Lost & Found (Lost & Found 1)

As I clomped down the stairs in my staple combat boots, I already smelled breakfast, and not the poured-into-a-bowl-with-a-little-milk kind. It was the kind of breakfast that sizzled in skillets.

Even though I hadn’t had the whole tour of the Walkers’ place, the kitchen was easy enough to find. If my nose couldn’t have found its way there, my ears could have. Voices that were way too perky for so early in the morning jabbered about something.

I paused inside the doorway of the kitchen and waited. Rose and the three girls scurried around the large kitchen like someone was cracking a whip behind them. One dug around in the fridge, another scrambled a ginormous skillet of eggs, Rose filled a pitcher with orange juice, and Clementine set the longest table I’d ever seen. I did a quick count of the place settings. Twenty. They must be, literally, feeding the entire village.

Everyone was so busy with their tasks no one noticed me right away. Toeing the linoleum, I cleared my throat.

“Good morning,” I said, even though that time was generally more good night for me.

“Rowen!” Rose called out as she handed the pitcher of juice off to Lily. “How did you sleep last night?”

If I went with the truth, her next question might have to do with what had kept me up. Since admitting to Rose her son was responsible for keeping my mind reeling last night, I decided to answer with a simple, “Good.”

“You got the dinner plate I sent Jesse up with?” she asked, making her way to me. Today she was wearing a sleeveless, button-down blouse, jeans, boots, and some ornate silver and turquoise jewelry.

“Oh, I got it.” Along with a vexing little note with a vexing little question. “Looks like you’re about to feed an army. What can I do to help?” I was there to work, Rose and I both knew that, but maybe if I made it seem like I was offering, working would seem less like indentured servitude.

“What, this little breakfast?” she replied, lifting a shoulder. “Around here, this is an everyday, three times a day, sort of thing. When it gets real interesting is when we host a meal with the hands and their families or significant others. Now that, that’s feeding an army. This is just a simple breakfast.”

My mouth fell open a bit. “You do this every day?”

“Six months out of the year, three meals a day,” Rose replied. “The other six months we only cook for our family and maybe a couple others.”

Insane.

“Every day as in Monday to Friday, right?” Fifteen meals for twenty people a week? There had to be some sort of international award for that.

Rose laughed. “Honey, the day cattle only need tending to Monday to Friday is the day I’m booking a vacation to Hawaii.”

Oh my God. They did it seven days a week. Every single day. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. My mouth dropped a bit further.

“Do you have a magic wand or something?” I asked because, really. How could four women, well, one woman and three girls, prepare three hot meals a day, seven days a week, for twenty people if some kind of magic wasn’t involved?

“I wish. I live by a philosophy that’s served me well for over two decades of ranch life—organized chaos,” she said with a wink. “That’s our marching theme around here.”

Emphasis on the chaos part.

“Got it,” I said, practically wincing as Hyacinth diced up a potato like she had mad ninja skills. I kept waiting for the bloody top of a finger to roll onto the floor. “I’m not the best cook in the world, and it’s better I don’t handle anything sharp, but I’m pretty sure I can set a table without breaking anything or pour drinks without spilling. Better not give me anything hot in case I spill it on somebody”—super, I was rambling on like an idiot—“but just point me where you want me, and I’ll do my best not to turn your breakfast into disorganized chaos.”

“Mom!” Clementine shouted. “They’re coming!”

“Plate up the food, girls, and go ahead and get it out on the table,” Rose said, all calm and cool. “I’ve got to talk with Rowen for just a couple minutes.” Placing her arm behind my back, Rose steered me through the kitchen, entryway, and living room. We wound up across the house in what looked to be a mini-Laundromat. Four washers, four dryers, an arsenal of detergent, stain remover, and dryer sheets, and an island in the center of the room that I guessed was for folding or sorting or something.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Rowen, because I like you. I really, really like you, and despite my own blah attire, I’m a supporter of women having the right to wear whatever the heck they want to,” Rose began, keeping her arm tight around my back the whole time. “Just not when I’ve got a dozen young men coming and going out of my kitchen several times a day. These are good boys we have working for us, but they’re still boys who don’t always do their thinking with their brains,” Rose said, followed up by an exaggerated clearing of her throat.

I, along with every woman in existence, knew exactly what she meant.

Glancing down at my outfit, I suddenly felt self-conscious. “You don’t like the way I dress?” I asked, though it should have been more of a statement. Most people didn’t like the way I dressed. Despite everyone advocating uniqueness and marching to the beat of your own drum, that only went so far.

