His Ranch, His Rules Read online

  Somehow being that I had found three new hobbies to replace my drinking.

  Even though Regina wasn’t technically speaking to me, Ted and Kaley had taken me under their wing, trying to help me fill the dry, lonely hours. Most evenings I became their assistant, making table decorations, wedding favors, but as distracting as it was, it made me miss Jake more. I had to hide my sorrow, not wanting to let on how much it hurt me to be helping with a wedding when I, inevitably would never be the star of my own. It was the most painful of the three hobbies.

  The second was perusing the internet for a picture of Brody Jenkins. Which I had not found. The man had appeared to leave technology behind with his old-fashioned ways and didn’t have a single social media account.

  When I grew restless of hunting down the mystery cowboy, I would move on to my third hobby—much racier than arranging flowers or stalking a stranger online.

  Since my first ‘Gregory and Starla’ video, I stuck to pictures and words. I had seen some scary things in my searches—almost making me give up my lonely research—yet I somehow pressed on.

  Wife spanking, BDSM, paddled girlfriend were all phrases that could now be found in my search history. All leaving me strangely even more curious than the night before—and my panties soaked. Then I moved on to short, erotic stories about loving, strict husbands or boyfriends who spanked their woman. Stories that made me blush and realize that I potentially wasn’t quite the feminist I had claimed to be. After my ‘research,’ I would give myself a fantastic orgasm with the Jackrabbit 2000.

  I had become a one-handed recluse.

  Things got better one week later when Darlene called, hooking me up with a job. It turned out that the girl Darlene hired to replace me at Vet and Pet had left a vacancy at her parents’ German pub. Hence the lederhosen.

  The ache and yearning for Jake had become an even stronger ache and burning for liquor to forget him with. But I had remained alcohol free. It was easier to wake up in the mornings, I had more energy already, and my skin was clearing up. Detox, I guess. Then the second week of sobriety I had gotten the job and I was too busy and too tired to even think of drinking. It suited me just fine.

  At Schnitzel’s, I had to walk by the bar to get to the kitchen to place every order. A cringe tweaked at my shoulders every time I cruised by the golden bottle of Jose Cuervo. My humiliating, ‘one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor’ night still haunted me.

  And now only two weeks remained till my eviction date.

  With one month of sobriety under my belt and a modest income, it was time to find a house. And not a moment too soon—the tension at home was unbearable. Things were icy between Regina and me. Avoidance was the name of the game—I worked till ten p.m. and Regina seemed to be going to bed every night at quarter till, conveniently ‘asleep’ in her room before I got home every night. I no longer used the kitchen, opting for a breakfast smoothie from the juice bar on the corner, then eating a midday meal at the restaurant that I counted as lunch and dinner. If we passed each other in the morning, there were tight-lipped smiles with hushed ‘hellos.’ That was the extent of our interaction.

  After placing the order, I wrapped up my other tables. Luckily, my burger couple—my final table of the shift—ate quickly and headed out. I had the feeling my uniform might have skeeved them out a bit. I had to admit, it was a bit much for lunchtime. I usually worked dinner—the customers drank more and so their tips were more generous—but I had switched shifts with another waitress, so I could go look at an apartment this afternoon.

  The lunch shift ended, and I changed into my Rag & Bone dark-wash jeans—I hoped I wouldn’t be reduced to selling them—and my favorite sweatshirt. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I headed to view the apartment that may potentially replace my home in fourteen short days. Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, I double checked the address of the studio apartment. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was on the safer side of town. And it had two things going for it that none of the other apartments did—it was available now, and in my price range.

  Heading up West Hayes Street, I spotted number 106. It was a tall, gray midcentury mansion looking like something straight out of a Stephen King novel. My imagination got the best of me. With images of ghosts haunting the floors and whispers of ‘Red Rum’ in my mind, I almost turned around. Then I remembered it had only taken me fifteen minutes to walk here from Schnitzel’s ‘n More… and the fact that I had nowhere else to go.

  I pressed forward.

