Hung

I loved every moment of it.

I headed toward the house to make something to eat, waving at some of my ranch hands in the process. I had Jax, who was eighteen, and his nineteen-year-old brother Charlie. They’d graduated high school last year and decided to take the year off to “have fun” before heading to college but instead found themselves working for me, ‘cause they realized they needed money to actually buy shit.

I took the porch steps two at a time, and before I stepped inside, I took my work boots off and set them to the side of the door. I started wiping down my pants and shirt, trying to get the excess dirt and straw off. But the truth was, my house was a wreck as it was anyway, and that’s why I put an ad in the paper for someone to help tend to my chaos.

I was tired of the clutter and making bologna-and-cheese sandwiches every day for lunch. And because I was so busy with the farm, I had no time to clean my house or cook decent meals.

I stepped inside and looked around, exhausted with the state of my home. I needed more help, but I only had so much money to pay someone, which meant I was hoping when I did hire someone, negotiations could be made. I already included room and board in the classified ad, so that would help immensely.

I went into the kitchen, washed my hands and dried them, then went to the fridge and opened the door. It was pretty grim inside, with a pack of bologna, a pack of cheese, some condiments, a half-gallon of milk, and a loaf of bread, which I had two slices left.

I knew the ranch hands always brought their own lunch—most likely because they knew if they didn’t, they’d be hungry, since I didn’t have anything actually edible here and no one delivered this far out of town.

I grabbed the sandwich making stuff and proceeded to slap a couple pieces of meat and some cheese between two pieces of bread. I grabbed the milk, not bothering with a glass, and leaned against the sink as I ate my sandwich and intermittently drank out of the jug, looking out at my property through the window above the sink.

I owned one hundred acres, most of it wooded, but about ten of those acres was cleared for the house and ranch. We had horses, chickens and pheasants, a couple goats, even a few alpacas. The chickens produced a hearty amount of eggs, and those were sold to the mom-and-pop grocery store in town. It was kind of ironic, because I hated eggs yet sold them.

I turned and looked at my kitchen, leaning against the sink. One of the things I’d love to do would be to renovate, update the retro-themed interior of the house, but the all-natural and exposed wood of the cabin gave it a rustic feel. But also, I always had memories of my childhood at the forefront of my mind.

I only had two people contact me about the position I put in the ad just a couple days ago. I already interviewed one of them, a young guy who was taking a year off before college, just like the brothers. Although he’d probably fit in around the ranch, the fact that he was only here for a year wasn’t really going to work for me. I needed somebody long-term, someone who could see the ranch as an extension of them.

Although maybe that was wishful thinking, I was hoping interview number two later on today would prove more successful in finding someone to help me out.

Chapter Three

Macey

The position at the diner had been a bust, already being filled the day before. And the maid position at the local motel had been a hard no for me when I caught the owner continuously eye-fucking me, not even caring if I caught him.

Finding a job wasn’t looking good. Although, I did have one interview left for the cook and housekeeping position at a home ranch outside town. It was a decent drive away, at least twenty minutes from the Falls View town square. I was hoping it proved more positive than these last two interviews I’d done. Because if not, I was shit out of luck and in real trouble.

But why I really hoped this interview was successful was because in the ad it had mentioned room and board available upon negotiation of the position. That would really solve a ton of my current problems.

Once out of town and nearing the address, I made a right onto the long gravel driveway of the property. There was a fence on either side of the double-lane private road, and as my Dodge Neon’s tires crunched along those pebbles, I practiced the interview in my head. I didn’t want to stumble over my words over the simplest questions.