Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,56
horses don’t like that, either one.” Curly chuckled softly. “I remember when you was a boy and we had a stormy summer. You stamped your feet and fussed so bad that I brought you down here and me and Little Bill—you remember him?—we let you splash in the mud and run around like a monkey for weeks.”
“You did? I know this bunkhouse has always felt like home to me.” He got Curly into clothes, then packed up. “Like you’ve always been family to me.”
“Am I? Still?”
“You are. Nothing will change that, Curly. I’ll take care of you.” He would do anything he could to help this man. Anything.
“I hate that you have to.”
“That’s what kin does.” And Curly was as much kin as anyone blood.
“Yes. You going into town today, son?”
He fought his sigh. “No, sir. It’s Sunday. We’re going to relax here at the house. Hal’s at the feed store. You need anything?”
“Oh, if he’s already there, I could. I’ve got a powerful need for a Payday bar.”
Brent tugged out his phone to text Hal. “Done.”
“You’re good to me. The boy I lost.”
He’d heard the story a hundred times. How Curly had come to the ranch to make some money, with a wife left back in Wichita Falls, a baby on the way, and he’d lost them both—lady and son—on the same night. He’d never left the ranch but once, to bury her and the baby that hadn’t even taken a single breath.
When Momma’d had him, Curly’d decided that one little baby boy had died, he couldn’t lose another.
Brent loved Curly more than his luggage, for sure.
Trace looked so relieved when they showed up in the kitchen, but Brent shook his head slightly, warning him not to ask.
He set Curly up with his electric razor in one of the bathrooms, then headed back to the kitchen.
“Is he okay?” Trace whispered.
“What do you think?” he snapped, the words coming out harsher than he’d intended. “I found him crying in the goddamn bathroom.”
“Sorry.” Trace sighed. “I’m just worried.”
“I know. He’s having a rough day. I need you to keep him up here at the house.”
Trace made a sympathetic face. “He’s having a few of those. Have you considered that he may need to go—”
Brent saw red. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t you even. This is Curly’s home. This is where he’ll stay. If you can’t do it, I’ll find—”
As soon as the words flew out of his mouth, Brent regretted them.
Trace went pale, the thin lips tightening. “I can handle it.”
“Sorry.” He spread his hands. “Sorry, that was shitty. I’m worried about him. He raised me, you know? He’s more family than anyone else but the kids, and…” Brent felt like a heel all the way around.
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, and Brent could tell, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He needed Trace to understand. This wasn’t an employee. Shit, he wasn’t sure exactly how to have employees. He had family of all types and sorts.
This was a ranch—it was a place for cowboys.
“Anyway, I’m here hanging with y’all today, so you can’t stay mad at me.”
Trace shot him a look. “I probably should, you know. I should pout. A lot.”
“But you’d much rather cuddle a little.” Brent stepped into Trace’s space.
“Yeah. A little.” Trace came right to him, rested against him. “We okay? I really want us to be okay.”
“We’re fine, baby. I just—God, I get all het up about Curly. He was crying his eyes out, Trace.” He could hardly bear it.
“Well, maybe…maybe we need to find him a place here where he’s comfortable. He doesn’t have to take that walk down. I’m always here.”
“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed Trace up and hugged him hard. “Yeah.”
This was what he needed—someone who understood. Someone who had his fucking back, even when he was a butthead.
Someone who got how much work it took to run a ranch.
He petted Trace’s back. “Thanks, baby. I really appreciate the idea. We’ll get on it this week.”
“After I wipe the applesauce crust off your daughter’s face and find out what the hooligans are doing out in the rain.” Trace glanced out the kitchen windows. “Uh, you might grab some towels, cowboy.”
“Uh-oh.” He kissed Trace quickly, then headed back to the bathroom, where Curly was just finishing up. “Need towels, buddy. Sorry.”
“Babies making mudpies?”
“They are.”
Curly smiled and held out his arms for the towels. “I’ll go watch. I like to see them playing out here.”
“Thanks. Better now that you’ve shaved?” He kinda held his breath.
“Yes, son.