“What do you mean, they came back without saddles?” he asked, keeping his voice even. This wasn’t Brody’s fault, though it sounded like the teenagers on that afternoon’s trail ridehadgotten the best of him.
“I was focused on those two ladies from New York,” Brody said calmly because he knew, and Leland knew, both of them, after several years of working together, that Leland was going to hear him out, come what may. “And that’s when the three of them rode off together. By the time I could round them all up and start heading back, that’s when I realized they were bareback.”
“All three of them.” It was not a question. The three teenage girls had probably thought it was a lark, a spree, but it was strictly against ranch policy. Only a fool would gallop across the prairie like that without a saddle on a horse they hardly knew. Leland was worried, too, about the horses. Sure, they could adapt to being ridden bareback, but the whole thing sounded like an accident waiting to happen. “And the saddles are still out there.”
“I’m sorry,” said Brody. “We were halfway back by the time—Anyway, I figure the saddles are along the trail somewhere. I’ll send someone to pick them up before it rains.”
“I’ll go,” Leland said. “You can join Quint in giving those girls and their folks a lecture on horse safety and ranch rules, okay?”
“Thanks, boss,” Brody said, tapping his finger to his hat. “I’ll take care of it.”
Leland knew he would. He knew that under his care, and Quint’s care, the horses would be taken care of and settled after their wild ride. He also knew that once Bill found out about it, he’d have a thing or two to say, and would deliver one of his stern lectures, though he probably wouldn’t kick the guests off the ranch, mid-week.
It was left to Leland to grab the truck and head on out, quick as he could. There were storm clouds brewing over the mountains, and the saddles were at risk. Sure, with the insurance, they could always buy new saddles, but these ones were already nicely broken in, giving them the air ofrealsaddles, which he knew ranch guests appreciated. It would take an entire season to break in new saddles properly.
Leland grabbed some plastic tarps from the supply shed, got the keys from the hook, and thought about how he would get a message to Jamie that he’d probably miss dinner, and could Jamie grab him a sandwich or two.
He thought about calling Jamie on his cell phone, but though Jamie finally had a phone of his own, he tended to leave it in the cabin, like he didn’t remember he was now connected, part of the ranch, part of the ranch family. Part of Leland’s life.
And he was. All of Jamie’s things fit in half of Leland’s dresser, and Jamie easily determined which side of the bed was his, which half of the towel racks were his. Which coffee mug of Leland’s he loved best to use. Where his boots went when he stored them, side by side in the closet with Leland’s. What color woolen throw he wanted when Leland offered to buy him one for the Adirondack chair he’d claimed as his, as a kind of housewarming present.
Jamie blustered he didn’t need one, but Leland had seen the shine in his eyes. Jamie had a thing about blankets and sheets that Leland was only slowly coming to understand. They represented hearth and home to Jamie, the one thing he’d been lacking since his parents had turned their back on him, and Leland intended to make it up to him every way that he could. Now, if only he could get Jamie to carry that cell phone around with him.
Walking back to the barn, Leland needed to tell Clay, or someone, that he was headed out on an unexpected jaunt into the expanse of acres that was the wild prairie section of the ranch. And, really, to follow his own rules, he needed to get someone to go with him. The area wasn’t the most dangerous place on the planet, of course, but they had standards to keep and safety policies for a reason.
Leland stepped into the shadow of the barn, jingling the truck keys as he settled his hat on his head. A small wind scurried around his boots and he knew he needed to head out quick or lose those saddles to the weather.
Cursing under his breath, he strode out of the barn, intending to grab the first person he saw to ride shotgun, when he heard a shout. He looked, and there, running towards him, up the slope from the row of cabins, was Jamie.
He was grubby from work and his hair flew around his head as he came to a quick halt in front of Leland. Giving a quick look around, Jamie grabbed Leland around the waist and held on tight, practically taking the air from him.
“Heard you had an errand,” Jamie said, almost breathless himself, looking up at Leland, digging his chin into the middle of his chest, looking so cute Leland had to sigh. “Clay told me. You can’t go out alone. It’s a rule.”
“That it is,” Leland said, cupping the back of Jamie’s head, twining his fingers through that dark hair. “Next time, carry your phone with you. Then it won’t even be a question.”
Jamie rolled his eyes, like Leland was the thousandth person that day who’d reminded him of that. Leland bent and kissed Jamie, not caring who could see, though he did make it quick.
“C’mon then, if you’re coming,” Leland said, as if it was a question that he’d even want anybody else with him.
Leland strode to the silver truck, Jamie at his side, and they piled in and headed up the slope toward the gate and the trail beyond. Jamie obliged Leland by taking care of the gate, and together they bumped along the rough road in contented silence while Jamie hung out the window, almost to his waist, and kept his eye out for those saddles.
The wind was brisk so Jamie had to keep a hand on his hat, and Leland had impulse upon impulse to shout at him to get back inside, but he didn’t. Jamie had grabbed hold of the side mirror and was as safe as he could be, though Leland’s hand twitched on his thigh as he drove, in case he had to snag hold of the waist of Jamie’s jeans.
They drove for a good mile or more, both of them keeping a lookout, and just when the clouds began lowering over the edge of the mountains, Jamie pointed. Seeing the flash of color, stripes of blue and white of the saddle blankets, Leland sped that truck up as fast as he could. Jamie leaped out before Leland fully stopped, and they were able to get those saddles, and the saddle blankets, in the back of the truck and under the plastic tarp just as it began to rain.
Leland was soaked to the skin inside of a minute as he tightened the tarp over the saddles, and Jamie was as well. But he just laughed and titled his head back and stuck his tongue out to taste the rain. And then Leland bent close, took his hat off, curled his arm around Jamie’s waist, and tasted that same rain, moist and sweet, on his tongue.
Dripping and laughing at their success, they drove back to the ranch, hauled the saddles into the barn, still covered by the plastic tarp, and wiped the tack down.
“Time for that root beer,” Leland said. It was the middle of the week, and guests were still all around them, but he wanted to take the time to slow down, to share time with Jamie. “We can fetch some dinner, later. What do you reckon?”
“Sure,” Jamie said, his eyebrows going up. “Just you an’ me, huh?”
That was how Jamie liked it, how Leland liked it. Side by side they walked through the rain-dappled shadows, smelling of pine and damp earth, until they reached the cabin. Inside, they stripped to their skins and rubbed each other down with clean towels.
Leland could have tumbled Jamie on the bed and driven him to the edge with kisses and touches, but he wanted this now. Them in their t-shirts and sweatpants, carrying bottles of local-made root beer out to the front porch where the Adirondack chairs always patiently waited.
After courting Jamie for nearly a month, Leland found that he just wanted to keep on courting him. And Jamie, in return, courted Leland, finding ways to show up at his side when he needed a sounding board or someone to run a quick errand for him, the way Clay used to do.
