Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (8 page)

“And about being the only girls, we have tons of female guests.” She glanced at Trisha.

They both giggled.

“Yeah. Single women
adore .
..” Trisha raised her hands to her shoulders and wiggled them back and forth. “I mean, like,
adore,
cowboys.”

“Well, I’m single, and I don’t
adore
cowboys.”

Seeing the startled looks on the girls’ faces, Kate realized how prickly she sounded. “Sorry. I just don’t want people to think that’s why I came to this ranch.”

Bethany looked at Kate’s shirt. “You’re not like them. Their blouses are unbuttoned way low, and their Levis are so tight they can barely throw their legs over a saddle. They wear tons of makeup and jewelry, they …”

Kate chuckled. “I get the point.”

Trisha added her two bits. “Their western outfits are always brand new. Plus, they wear hats with neck straps.”

Kate felt her face warming as she thought of her recently purchased clothing. Shopping for something to replace prison orange had been an exciting adventure for her and Amy. At least her hat didn’t tie under her chin.

Trisha reached for her juice. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your face? It must hurt.”

Kate wrinkled her nose. She should have known there’d be questions. “I tripped on the path last night.” She showed them her palms. “I’m sore, but nothing’s broken.”

As the girls chattered, Kate sensed the curious glances of the men at nearby tables. How to make a great first impression. Not only was she the odd duck from the East Coast, she looked like she’d ridden a motorcycle through a sandstorm.

Trisha gave her an overview of life at the ranch. “Everybody pitches in and does whatever needs to be done. Right, Bethany?”

“Yeah. We’re assigned certain duties for the day, but if there’s a big trail ride coming up and the wranglers need help, we all saddle horses and help the guests mount. Or, if we get behind on cabin cleaning, the entire crew cleans cabins.”

Trisha nodded. “Mrs. D says we’re a team. It won’t take you long to get the hang of it.”

“I hope I catch on fast.” Kate set her fork on her plate. “Ranching is all new to me.”

“You’ll do fine. It was new to us last year.”

Bethany buttered a second biscuit. “We were town girls who didn’t know a thing about ranching. But we learned fast, didn’t we, Trish?”

Trisha, who was staring at the dining room entrance, didn’t respond. The room quieted, and others turned toward the doorway. “Can you believe it, Beth?” Trisha lowered her voice to a whisper. “They must have, like, let him out early.”

Kate studied the dark-haired young man. Head down, he shuffled toward the serving window. He appeared to be Hispanic, maybe sixteen-years old, of medium-to-slight build. Similar to the others, he was dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved work shirt.

She turned to the girls. “Is he an employee?”

“Mrs. D is such a softie.” Bethany’s voice was barely above a murmur. “She must have hired him again. Manuel worked here last summer—until he was sent to reform school, that is.” She scraped her chair back. “We’ll tell you about him later.”

Trisha stood. “We’d better get busy. We’re supposed to clean stalls this morning.”

The girls took their dishes to the kitchen and left. The men in the room began to converse again in low tones. Kate drank her coffee, which was stronger than what she was used to. But maybe it would help her stay awake after so few hours of sleep.

She watched Manuel find a seat at the far end of a mostly empty table. Whatever he did, it couldn’t be any worse than anything she’d done. And his remorse was obvious. After a few years in the pen, it was easy to tell the difference between those who were sorry for their wrongdoing and those who were not—the Jerry Ramseys of the world.

She thought about the events of the previous evening. After Mike opened the bathroom door and nailed boards across the window, she’d washed her wounds and applied the first-aid cream his mom sent over. She smiled. The memory of Mike’s touch and his earnest concern for her well-being made her insides do somersaults. But …

She sighed. He’d been kind last night. Nothing more, nothing less. Plus, he was a man, and she had yet to meet a man she could trust, other than her dad and Uncle Dean. It was her uncle’s hunting knife she’d placed under her pillow last night, fully aware she hadn’t seen the last of her former lover.

Kate stood, picked up her dishes and carried them to the kitchen, where she placed them in a basin filled with soapy water and started toward the back door.

“Where in the blazes do you think you’re going?”

