came out here because of Grady.
Something about the kid seemed off. Nothing Bryce could put his finger on. He was a troubled kid with secrets. Weren’t they all at his age? Bryce reflected on his own youth. He’d had plenty of secrets then. He’d run away from them, but to the army, not the streets. Still, the kid deserved his privacy—it was his first day. His first few hours, actually.
According to Cecily, as the first candidate for the program, Grady’s history had been thoroughly vetted. At the time, Bryce hadn’t paid any attention to the details and hadn’t bothered to ask Derek for more background. Given Derek’s initial objections to her program, the fact he’d accepted Grady meant he was okay with it.
He twisted the key in the Gator and, with a lifted hand, bade the cows a silent farewell.
When he got to the ranch, the empty horse trailer told him the day’s work was finished. Charlie raced over, bouncing with exuberance. Bryce ruffled the fur on the dog’s neck. “Hey, guy, it’s only been a few hours. I’m here.”
The horses munched hay in the paddock. Shadow stopped eating long enough to acknowledge his return. Bryce parked the Gator at the barn and popped in to check the stalls. Grady was nowhere around, but the condition of the stalls he’d been assigned said he’d completed his work first. Bryce drove to the vehicle barn, stowed the Gator, and headed for the house, trying to decide if he wanted a hit of caffeine or a refreshing glass of lemonade.
Or was it an excuse to pick Derek’s brain about Grady? It might be Cecily’s project, but Cecily being Cecily—she’d zero in on the good points. Derek, being skeptical, might provide a balanced opinion.
Inside, Charlie lay at Bryce’s feet, tail thumping, while Bryce sat on the mudroom bench and yanked off his boots. The gurgle of water in the washing machine and the hum of the dryer said it was laundry day at the ranch.
After washing his hands, he opened the door to the kitchen. Derek’s voice, muffled by the sounds of the machines, halted Bryce’s quest for something to drink.
Derek must have noticed him open the door, and waved him in. “Bryce. Come join us.”
Us. A glimpse of reddish hair told Bryce Grady was there, too. Bryce detoured by the coffee pot—a discussion with the boss and the new kid required more than lemonade. He set the mug on the table, flipped a kitchen chair around, and straddled it. Charlie flopped down at Bryce’s side. Grady had a half-empty glass of milk in front of him and Derek cupped a mug in his palms. Some papers and a pen sat to Derek’s right.
Bryce sipped his coffee and waited. This was Derek’s meeting. Let him start it.
“How did Grady do?” Derek asked.
“Fine. Met Ginger. Mucked stalls and spread bedding. No complaints.” He shot Grady a look. “That how you saw it?”
Grady shrugged. “Guess so.”
“I’ve been talking to Grady about the program,” Derek said. “Cecily named it Helping Through Horses, but her proposal didn’t stipulate the candidates be evaluated exclusively on equine criteria.” He passed a sheet of paper across the table to Bryce. “What we need is help around the ranch. Based on this form, I think we have a sufficient amount of leeway.”
Bryce tensed at Derek’s shift in vocabulary. The man loved ten-dollar words, but when he used them, it meant things were getting serious.
Bryce scanned the papers in front of him. Cecily must have sent them to Derek, too. Bryce hadn’t read his email yet today, but he assumed his copies would be waiting.
“It seems reasonable for Grady to know what he’s being judged on. He’s assured me he’ll do his part to make sure Cecily’s program continues,” Derek said.
Bryce cast a sidelong is that right? glance at Grady. Had it been lip service, spouting what he knew Derek and Cecily wanted to hear? Or had Bryce been reading the kid all wrong? Grady’s eyebrows jumped and a corner of his mouth twitched.
He’s playing the game.
Bryce wasn’t going to say anything to Derek in front of the kid. Instead, he made a show of reading the form.
Lots of generics. Shows a willingness to work. Follows directions. Uses time efficiently. Shows motivation to succeed.
And on and on.
“How often we have to turn these in?” Bryce asked.
“For the pilot program, we’re supposed to fill in these forms daily, with a weekly summary,” Derek said.
Bryce shoved the papers over to Grady. “Here. Fill it out for today.”
Grady’s eyes popped wide. “Me?”
“Why not?” Bryce avoided Derek’s gaze.
Grady gave his customary shrug. “If you say so.” He grabbed the pen and began checking boxes.
