Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,8

hat and rubbed his hand over his hair, which hurt. Then he clapped it back on before calling up to the apartment, listening to the phone ring. “Come on, man. Answer the goddamn…”

“Uh…hello?” Trace sounded so young.

“Hey, Trace? This is Brent. Can you come down to the main house and keep Curly company once you’re settled in? I have to go pick up my kids at daycare. They all got into poison ivy.”

“Oh damn. I’ll start the oatmeal baths as soon as they get here.”

“Thanks. There’s oatmeal in the cabinet over the coffee maker.” He headed out to the truck, teeth grinding together. He had horses to train, bills to pay. Dammit.

“Do you have calamine? That’ll help too.”

The temptation to snap “how the fuck should I know” was huge, but it would be evil, and he actually did know. Mosquitos loved to gnaw on Jakob. Every so often the kid looked like a damn polka-dotted cartoon character. “In the bathroom. In the cabinet inside where the towels are.”

“On it, boss.” The phone clicked off, and Trace was heading out with the little button in one arm before Brent had started his truck, Curly skip-hopping along behind like a bow-legged, grumpy old cat.

Good man.

He took off, knowing his brood could be a bear to deal with when they were sick.

Hopefully the new guy would figure it out.

He sort of felt sorry for the man.

Chapter 3

Okay. Oatmeal baths ready to start. Calamine out.

“Now when the kids get home, they might be grumpy because they’re itchy, okay, little bit?” And he had to make a decent impression. Had to.

He needed this job—balls to bones. He needed the money, he needed the time with his kid, and he needed to process…everything.

“Sure, Dad-O.” Susannah continued to color, Curly sitting across the table from her, just watching her. The man looked like he’d been tanned by the sun, the blue eyes like chips of sky. He’d bet Curly had been stunning, once upon a time.

“So, Curly…” What do you say to an old cowboy, exactly? “Have you been here long?”

“I been here since I was eighteen, son. Longer’n Brent’s been alive. Hell, I knew Brent’s momma when she was a little girl even.” Curly smiled, the look fond and warm.

Wow. He grabbed the food processor to clean it. Man, that ground oatmeal got everywhere. “Has it changed much? The ranch, I mean.”

“Oh Lord. It was wild and wooly back then. We got four wheelers now, and when we got to ride the back fences, we take the horses out in a truck and trailer so we don’t wear them out.”

“Wow. I used to love to ride. I never galloped or anything, but I rode some.”

“Well, I imagine you’ll recollect how here.” Curly blinked at Susannah, who was blinking right back at him. “You like ponies, Miss?”

“I never seen one. Are they mean? Do you have one?” Susannah couldn’t stop staring. “I drawed you a picture.”

“Did you?” Curly peered at it. “Well, that’s my hat in the brown, huh?”

Oh, now. Curly didn’t seem impaired.

“Dad-O! He sees!” He loved that, seeing her all lit up.

“He does. He knows what you’re drawing.”

“She’s pretty good.” Curly hooted. “Better than Caroline. Want me to draw you a pony?”

“Can you?” Susannah’s eyes went wide.

“I bet I can. My hand isn’t as steady as it used to be…” Curly took the crayon and paper Susannah pushed at him, and with a few strokes of genius, a Shetland pony appeared, shaggy winter coat and too-long mane obvious.

Susannah gasped, and the next thing Trace knew, his girl was in Curly’s lap, jabbering away. Curly was nodding and grinning while they were drawing, and Trace had to laugh. Okay, he knew dementia and Alzheimer’s could be a bear, but Curly he could handle right now.

He needed to help Curly have a new routine, and God, Trace had to admit that even if the new boss turned out to be an asshole, Brent was worried about an old cowboy that he didn’t have to.

Now, three kids with poison ivy might be a different story.

He heard a truck pull up outside, and sure enough, Brent was back. Trace took a deep breath, then let it out.

Okay, three itchy kids. One frustrated father. He had this.

He hoped.

“Daddy Brent, it itches!” That voice was high, almost hysterical.

“I’m going to get that bath running, Curly. Can Susannah stay with you?”

“Yessir.” Curly nodded. “We got to get this here cow filled with spots.”

Susannah giggled. “Pony, Mr. Cowboy!”

“Yes, ma’am. Your own pony.” Curly’s