She swiveled to face Cyrus, who blocked the opening between the kitchen and the dining room. “To the office. You told me I was supposed to see Mrs. Duncan after breakfast.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Like what?” Her tone was defiant, and she knew it.

“Warshin’ the dishes.”

She hesitated. “I didn’t realize I was …”

Cyrus hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and raised both crumpled eyebrows. “As they say, men may work from sun to sun, but women’s work is never done.”

Kate clenched her fists. She’d had enough of the sarcastic old man. She stepped toward him just as a young cowboy peeked in the serving window.

“Cyrus Moore, you ornery old codger. You know Mrs. D says there’s no such thing as women’s work or men’s work around here. And those who help fix a meal stay to do the clean-up afterwards.”

He grinned at Kate. “In case no one told you, kitchen duty includes the clean-up afterward.”

“Just pullin’ her leg.” Cyrus stomped past Kate on his way to the sink, a smirk tugging at his creased cheeks. “Gotcha.”

Kate grabbed an apron. What an ornery old man. At what point had she forgotten that people outside penitentiary walls could be just as disgusting as those on the inside? And why had she’d expected Wyoming men to be different than Pennsylvania men?

***

The ranch office was located off the hallway between the lobby and the Duncan’s living quarters.

“Hi, Kate.” Laura rose to her feet. “Oh, my goodness. Mike told me you fell, but I didn’t realize … How do you feel?”

“Okay. Just a little sore.”

“If you say so.” Laura didn’t sound convinced. “Let me know if you need something—aspirin, time off, anything.” She gestured toward a man seated in a wheelchair at a desk near the back of the room. “Coach, come meet Kate Neilson.”

The brawny man sported a salt-and-pepper buzz cut and a black tee-shirt with the words “Copperville High School Cougars” emblazoned in gold across the front. The muscles in his forearms rippled as he spun his chair toward them.

“Welcome.” His handshake was painfully firm. “We’re glad to have you on the team.” His boyish grin convinced her he meant his words.

“Thank you. Do I call you
Coach
or …?”

“My name is Rob Murphy, but—”

Laura spoke for him. “But everyone calls him
Coach
. He heads up the sports at Copperville’s elementary, middle and high schools.”

“So you coach
and
work here?”

Laura placed her hand on his shoulder. “Coach also teaches business classes at the high school. Knowing it would be tough this first summer without Dan, he offered to come in a couple days a week to help us with the bookkeeping.” She paused. “I am more grateful than words can express.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Glad to help.” He turned to Kate. “You must have taken quite a tumble.”

“I learned my first lesson about mountain living—carry a flashlight at night.”

He chuckled. “I know what you mean. I have a flashlight in the glove compartment of my car, but the last time I needed it, the batteries were dead. Better add
extra batteries
to your list.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

He swung his chair toward a third desk. “This will be your computer. I’ve got you set up on our network.”

Laura returned to her work.

Kate followed Coach and sat at the desk, savoring the moment. Her own desk. Her own computer. A real job on the outside.

He clicked on the screen. “Your e-mail account address is
[email protected]
.” He turned to face her. “My niece’s name is Katelyn Newport, but I call her Katy-N. Maybe that’s what I’ll call you, too.”

Kate smiled. She hadn’t had a nickname—well, a nice one—since her dad called her
Joy Bug
years ago
.
Okay by me.”

He grinned. “What do you want to use for network and e-mail passwords?”

“How many letters do I need?”

She heard the lobby screen door squeak open and slam shut followed by the sound of footsteps tapping down the hallway toward the office.

“A combination of at least six alpha letters and numeric characters.”

“I might as well make them easy to remember. How about
PA12345
for the network and
WY54321
for e-mail?”

“Oops, you shouldn’t have told me.” His eyes twinkled. “This is a highly secure operation.”

Laura laughed. “That will be the day.”

Tara Hughes stuck her head into the room. “Well, well, well. What a cozy little crew.” She posed in the doorway, one hand high on the doorframe and the other on her hip, her perfume wafting into the room. She winked at Coach. “Changing careers?”

“Of course not.” Laura folded her arms. “He’s just helping us out for the summer.” She eyed Tara’s lime-green halter top, short navy shorts and high-heeled sandals. “You look ready for summer, though it seems a bit cool for—”

“No use hiding this cute little package, is there?”

