Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,15

either. Also, blackberry cobbler…”

“Liked that, did you?” Bald Harold had eaten his weight in cobbler. Good thing Trace had made two. Brent glanced inside, where Trace was wiping down the kitchen before joining them, or at least he’d said he would. He couldn’t stop looking. He couldn’t. He’d never met anyone like that, even on the circuit. A girl with a pink streak or something, sure, but not anything like rainbows and piercings and—well, okay, tattoos, sure. Those were popular. “What do y’all think of the new guy?”

“He’s good with the kids,” Curly responded immediately. “He kept them busy, he talks to them like he likes them, and that little one of his is a doll. Never saw him rest, neither. Not for a second.”

“He works hard,” Brent agreed. Even if he suspected the guy was showing off on his first day, which hell, he couldn’t blame Trace for. They were obviously hurting. “What about you, Hal?”

“Well, he makes a mean potato salad. I like that he followed the system in the pantry too. I’ll get him started tomorrow on eggs and chickens and all.”

“Sounds good. He’s going to have to keep an eye on the kids too. I don’t want them back in the poison ivy, and Lisa needs a chance to get rid of it.”

“I think he can do it.” Curly really seemed pleased. “He’s on the ball.”

“Hell, he keeps cooking, he can stay.” But Brent knew it was more than that. Curly’d been doing good until the kids had come and that had sort of blown him out of the water.

Brent couldn’t blame him. The kids had thrown them all a curve, but they were making do. He just thanked God every day that Jakob and Caro had known him, had spent many happy days here at the ranch. It hadn’t fixed all the rough bits, but it had helped.

This guy, though, it was like he was a gift from God. Just dropped into his lap. Well, into his world, Brent reckoned. Dropping Trace into his lap was wishful thinking. Lord, he was perving on his new…kid-and-Curly watcher.

Maybe that was going to lead to a serial killer stalker in the house or something, but he had to trust in the higher power. Something had to give.

And he was damn scared it was fixin’ to be him.

Trace came out with a sheepish grin. “The girls are together. I’ll get Susannah before we go upstairs, but I haven’t unpacked anything yet. Not even her clothes.”

“No worries. Caro has been wanting a best buddy forever.” He grinned back. “You want me to get you a beer?”

“Sure. Sure, that would be…yeah.” Lord, Trace plopped down with a sigh.

“Shiner or Corona, Trace?” Harold asked, rising. “I got to say, you worked like a champ today. I appreciate you.”

“I second that. And supper was damn amazing.” Not that he couldn’t live with hot dog and leftover mac and cheese like they’d had for lunch, but those sides with Hal’s brisket had been a real, and unexpected, treat.

“Shiner, please, and thank you. Seriously. I needed this job, and the kids are good. Really good.” Trace held his gaze, so sincere. He stared back, unable to look away for a moment. Holy hell, those eyes were pretty in the firelight.

“They are. They’ve been through a lot, but their folks were doing an amazing job.” His heart hurt just thinking about it. “I love them so much, but man, I’m—” He cut off, glancing at Curly and Harold, who stared at their beers. “That cobbler was to die for.”

“There’s some left,” Trace said gently.

Bald Harold shook his head. “No, sir. That’s my breakfast.”

Curly hooted, slapping his leg. “You must be hired. Can you make blueberry muffins, kid?”

Trace smiled and nodded. “Yessir. I’ll make some in the morning, if y’all’d like.”

“That would be a kindness.” Once the two hands had gone to bed, Brent would make sure to tell Trace they could all make do with cereal if they had to. The man had worked his ass off, and with the kids at home for the next few days, it wouldn’t get much easier.

Trace took a swig of his beer, tennis shoes looking so damn out of place out here.

“So…where are you from?” Brent asked.

“Originally? Dallas, but I’ve been in Austin a while. Since I was eighteen.”

“Wow.” He liked Austin well enough. He’d go to the Broken Spoke now and again. And Threadgill’s had damn good chicken fried steak. “Am I prying if I ask why you