“You are reading the questions, aren’t you?” Derek asked.
“Sure,” Grady said without looking up. In about two minutes, he set down the pen and shoved the pages toward Derek, who handed them to Bryce.
“Bryce is the one you’re working with, so he’ll decide whether your responses match what he saw today.”
Grady lifted his chin, as if daring Bryce to disagree.
“I’ll check them later.” Bryce folded the pages. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
Derek didn’t object. “What I’d like to do is come up with a list of things you think would be within Grady’s area of capability that would best facilitate the running of the Triple-D,” he said to Bryce. “Grady, your opinion is welcome.”
“Have anything that doesn’t involve shit?” Grady said, half under his breath.
“Can you drive a tractor?” Derek asked.
For the first time since Grady had shown up, Bryce detected a glimmer approaching excitement in the boy’s eyes.
“Would you teach me?”
“Depends. How much driving experience do you have?” Derek said.
Charlie jumped up, hackles raised, a low growl in his throat. He raced for the mudroom.
Bryce shoved away from the table. “Charlie. Wait.”
The dog skidded to a stop on the tile floor. He turned, sat at Bryce’s feet, quivering. Whimpering.
“What’s the matter, fella?” Bryce crouched to the dog’s level. “Is something out there?”
Derek came through from the kitchen with his rifle. “I didn’t hear a car.”
“Might not, with the laundry going. But Charlie would, or he’d pick up on a the scent of a coyote or someone on foot.”
“Or a mountain lion. Couple of reports last week,” Derek said. “I’ll go check. Charlie stays inside, though. He might think he can take down a mountain lion, but no reason to let him find out he’s wrong.”
“I’ll break it to him,” Bryce said, his fingers looped through the dog’s collar. Derek went out, and Bryce held the reluctant dog in the kitchen.
“Mountain lion?” Grady’s eyes widened. “Do they come around here?”
“Not often. Not this close to the house.”
“Do I get a gun? You know, to walk back and forth to my place? In the dark?”
“You have a carry permit?” Bryce asked. “Had any firearms training?”
Grady shook his head.
“In that case, the answer is no.”
Grady pushed away from the table and dumped his unfinished milk down the sink.
“Around here, we don’t waste food,” Bryce said. “If you’re not going to finish it, don’t take it.”
“Seems like there are an awful lot of rules. I’m going to my place before it gets dark. If I get eaten by a mountain lion—”
“Odds are mighty slim. Don’t bother with people much.”
“Only takes once,” Grady muttered. He grabbed the bag with his new boots and stomped for the mud room.
“You can leave your riding boots,” Bryce said. He checked Charlie, who had apparently decided the threat—whatever it might have been—was gone, or that Derek would have things in hand, because the dog was curled up, fast asleep. Trusting the dog to know there was no real danger, Bryce let Grady go. “We saddle up at oh five-thirty,” he called after him.
Grady’s god-awful orange sneakers squeaked across the floor as he stomped away.
Bryce reheated his now cold coffee in the microwave and picked up the forms Grady had filled out. Major pain in the ass, if he had to do this every day. Maybe he’d let the kid do all of them. For now, he wanted a feel for Grady’s perceptions.
Derek returned, setting the rifle on the counter. “Nothing I could find. Charlie must have been dreaming.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Grady?”
“Went to his room. Didn’t want to walk in the dark.”
Derek picked up one of the pages Bryce had set aside. “What’s your take?”
“On the forms or the kid?” Bryce said.
“I know what you think of the forms. Tell me about Grady.”
Bryce collected the rest of the pages, stacked them, and passed them across the table. “Could be worse.”
“Come on, Bryce. I know you’re capable of speaking in sentences. Try stringing a few together and give me your impressions.”
Bryce played with his ponytail. “Okay. I was surprised to see his objectivity when he filled out the forms. I’d expected all excellent ratings, but his responses seem honest. He’s scared of horses, but I’ve got Ginger working on him. It’s obvious he’s not thrilled with the work, but he did it, and I didn’t have to ride his tail. He’s a kid, he acts like one, but there’s something underneath pinging my radar.”
Derek folded his hands atop the papers and angled his head. “Go on.”
“Can’t put my finger on it. Right now, I’m chalking it up to being not-quite-eighteen, stuck in an unfamiliar environment, and having come from a life on the streets. I take it he’s a runaway. If I knew what he was running from, I might understand better.”