  Walking up the stone steps, I smiled at a tenant who was leaving the building. Their fashion was best described as hipster-meets-dumpster. Talking angrily into their phone, they brushed past me, slamming the giant oak door behind them.

  “First upside, friendly neighbors,” I mumbled to myself, as I followed the directions the super had given me over the phone. There was a panel to the left of the door, with thirteen—lucky number—separate apartments marked with the residents’ names, and a grungy button for each name. Reading down the list, I found the one marked Management and pressed. An angry buzz erupted from the panel, then a gruff voice came over the speaker. “Hello—is this the Georgia peach?”

  I cringed as the manager cackled. Like I’d never heard that one before. “It’s me.”

  “Come on upstairs. But be careful on the third stair—there’s a dip in it and I don’t want you tripping—no one likes peach jam.” Another cackle followed by what sounded like a smoker’s cough.

  The door handle made a click noise as it unlocked. I opened the door, immediately hit by a stale smoke smell and entered the dark mid-century foyer. Yep—this had to be a mansion someone was murdered in. Or died of tuberculosis and now spent the rest of eternity haunting the tenants.

  Turning left to the dark wood grand staircase, I hurried up the stairs, the soles of my shoes sticking as I did. I avoided the third step all together—the ‘dip’ looked more like a completely rotted board.

  The second floor was little brighter than the first, the sun trying to peer in through the dirty stained-glass windows.

  Blocking the door to the vacant apartment was the manager, Dennis Leery. Standing about five feet tall with a filthy white tank top stretched against his beer belly, gold chains hung around his neck. Smiling lewdly at my breasts as if I were in a bikini and not a sweatshirt I’d owned since Obama first became president, he said, “Why hello, the Georgia Peach is here.”

  If I took this apartment, how many times a day was I going to be subjected to his lame jokes?

  Holding my hand out to shake his, I smiled tightly. “Hello, pleasure to meet you.”

  Grabbing my hand, he pumped it up and down before releasing it. Discreetly wiping my hand on my jeans, I attempted to remove his sweat that had transferred from the handshake.

  “Dennis Leery. Manager, super, resident. I’m also the plumber, HVAC specialist and all-around handy man of this establishment so if you should need anything while you are here, you’ll be calling me.” With another long stare at my chest, he winked.

  Groaning inwardly, I reminded myself that this was literally the one place in downtown Boise that I could afford. My only option. And I hadn’t seen a single ghost.

  Widening my fake smile, I said, “I can’t wait to see the place. The description in the paper made it sound super cute.” Quaint studio apartment with class and charm overlooking a quiet pond.

  With a hook of jangling keys, Dennis unlocked the door, throwing it open, calling, “Here you go, sweetie.” His lecherous eyes lingered a bit too long on me as I brushed past him into the apartment.

  It was a twenty by twenty prison cell. Dingy gray walls with handprints and dirt smears. Dark wood floors that looked as if they had never been cleaned. There was one small window with bars over it. I walked over to peer out, searching for this illusive quiet pond. Surrounded by a chain-link fence, the only resident of the muddy retention pond was an empty milk carton, floating atop the brown water. “Home, sweet home,” I murmured to
myself.

  “Check out the bathroom—we just had a vent fan installed. That thing’s as loud as a helicopter. You could blow one out and the neighbors would never even hear you.”

  I couldn’t even look at him. ‘Blow one out?’ Was he talking about bodily functions or had someone been murdered in this apartment and no one even heard the gunshot, thanks to the newly installed vent fan?

  Standing in the middle of the apartment, my head began to swim. Dizziness took over me as I tallied what I had lost. A job I loved. The secure annual salary that had afforded my denim habit—now replaced by polyester lederhosen. Living with my very best girlfriend in our cozy—thanks to Regina—fully furnished home.

  All gone because I let one blue-eyed, black-haired boy with a devilish grin break my heart. Drowning my sorrows. I had blamed it all on Jake, but it was my own fault that I lost everything. How had I been so weak?

  “Well, what do you think, honey? You look like you just saw a ghost. Is it that bad? I think with some of those girly touches you gals love, maybe a little pink? Some frilly curtains? It won’t be so bad.” Looking genuinely concerned, Dennis eyed me. “If it’s the bars on the window bothering you, we can have those removed. It is the second floor, so you should be good without them.”

