Tobias (Reynolds Ranch 2)

Prologue

Tobias

Stepping through my front door after a long day dealing with one problem after another, all I want is a tall glass of iced tea and a hot meal before hitting the shower. My bones ache from baling hay and wrangling a dozen little lambs that broke free. They “baa’ed” their happy little hearts out as they played in the fields like I didn’t have shit to do but haul their little asses inside.

I take off my hat and run my hands through my hair. Damn, I need a haircut. Rolling my head, I crack my neck and then stretch my shoulders back. My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s well past dinnertime. Irritation hits me immediately when I don’t smell food cooking like I should.

Snarling to myself, I hang up my hat on the rack by the door before making my way toward the kitchen to see if she made a salad again. I already warned the woman that I worked too damn hard to eat a salad for dinner. I’m not a damn rabbit.

I fucking hate salads. I’m six five, two-fifty, and in great physical condition, and I need real damn calories to keep my body fueled. As a former athlete, I’d max six thousand calories just to keep muscle. Now retired, I still need four thousand because I stay busy on my family ranch, working brutally hard daily.

I push open the swinging kitchen door and stare. “Son of a bitch.” There’s not a damn thing on the stove—no pots simmering or dishes on the counter. In fact, the room looks exactly like it did at breakfast when she had heated up frozen breakfast burritos.

Nothing.

Where the hell is that woman? My cook and housekeeper, Nina, started working a few weeks back after my last cook, Thelma, retired. Well, she quit, but I like to say retired. It makes me look less like an ass that way. Not that I care what people think, but no one wants to work for a bossy bastard.

I have gone through more cooks since my mother passed than in my entire life. I don’t know if it’s my surly attitude or my need for shit to be done on time that sends them packing, but they’ve always gone. This one has to beat it as well. I’ve had enough of her flighty behavior. I reach into the fridge to pour myself a cold drink, and the fucking pitcher of iced tea is empty.