“I can give you what the social worker shared with us—the basics that qualified him for the program. Non-violent. He left home. According to the report, his mom would have kicked him out when he turned eighteen anyway, so he figured he was doing her a favor. As he put it, he was cramping her style with the men. Having a kid his age went against the youthful—” Derek surrounded the word with finger quotes— “image she was trying to project.”
Bryce stared at the table. His mom had loved him. It was his father who’d been the catalyst for Bryce’s leaving. The man thought kids were an inferior species, beings who had no business being seen, or what was worse, heard. How many times had the man taken a belt to Bryce for trying to join a conversation? His mom would offer comfort, but did nothing other than tell Bryce his father meant well and didn’t know how to show it.
Derek probably knew what Bryce was thinking—in the Rangers, secrets were shared when lives were on the line. He went on. “Grady sold what few possessions he had, stuffed a backpack with what he could carry, and started hitching cross country. Ran out of money in Colorado Springs, got picked up, and here he is.”
“I don’t know,” Bryce said. “I’m feeling like he has some other agenda. Beyond keeping an eye on him or waiting until he’s comfortable enough to fill us in, I can’t find a reason to kick him out of the program. Not based on one day’s work where he performed well, and a gut feeling.”
“Which is good, because my sister will kill me. Both of us.”
Bryce didn’t disagree. Whatever had started between him and Cecily had fizzled once he’d understood her entire life seemed to revolve around finding and helping strays. She couldn’t grasp the fact that you can’t trust everyone. What you see isn’t always what you get.
“I told Grady to be here at oh five-thirty,” Bryce said. “From the way he stormed out of here—he asked for a gun and I said no, by the way—I’m not a hundred percent sure he’ll be on time. If he shows up at all.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Derek asked. “Everything you’ve said indicates he’ll be reliable.”
“I think it was talk of mountain lions,” Bryce said. “Might be afraid to come up in the dark.”
Derek thought for a moment. “You up for a short walk?”
“Where?”
“Take the Gator to the guest house. Leave it there. Tell Grady he can use it to get to and fro—assuming we’re not using it for anything else.”
“I can do that, but if you want me to pump him for information, you can find someone else.”
“Not my plan. You can grab some basic provisions—cereal, milk, bread and the like—and deliver them. If he chooses to open up, and if you deem it worth sharing, that would be a bonus.”
Bryce tossed his hair behind him. “Share? Guys don’t share. Or has Sabrina started snipping away bits of your man card?”
Derek scowled and flipped him off.
After loading the food into a carton, Bryce stowed it in the back of the Gator and set off for the guest house. Charlie rode shotgun, so to speak. Bryce’s rifle sat within reach between them. “You don’t get to shoot, fella. You can tell me if you think there’s something I should know about.”
Charlie pricked up his ears and stuck his nose in the air. From the way he sniffed, there were interesting scents out there, but they didn’t trigger a danger reaction.
At the guest house, Bryce told Charlie to stay in the Gator while he hefted the carton of food to the front door. He balanced the box against his hip and knocked on the door. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he knocked again. “Grady? I have food.” The universal call to action for teenage boys.
A few seconds later the door opened about six inches. Grady stood there, barefoot, jeans low on his hips, a towel draped around his neck. Rivulets of water dripped from stringy tendrils of hair. He pulled the door open a little farther and reached for the box. “Thanks.”
“I can help put it away,” Bryce offered.
“No need. I can manage.”
So much for any sharing. He extended the Gator keys. “Derek said you can use the Gator to get back and forth.”
If Bryce hadn’t been working with Grady, he’d never have interpreted the quick lip-twitch as a smile, but he took it for what it was worth. “See you in the morning.”
Grady juggled the carton and snatched the keys. “Five thirty. Got it.” With that, he backed up and thrust a foot against the door. Not a slam, but a definite we’re done here.
Bryce’s radar pinged again. Nothing said the kid had to invite him in and make idle chit-chat. There were plenty of honest and reasonable explanations for the abrupt dismissal besides hiding something. Fresh out of the shower. Tired. Needed to pee. Didn’t want anything to do with Bryce for the rest of day. That’s the one Bryce’s money was on, although he mulled through other possibilities as he made his way to the ranch house and his truck.