  Feeling as if I might pass out, I tried to form a response on my lips. I was saved by the blaring ringing of my phone. Out of the blue I became religious, mumbling, “Thank you, Jesus,” to myself.

  “Hang on just a minute—I’ve been expecting an important call and I think this is it. So sorry,” I apologized, digging down into my bag for my phone. I didn’t care who was calling. It might even be a telemarketer’s lucky day—I would talk to anyone right now. A phone call distraction from Dennis Leery, the sad apartment, and the reality of what my life had become was exactly what I needed to get my head to stop spinning.

  Without bothering to see who was calling, I answered. “Hello?”

  “Hey, G! It’s Ted.”

  “Ted!” Relief washed over me at the sound of my friend’s voice. I looked over my shoulder. Dennis was leaning against the doorframe, his belly jutting out and his tank riding up to expose some of the dark curly hair on his belly. I smiled at Dennis, holding up my index finger, mouthing the words, “So sorry, just a minute.”

  Ted was probably just double checking I’d be there tonight to help Kaley make the takeaways for their wedding, but I furrowed my brow as if this was the important call I’d been expecting.

  Dennis crossed his arms over his chest impatiently.

  “What are you up to, right now?” Ted asked.

  “I’m actually looking at a charming little apartment at the moment,” I said loudly, smiling at Dennis. “With a few girly touches it could be my next home, sweet home.” Dennis gave me the thumbs up.

  With a teasing voice, Ted said, “Oh, good for you! Well, then you probably don’t need to hear what I have to say.”

  Hope fluttered in my chest. Hunching down over the phone for privacy, I whispered demandingly into the phone, “What is it, Ted?”

  “Brody just called me. It looks like he had to fire the vet tech he hired—the one that took that job I was telling you about?”

  Hope welled up in my heart. Trying to play it cool, I hid the excitement from my voice, asking, “Why?”

  “Caught the kid out back smoking a cigarette. Twice. Brody gave him a second chance the first time he caught him but turns out the kid kept right on smoking. When Brody found him the second time, kicked him out right then.”

  “Let me get this straight—he fired a guy just for smoking a cigarette?”

  Dennis leaned in, intrigued by my side of the conversation.

  “I told you my cousin doesn’t mess around. Clean living and sunshine. Besides, ‘smoking is nasty and can kill those around you as fast as you are killing yourself.’” Ted laughed. “At least that’s what Brody says every time the subject comes up. Anyway—the job is yours if you want it, but he has to have someone ASAP. They have roundup day scheduled for the end of the week and it’s all hands on deck. Hayes and Travis are coming into town to help with the roundup part. The local vet will be there to do the other stuff, but Dr. Patrick will need an assistant.”

  Dennis was edging closer. “What the heck is roundup day?” I whispered into the phone, trying to create some privacy between me and Dennis by turning toward the wall and hunching my shoulders around my phone.

  “It’s when they get all of the cattle in one place and vaccinate them, check on them, make sure they are all healthy. It’s chaos and as Brody’s told me three times, ‘it’s all hands on deck.’”

  “We had something like that on Maggie’s farm. But that was maybe a total of twenty cows, and we called it Doctor Day. Sounds like a challenge.” Until now the thought had never crossed my mind whether I could handle the work on the ranch. The job had always just been a means to an end. A solution for me losing my job, and my home with Regina.

  “The way I see it, you can keep spending your days being a beer brat girl in that ridiculous outfit and your nights moping around missing Jake. Or you can give ranch life a chance. You want the job or not, G? I can take you, but you’d have to be packed tonight. It’s an eight-hour drive and we’d have to leave by six tomorrow morning.”

  I looked over at Dennis, who was now tapping the toe of his work boot, waiting for me. Gazing over his shoulder, I looked past the iron bars and filmy glass, to the mud pit of a retention pond. The blare of a car horn sounded, and an ambulance siren went wailing by. Looking down at the bag over my shoulder, my beyond tacky green and gold lederhosen was peeking out at me.

