Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,4

it.” Trace’s mouth popped right open, like his desperation had dissolved any sense he might have had. “I can do minor stuff. I’m a licensed teacher, and I know how to garden, cook, all sorts of things.” Right. Because Mr. Studly Cowboy wanted his happy, gay ass anywhere near a ranch.

There was a second of silence, and then the scrape of boots sounded, and Brent stood, then came around to their booth. For a breathtaking second, Trace was convinced he was fixin’ to get his ass kicked, but then Brent nodded to Susannah. “May I sit, little lady?”

“Yes, sir! I have fluffy cakes. Want a bite?”

“Mmmm. No, you go ahead. I got my mouth set on queso and stuff.” Brent cupped his hands around his coffee mug after he plopped down, meeting Trace’s curious gaze. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I run me a decent-sized ranch. I got five or six hands who day-labor for me, but two of the hands came with the ranch when I inherited it and live on-site. Bald Harold is about sixty-five and still pretty spry, but Curly is in his late seventies and is, uh—”

“Forgetful,” Jan said, sliding a plate in front of Brent.

“I get that. My gram had Alzheimer’s. I helped a lot with forgetful.” Oh God. Please. “I just lost my apartment, Susannah lost her mom, and I could—I’ll work hard, man. You got my word.”

“Oh Lord.” Jan rolled her eyes and stomped her foot. “That’s a sad story, now. This sounds like what you both need. You got to give them a chance, honey.”

Another smile quirked the corners of Brent’s lips. “I have three kids. They’re all at a babysitter part of the day, then I try to take over in the evening. Still, you’d have to do sh—stuff, like deal with the chickens, the milk goats, the rabbits, and keep an eye on Curly. Plus housekeeping stuff. That’s all in the job because the ranch hands will be out working the cattle and horses, and those are the close-in animals. It’s not fun work.”

Damn. It was ranch wife work, really. Good thing he wasn’t hung up on labels. “I can learn. Everything I own is in my car, man, and it’s on its very last leg.” Come on, Marlboro Man. Give me a shot, even for a week or two.

“What kind of wages are you looking for?”

“I don’t care as much about the cash as having a safe place for my girl, feeding her, letting her be healthy.” That was fair, right? “I need a place to get it together.”

“Huh. Well, I got a place y’all can stay, if you don’t mind stairs. There’s already baby gates and all, but it’s a studio-type thing over my detached garage. There are also old mother-in-law rooms we can make into some kind of suite, if that works better. And I can pay…a thousand a month? To start?”

Wait. Was he getting a job offer? Just like that? Maybe this Brent was as desperate as he was.

“Yeah? I’m totally functional—canning, cooking, sewing, whatever you need.” He wasn’t a rancher, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d learn anything he needed to.

“Well, I don’t want to put too much on you right away. We’ll see what you feel comfortable taking on. Do you have some references?”

“I do.” Hope could be a terrible thing, but right now it was a lifeline. “I have a resume in the car.”

Jan slapped the paper Brent had hung up on the table. “Looks like you ain’t hiring anymore.”

Brent nodded, even as his lip curled. “Looks like.”

“Dad-O? Are we okay?” Susannah was all wide-eyed.

“We’re fine as frog hair, honey bear.” He hugged her. “Eat your fluffy cakes.”

“I want a bacons, please.”

“How about a half piece?” She would get all bloated if she had too much, and to be honest, he was starving.

“The crispy one.”

“Fair enough.” Trace handed the piece over, offering her a smile. They were going to be okay for a night anyway, and that was more than he had when he pulled in.

Brent just snorted but stayed there with them and ate his breakfast, the heavy quilted plaid button-down his one nod to the January weather. “You want some of this side of sausage I got?” Brent asked. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“If you don’t want it, sure. Thanks.” He wondered how hungry he looked. He thought it was…pretty bad. He would go hungry every day if it meant his girl could eat.

“I’m on second breakfast.” Brent pushed