He almost shouted backNo rain boots!but thought better of it, knowing how proud Poppy was that she could dress herself now.
Last week she had insisted on wearing her rain boots with every outfit, despite there being no clouds in sight. And she was starting to get picky with her hair, insisting on something called a French braid when Mav only knew how to do a ponytail and a regular braid. An American braid? He didn’t even know. The only reason he knew how to braid at all was because his father had taught him how to do it in horse manes and tails to prevent breakage.
But such was the life of a girl dad.
With one last swig from his coffee, he let himself inside. Poppy’s footsteps sounded above his head.
Inside the kitchen, Mav took out his supplies and placed them on the countertop. He bent down to take a frying pan out of the cupboard.
Upstairs, something crashed.
He paused what he was doing and listened, but when no call for help sounded and the footsteps resumed, he walked to the base of the stairs, the frying pan in hand, and shouted up, ‘What was that?’
After a moment, Poppy replied, ‘The lamp.’
He could hear the quiver in her voice, decided on nonchalance before the situation escalated. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get another one. Don’t touch it! And put shoes on before you do anything else, please!’ Mav didn’t get flustered or mad, knowing it wouldn’t solve anything.
‘’Kay!’
Mav fought his need to go check that Poppy did what she was told. She might have been five, but she was a five-year-old on a working ranch. Following orders was the first thing she’d have to learn, and things like broken lamps were the safest way he knew how to teach her.
He sighed, forced his feet back in the direction of the kitchen, and mentally added cleaning up a broken lamp and ordering a new one to his list as he went back to the stove.
By the time he got to the resort at eleven, the lamp had been long cleaned up and Poppy’s entire room vacuumed in case of any glass he couldn’t see. The task had taken him thirty minutes he hadn’t had to spare, so he was running behind on everything else.
Check-in time, occurring between eleven and two, was sacred. Each guest who arrived was given a refreshment as their bags were covertly taken to their rooms by staff dressed in western gear – jeans, boots, and a Hunt Ranch work shirt. They were presented with ‘The Welcome Speech’ and the associated liability forms, which outlined the rules of the ranch and prevented any run-ins with one of their thousand-plus-pound animals. And then those guests who wanted to settle in, could, while he and some of the wranglers alternated taking the rest of the new arrivals on a walking tour of the resort property before showing them to their rooms.
Now, at a few minutes past eleven, the resort lobby was brimming with people already. The family of six seemed to have arrived first. The parents held one kid in each hand like seasoned pros, forgoing refreshments in order to keep their children close and out of the surrounding chaos.
Mav greeted them. ‘Morning, folks.’ A round of cheery replies followed. ‘My name’s Maverick.’
‘Mine’s June Morgan!’ This exuberant declaration came from the youngest, a little girl with blonde curls who couldn’t have been more than three.
‘Well, howdy, June Morgan!’ Mav greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I like your cowgirl boots,’ he said, tapping her brand-new, bright pink boots with the toe of his scarred leather ones. ‘Did you bring your hat too?’
Her smile faded. She shook her head and turned to look accusingly at her mom. ‘Mommy, you didn’t get a hat?’
Mav bit back his smile and replied before Mrs Morgan could. ‘Hmm, we’ll have to fix that,’ he said. ‘Can’t be a cowgirl without a cowgirl hat.’ He turned back to the check-in desk, plucked a hat from the pile, craftily labelled with the Hunt Ranch brand, off the counter. He plopped one on June’s head himself before passing the rest out. ‘There you go.’
‘I’m a cowgirl now!’ June chirped.
‘I’m a cowboy!’ her brother, who was maybe closer to Poppy’s age, stated seriously and craned his head back so that he could see out from under the hat’s brim.
‘You sure are,’ Maverick affirmed. ‘How about we go wrangle some horses, pardner?’ he drawled.
He ushered them towards the door, past a couple, sitting in the lounge, side by side on one of the huge leather sofas, waiting to check in. The woman was as slender as a willow sapling, with long black hair that fell in a curtain, concealing the side of her face. She was wearing baggy forest-green linen overalls with a white top underneath. Mav couldn’t figure out why she didn’t look ridiculous in the strange outfit. She certainly should have. Instead, she somehow managed to look bohemian.
The man was a statuesque, athletic Black man wearing all-white cowboy attire, including a Stetson.
Mav took stock of all the white fabric just waiting to get dirty, figured they were city folk here to play for the week. Maybe the honeymooners?
As he moved past, the man accidentally dropped his phone on the floor by the woman’s feet.
Maverick smiled and bent to retrieve it. ‘Here you go.’ He looked up, the phone in his hand.
And then simply stared.
The woman looking back at him had big, dark eyes that were completely oversized in her pale face. They were so intense, so sad, that for a full three seconds, he didn’t see the bruises beneath the expertly applied makeup.