“Are you kidding me?” Rose said, raising her brows. “I love the way you dress. I love that you know who you are and aren’t afraid to show it.” Man, did I have Rose fooled. “But I also know a fair share of those guys are going to love it, too. Love it in the inappropriate way.” Her eyes fell to the hem of my plaid, pleated skirt. It was short. Short even by a call girl’s standards. I had an opaque pair of black tights on below it, but I’d cut and slashed them, so just as much skin showed as was covered.

“Oh,” I said, fingering the hem of my skirt. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Rowen. I’m not here to tell you how or how not to dress. If this is what you wear, that’s great.” Rose ran her hand up and down me, making her silver and turquoise bracelets jingle. “But Neil and I are also responsible for your safety and well-being while you’re here. I’ve got a household to run, and I can’t be worrying at every meal that one of those guys out there will try to sweet-talk you into his bed at night.” Rose paused. Tucking her hand under my chin, she lifted it until I looked at her. “Do you understand, Rowen? I want to respect who you are, and I need to look after you. If this is how you dress every day and will continue to dress while you’re here, that’s just fine. There’s always plenty of laundry and household chores that need doing every day that would keep you out of the guys’ sight.”

“I understand.” I suddenly felt very aware of the hoop pierced through my eyebrow and my shirt’s low neckline. “Thank you for respecting me enough to not order me to go change.” When I’d started dressing differently and wearing my hair and makeup darker than other girls, Mom went so far as to hold me down and remove what I was wearing, one piece at a time. A lot of good that had done. “But even if I wanted to, what you see is what I packed. I can’t remember the last time I bought a pair of denim-colored jeans.”

“Then let’s do this today. I’ll have you manning the laundry room, and if you decide you just can’t imagine doing another load of laundry come tomorrow, we can figure out a way to get you some boring blue jeans. Then you can rotate through the chores like me and the girls do. Whatever you want to do, I’m good with it.”

As Rose started for the door, I said, “That’s right. You’re good with chaos.”

“So long as it’s organized,” she added, lifting her finger.

“See you later then. I’ll try not to break your laundry room.”

“I’ll check in with you after breakfast to see how you’re doing. You can get started with the clothes in that cart.” She pointed at a cart, an actual cart the size of a couch, filled to the brim with clothing. For the third time that morning, my mouth dropped open. “Oh, and Rowen . . .”

“Yeah?” I managed after pulling my jaw off the ground.

“I really do like the way you dress. If I had your figure and your courage, I’d wear the same thing.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, taking a good look at her. “You’ve got a great figure, and any woman brave enough to cook twenty-one meals a week for twenty people has a heck of a lot more courage than me.”

Rose waved her hand dismissively. “I used to have a great figure. That was before having kids.” She patted her stomach like it was anything but flat.

“For a woman who’s given birth to four . . . four,” I emphasized, “babies, you look amazing.”

Rose’s face fell for a moment, just barely, but I took note. That warm smile of hers lit up her face again before she waved and closed the door behind her.

I DIDN’T CARE if I had to wear overalls, pig tails, and rename myself Peggy Sue for the rest of the summer. I would do it to avoid spending another all day stint in the laundry room I was quite certain would haunt my nightmares for years to come.

That one ranch could keep four washers and four dryers in non-stop rotation didn’t seem possible, but after being up to my elbows in suds and sheets, I discovered just how possible it was. If I never saw another white undershirt in my life, I’d be good to go. Really.

I’d barely made it through the small vehicle-sized cart of laundry before the girls walked in with another full cart of sheets and towels. Willow Springs didn’t only provide meals for the ranch hands; they provided living quarters in some bunkhouse I had yet to see and, as I’d gained firsthand knowledge of, laundry service. The girls all took a break from their chores to help me fold the first four loads, and if speed folding was a competitive sport, each one would have a first place ribbon. They were still shy, casting a few sideways glances my way, but Clementine actually braved a few words. With a concerned face, she inspected my tights before offering to let me borrow a pair of her tights if I wanted. Hers didn’t have any rips or tears.

I thanked her for the offer and said I’d have to get back with her.

After another eight hours stuffed inside that torture chamber, I didn’t care if her tights were pale pink and dotted with cutsie white bows. I needed out of here. I had to figure out a way to get some “ranch appropriate” duds unless I wanted to spend another day in laundry hell. I had no clue how far away the nearest store was, but I didn’t care if I had no other way to get there than on foot. I would whistle every step of the way.

Rose had brought me breakfast and lunch and checked on me a few times in between. I guessed dinner was getting close because the room filled up with food smells again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be in here, but the new dirty laundry arrivals had stopped coming a few hours ago, so maybe . . .

I was folding my last pile of clothes when a sock fell off the side of the island. I’d dropped as much laundry as I’d folded.

clomped down the stairs in my staple combat boots, I already smelled breakfast, and not the poured-into-a-bowl-with-a-little-milk kind. It was the kind of breakfast that sizzled in skillets.