Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“Hello, Sid,” she greeted the cowboy leaning on the counter, hip-locked with all his weight on one leg.

“ ’Lo, Jessy.” He threw her a look, then resumed his pose, appearing hot and tired and thoroughly disgruntled with life. A large fan sat on the floor, whirring noisily and chasing the air around the rows of canned goods, food supplies, and varying assortment of stock.

“Where’s Bill?” Jessy glanced down the length of the long ranch store for the wheelchaired Bill Vernon who ran the commissary with the help of his wife.

“In the back,” Ramsey replied, his head jerking in the direction of the rear storeroom. “He’s lookin’ to see if he can’t find me some chewing tobacco. Those damned dudes in here from New York came in and bought him out. Now I’m probably gonna have to drive all the way into Blue Moon for tobacco.”

“That’s rough,” Jessy sympathized and reached into her shirt pocket for the list of supplies she needed to restock her shelves at the cabin.

“This place is supposed to be for us” the cowboy complained. “But it’s been turned into a damned tourist store for those dudes she keeps bringing in.” There was no need to explain that “she” was Ty’s wife. “They come in here so they can buy the ‘gen-u-ine’ article. Bill swears he’s sold more pairs of jeans, shirts, and hats in one month than he usually sells all year. ’They want to wear what the cowboys wear.’” He pitched his voice higher, speaking with sarcastic mimicry. “I told Bill he oughta set up a souvenir stand and we’ll bring him in some cow chips. Those fools’d probably pay five dollars apiece for ’em. Hell, we could make a fortune.”

Jessy laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Do you know what she’s having Bill do?” There was that “she” again as angry disapproval showed in Sid’s eyes. “She told him to charge double the price on anything he sold to her friends—more if he thought he could get it.”

“Maybe she figures they can afford it,” she offered with a small shrug, not wanting to join the criticism of Tara. She was hardly impartial. “Besides, everything here is sold practically at cost. Even at double, it would still be a fair price.”

“Maybe so.” Ramsey pushed off the counter, straightening to hitch up his pants, but his expression still had a disgruntled look to it. “I just don’t like what’s happening to this ranch. It ain’t the same anymore.”

It wasn’t the first muttering of this sort she’d heard, and it worried her. The discontent seemed to be growing. “What do you mean?” She feigned a casualness.

“This is supposed to be a cattle ranch. Do you know what I’m doing?” he challenged and pressed a finger against his chest. “She’s got me taking her ‘guests’ on trail rides! Half of ’em have never been on a horse in their life and hang on to the saddle like it was gonna sprout wings. And the other half think they’re riders and wanta go galloping hell-bent-for-Mary across the plains in the heat of the day! And all of ’em oohin’ and aahin’ about how ‘buu-te-ful’ it is!” It was a biting mockery. “It’s enough to make a fella sick.” He turned back to the counter. “You’re lucky, Jessy, that you’re working up at the north camp an don’t have to put up with all this.”

“I guess I am.” She hadn’t come in contact with any of the guests, but the ranch grapevine kept her apprised of the continuous arrivals and departures of each group.

“You know what I’m supposed to do now?” Ramsey didn’t wait for Jessy to ask. “None of those dudes can get up early enough to see the sunrise. So I

got orders to arrange a late trail ride so they can watch a sunset out on the range. And they wanta sit around a campfire. A campfire!” he repeated with a snort of disgust. “Can you imagine that, with the grass as dry as it is! They’d have a fire, all right. If there was any wind at all, they’d have a whole damned range fire!”

“You explained that, didn’t you?” Jessy frowned.

“Yeah. That part of it has been nixed,” he grumbled. “This batch of guests must be real dandies.”

“Why?” Her question seemed to make him uncomfortable for a minute.

“From what I’ve heard, a couple of the guys must be fairies,” he muttered.

“What?” Jessy tried not to laugh.

“Yeah. Bud Jebsen, the guy who mostly works on the windmill crew, is a carpenter. She’s got him buildin’ a zebo down by the river.”

“A zebo?” She frowned bewilderedly. “What’s that?”

“I dunno. Bud showed me a picture of what it looks like. It reminded me of a round bandstand with a roof on it. He didn’t quite get the right of it, but said it sounded like a zebo is a place where gays sit.”

“I never heard of such a thing,” she declared in a murmur of confusion.

“Neither did I.” There was a grim shake of his head. “I tell ya, I just don’t know. I always liked Ty, but I don’t much cotton to the way he’s running things, cutting good men off the payroll while his wife hires some highfalutin cook and a maid. Do you know he even quit fightin’ to get that land title?”

“I’d heard that,” Jessy admitted.

“I just can’t understand.” Ramsey pulled in a deep breath and let it rush out. The storeroom door opened and Bill Vernon maneuvered his wheelchair through the opening. “Didya find any, Bill?”

“Sure did.” He picked up the small round box on his lap and tossed it to Ramsey.

“Maybe the day ain’t gonna turn out so rotten after all,” the cowboy declared and dug into his pocket to slap some change on the counter. “Thanks, Bill.” He angled for the door with a springing step. “See ya later, Jess.”

“What d’ya need, Jessy?” Bill inquired.