Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,7
keep the kids fascinated.”
“I can’t believe someone would hire a schoolteacher with coloredy dreadlocks.” Brent shook his head, because he sort of thought they made the guy seem…otherworldly. Not scary, just…not of his little universe.
“Did you call his references and shit?”
“No. But I’m fixin’ to. He’s got a shitton of them. We’re on our way back.” He’d have enough time to make a handful of phone calls before he had to pick up the kids.
“Okay. Will do. See you in a bit.”
Yeah. Him, a wild-haired teacher, and a pretty little girl with the biggest rainbow unicorn he’d ever seen. Christ on a sparkly purple crutch.
Brent turned onto the ranch road ten minutes later, leading the way up to the house. Thank God he’d just graded the road, or that POS hatchback would be sitting on the cattle guard. The ranch house had started as his great-granddaddy’s, and every generation had built on, so now it was this great rambling beast of a structure—stonework on the outside, a huge covered porch for rocking, and a fenced place for the kids to play.
The dogs loped out to meet him, one floppy bloodhound mix and one Aussie with a blue eye and a brown one.
“Hey, guys. You guarding Curly?”
Mama Cass woofed, her big ole ears swinging as she looked over her shoulder, where Curly came wandering, obviously done with his napping, whether or not Hal knew it.
“Hey, Curly Joe. What’s happening?”
The little car pulled in behind his truck, smoke billowing from under the hood.
“Been playing with the dogs, running Ringo through his paces.” Curly’s eyes were big as saucers. “Who’s that?”
“Hold on, buddy. I’ll introduce you.” He waited for…what the hell was his name? Well, he waited, and Susannah and her dad joined them. “Curly, this is…”
“Trace Redding. Pleased.” Trace held out one hand, the act natural and easy.
Curly shook hands with Trace, nodding politely. “Joe Haywood, but you can call me Curly. You do got you some hair, and I got to tell you, that little vehicle has a serious problem.” He smiled at Susannah. “Morning, Miss.”
“Good morning! Oh, you have pretty eyes!”
“Well, thank you.” Curly looked to him.
“Trace here is our newest hand, Curly. He’s gonna help around the house and the yard here. Chickens, goats, kids…” He winked broadly. “He’s from Austin.”
“Oh, you are, are you?”
Trace went pink but kept his smile. “Yeah, I’m not what most folks here expect…”
“I reckon not.” Curly smiled, his moustache stretching. “I reckon you seen some sh—”
“Curly.”
“Right. Where should I put them, boss?”
“Put them in Aunt Dotty’s apartment. You’re in charge of training him up, Curly. He’s here to make things easier on all of us.” Which was a hell of a job, when you came right down to it.
“Yessir.” Curly fired off a salute, which made him bite back a smile. “You two okay with stairs?”
“I’m fine. I’ll spot little bit here until she gets it, and I have a gate in the car for when we’re just home. I lived on the second floor in Austin, so she knows.”
“Well, come on, then.” Curly nodded to him. “I’ll bring them back down when they’ve checked out the place.”
“Good deal. I’ll be in the house.” At the table. Trying to figure out what the actual fuck he was doing.
Reasonable men did not hire weird-looking strangers from Austin with children. This whole situation just had him tearing his hair out.
“Ringo, go with.” He waved the Aussie off after them, knowing she would keep an eye on Susannah.
He hadn’t hit the porch before the phone was ringing. Daycare. Dammit.
“Hello?” Brent held his breath, hoping it wasn’t someone being sick.
“Hello, Brent? I think the kids got into poison ivy in the backyard. Everyone’s covered in a rash.” Lisa watched her two, his three, and a handful of others in a trailer house off the highway.
What the actual fuck? The goddamn stuff wasn’t even leafed out. “What the hell were they doing?”
“Building a fort. I didn’t know what it was until the rash came up.”
“Oh Lord. Okay. I’ll be there in a few, okay? I have to let Curly know.” And let Trace know he was on the job starting now.
Like right now.
He slapped his hand on the counter, the aftershocks traveling up his arm. Christ on a crutch. Seriously? Seriously? He did not need this shit.
A fucking rodeo champion and he was going to rescue kids from goddamn leaves? He couldn’t believe this shit. How was he supposed to run a ranch like this?
He took off his