Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,13

to do this. Surely nothing could happen—

Don’t even think that. He didn’t want to have to explain a problem to Brent on his first day.

He sat Daisy down and went to grab Curly. “Sir, can you keep one eye on the kids while I run to the car?”

“I can.” Curly grinned. “Way easier than two eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be right back with a movie.” Soon there would be nappage, and he could cook. God, it shocked him, how fast he remembered this, how to do a bunch of things at once.

“They all like a movie.” Curly was nodding again. Poor guy was exhausted.

He headed out, straining to keep an ear open. No screams issued forth, and when he got back, no one was wearing a bowl on their head and nothing was smashed on the floor. Go them for the win.

Soon he had three kids on the sofa with blankets, Curly in the recliner keeping an eye on them. The baby was in her swing, sound asleep, and Trace took a deep breath.

God. What a day.

What a fucking day. His ear still ached, and he could still hear the sound of poor Susannah’s wails when he’d tried to cut off his hair. Was that just this morning?

Had he gone from happily teaching and living with Nate to living on a ranch with his little girl in just five years? Seriously? Five years and the entire world was upside down, tilted a little farther day by day until he felt like he was fixin’ to slide off.

Nope. No dwelling. He cleaned the kitchen, then hunted side dish material for supper, taking frequent peeks at the kids. No scratching yet, yay.

He put potatoes and eggs on to boil, used the number on the board by the phone to call Harold to buy cabbage, yeast, cornmeal, baking powder, and flour, and found a huge can of Ranch Style beans. Bueno.

“You’re the new guy, huh?” Harold said. “I can do that. Any snacks or drinks you and your…uh. Girl? I think the boss said you had a baby girl. Want?”

“She drinks milk. I’m an iced tea guy, and there’s a big pitcher in here. Should I make dessert? I can make blackberry cobbler or peach…”

“Oh God. Blackberry. I’ll get you some of those. I’m here another twenty. You just holler if you think of something else.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

He had the potato salad and devilled eggs done by the time the kids woke up. Jakob went to his room, the girls went to Caro’s, and he was getting apples and peanut butter ready when Harold pulled up.

“Hey, there.” Harold really was bald as a billiard ball when he took off his hat to hang it on the hooks by the door. “Curly, come on and help me unload, buddy. Then we’ll start the feeding.”

“I’ll keep cooking and give the hooligans a snack before finding them some art supplies.”

“Good deal, son.” Curly clapped him on the shoulder on the way out the door.

Both Curly and Harold seemed totally willing to let him have the little ones and do their thing outside. That was okay. He knew he would eventually deal with the animals closest to the house, what they used to call the barnyard in the old days, but right now he had enough on his hands with the home-early kids and poison ivy and and…

If he was lucky, he’d be able to help with the kids more than not. That would give Susannah a chance to make some new friends.

He maybe thought the ranch children needed friends too. He had no idea how many kids their babysitter watched, but it sounded like they were kinda it.

The guys brought in…more groceries than he’d ever seen at once. Christ. Bags and bags of fruit and veg and meat and all kinds of snacks, from nuts and chips to Little Debbie cakes. Dog food, light bulbs, and toilet paper and paper towels. Lord.

“I got you four pints of blackberries, plus everything else. I also got flour and sugar because I couldn’t remember whether or not we had some.” Harold’s grin told a wealth of stories. “We’re not big bakers here.”

Trace was fairly sure they’d emptied out every aisle of the H-E-B.

“Thanks.” He kinda stared at it all. Looked like it was time to learn where things went.

“Pantry is in there,” Curly said gently. He jerked his head to what Trace had assumed was the door to a mudroom or something. “The shelves is all labeled, ’cause I forget