  “G? You there?”

  “I’m here.” Images of wide expanses of breathtaking landscape and a firm-handed cowboy loomed in my mind.

  “Yes or no? I promised Brody I’d call him back within the hour, so he can move down the line of possible hires if he needs to. He’s pretty frustrated he had to lose this guy and he’s kind of in a pinch.”

  If I stayed in the city I knew what my life would be. Working at Schnitzel’s, tagging along with Ted and Kaley when they were feeling generous with their time. Always the third wheel. Always missing Jake. Coming home, alone, to this sad apartment. To Dennis, whenever I inevitably had problems with this hovel.

  If I went to Clean Living and Sunshine Ranch, I had no idea what the future would hold. An eight-hour car ride from Boise, moving away from the only state I’d ever lived in. The remote wilderness of Wyoming, Grand Teton Mountains looming in the background. Trading poodles and pedigrees for cattle and horses.

  And a no-nonsense cowboy whose employees called him Boss Man.

  Who may even paddle my ass if I got out of line.

  A life without the hustle and bustle of the city? Life without bars? Without malls? Without Rag & Bone delivered to my door two days after I hit complete order?

  Giving the apartment one more gaze, I knew it was time for Georgia to leap from the comfort of her peach tree. I just hoped I wouldn’t turn into jam.

  “Yes. Yes! Tell Brody I’ll… I’ll take it,” I managed to stutter out. “Thanks, Ted.”

  “Alright, Georgia. I’ll call him right now. I think this will be a good move for you, ladybug. Think you can be ready by six tomorrow?”

  “Yes! Thanks again, Ted. You’re a good friend to me.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye. Get to packing.”

  “I will.”

  Hanging up the phone, I turned to Dennis. “I’m sorry but that was my friend. I’ve just accepted a job outside of the city, so I won’t be needing the apartment.”

  “A job with a boss who’ll fire you for smoking a stogie? Good luck with that, sweetheart,” Dennis grunted.

  Little did he know just how tough this new boss might be. What would happen if I did something to piss off the Boss Man?

  The apartment and Dennis momentarily melted away. I pictured myself as one of those spanked women I had ‘researched
.’ Jeans around my ankles, white panties rolled down around the tops of my thighs. The cheeks of my ass reddened by the cowboy whose lap I was bent over… me protesting, Oh, Boss Man, please don’t spank me! My face flushed at the thought.

  Shutting and locking the door behind us, Dennis showed me to the stairwell. We made our way down—both avoiding the third step. Holding the front door open, he said, “It’s too bad. Your pretty face would have really brightened this place up. See ya.”

  “See ya,” I called over my shoulder as I jogged down the stone stairs.

  Holy cow. I was going to do it! I was moving onto the ranch. I had packing to do. And I needed a shower to wash off the grime from that apartment.

  And after my little fantasy… a fresh pair of panties.

  * * *

  The next morning at 5:45 a.m., I sat towel drying my hair, surveying the room. I had almost all my belongings packed up in the few bags and laundry baskets that I owned. Everything in the kitchen and living room belonged to Regina—her being a responsible adult who owned things like pots and pans and furniture.

  I just had the contents of my nightstand left to pack up; the bed and desk I had been borrowing from Regina. Those would stay behind for her new roomie, Shelly, a perky blonde nursing school student just signed on as a summer intern at the hospital that Regina worked at. Super sweet and the perfect fit for my friend after having to deal with my sorry self.

  I could already picture the two of them painting each other’s toenails, crying over chick flicks. Regina telling Shelly horror stories about her last roommate—the drunk vet tech who hadn’t even managed to become a real veterinarian. Shelly covering her mouth and gasping in shock and disgust—they had both opted for grueling nursing school after all, so why couldn’t Georgia hack vet school? They would probably spend Sunday afternoons cleaning the house with one another, then doing charity work.

  Feeling sorry for myself, I heaved a sigh, grabbing my duffle bag full of dirty clothes and hauling it to the top of the nightstand. The first drawer squeaked as I pulled it open.