Laura’s nostrils flared and she took a deep breath before motioning toward Kate. “Tara, I’d like you to meet …”

Engulfed by Tara’s oppressive, flowery fragrance, Kate sneezed.

Coach and Laura echoed a “bless you,” but Tara ignored the sneeze and dismissed the introduction with a don’t-bother wave. “We already met down at Grandma’s.” She looked Kate up and down. “You must have lost the fight.”

“So, Tara …” Coach sounded impatient. “What can we do for you today?”

She glanced at his useless legs. “
You
can’t do anything for me.”

He flipped his chair around and reached for the keyboard. “Now, where were we?”

Kate heard Laura repeat the question.

Tara answered in an unnecessarily loud voice. “I’m looking for Mikey. Is he around today, or is he with those silly buffalo?”

Kate looked over in time to see Laura square her shoulders. “He doesn’t leave a copy of his schedule with us. Is he expecting you?”

“He likes for me to drop by the ranch when he can’t make it to town.” She lowered her false eyelashes. “So he gets to see me.”

“Oh, really?” Laura sat back in her chair. “He hadn’t mentioned you
dropping by
.”

“Why would he?” Tara placed her hands on her waist. “As you said, he doesn’t give you a copy of his schedule.”

Laura did not respond. Instead, she placed her hands on her desk, intertwined her fingers and silently tapped her forefingers together.

Tara flashed a coral-lipstick smile. “I need to go find a high spot where I can get cell-phone reception. Clients are calling.” She pointed at Kate with her cell phone. “I’ll see you and your jailbird friend around town.”

Kate gaped at her.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent. You can’t possibly be surprised the cops threw your lover boy in jail last night.” With an extra swing of her barely covered hips, Tara twirled and sauntered away, butterfly tattoos prancing up her bare brown back.

Not knowing what to say, Kate closed her mouth.

The moment the lobby screen door slammed shut, Laura released a long sigh. “Tara Hughes has always been a pain in the you-know-what. A very obvious you-know-what today, I might add. I try to remember she’s an only child, whose mother died when she was young. She can’t help it that her father spoiled her.”

Coach shook his head. “That’s no excuse for her outrageous behavior. One of these days, her fool mouth will dig a hole so deep …” His voice trailed off as he turned back to the computer. He explained the ranch’s network, the guest-registration program, and the programs and databases Kate would use for her marketing work.

After he finished, Laura asked Kate to help her prepare cabins for the guests. Together, they loaded cleaning supplies into an antler-topped golf cart and puttered toward the cabins. They’d barely gotten inside the door of the first cabin, when Laura put her hand on Kate’s arm. “Sorry to yank you out of the office like that, but Mike told me about the break-in. I wish you’d let him call the sheriff.”

Kate started to respond, but Laura lifted a finger. “I understand. You were tired and in pain. However, if he comes around again, you have to promise me you’ll call for help.”

“I promise.”

“And I promise to pray for your safety every night.”

“Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”

Laura began to unwind the vacuum cleaner cord. “My pleasure.”

Kate felt a warm glow unfurl in her heart. Besides Aunt Mary and Amy, two more women had promised to pray for her—or keep her in their prunes, to quote Dymple Forbes. She bit her lip to contain the giggle that threatened to erupt.

“Another thing …” Laura plugged the cord into a wall outlet. “Do you know who Tara was talking about? Is the man in jail the guy who broke into your cabin last night?”

Kate shrugged. “How would she know about what happened here last night? And how does she know who’s in jail?”

Laura grimaced. “You’d be surprised what that woman knows. She has a way of digging up news, especially bad news, then broadcasting it near and far.”

Kate swallowed.
Please, God, don’t let Tara find out about my time at Patterson.

Chapter Eight

JERRY RAMSEY LAY MOTIONLESS
on the jail-cell bunk, his back to the bars. His head throbbed like he’d been stomped by a bison. Hearing footsteps stop at his cell, he snarled through puffy lips. “What’re you staring at, bozo brain?”

“I’m looking at an ugly drunk with an even uglier attitude.”