“Seeing as how he was a confirmed bachelor, I think he would have enjoyed the ladies,” Cash replied.
Uncle Clarence had always described himself as a sometimes rowdy yet mostly refined cowboy. He had never married and had no children. At least none he’d known about or who had come forward. Yet. There was a codicil to Clarence’s will to be acted upon should an heir come knocking. The family knew two things; his heir would most likely be the child of one Charlotte Fleming and the codicil expired soon. Anyway, Uncle Clarence had been roping and riding when the heart attack struck. He was gone by the time he hit the ground. Cash was there, learning the ropes, and had consoled himself thinking it was the way his uncle would have wanted to go.
“I think you’re right about your Uncle Clarence,” Sam said with a chuckle.
“I know he would have been glad you stayed on, Sam, and didn’t let me run Triple C-East into the dirt.”
“You were young, catching on fast, and just needed a hand,” Sam said, like the humble man and close friend he was to Cash and all the Coopers. “This is home.”
“Yeah, it’s home,” Jeff agreed with a nod. At twenty-two, he lived in the ranch bunkhouse with the other wranglers. His parents, Sam and Kellie, lived on one side of a large duplex. Someday, Cash figured, Jeff might want to get married and live on the other side. Kellie was not only an RN which came in handy on a ranch, but she was in charge of all things to do with the daily meals for their guests. “Who’s gonna be on this bus?”
“We’re about to find out,” Cash said as he spied an oversized van headed their way.
The van slowed and Cash reined in his horse, Captain Jack Sparrow, Captain for short, to the right of the gateway to the ranch so that he would be on the driver’s side. Samand Jeff halted their horses to the left and the bus turned onto the paved drive under the Triple C Ranch-East wooden arch.
“Hello,” the driver of the van said. “I’m Jacob Berger, a photographer forRanchers and Ranges. Here in the passenger’s seat next to me,” the man with short, light-brown hair gestured to a blond woman— “is Donna Smith, assistant to myself and the journalist.” Cash, out of habit, assessed both to be in their mid-forties and in good enough shape to perform their magazine jobs while riding a horse. “I think you’re expecting us.”
“Yes, sir, we are,” Cash replied. “I’m Cash Cooper.” There was some whooping from the ladies inside the van, and Cash tilted his head forward in acknowledgment. “On the other side of your van are two of your companions for the week, father and son, Sam and Jeff Reynolds.” More hooting and hollering inside the van. Might be a fun week after all or a really long one. “If you follow us, we’ll lead you down the side road and around the back of the main house to our guest cabins. You can unload the van there and then bring it back around the front to park.”
“You got it, Mr. Cooper. Lead the way,” Jacob said.
“Cash,” he said with a tip of his hat.
“Please call me Jacob.”
Cash nudged Captain and they were off with Sam and Jeff flanking him. Where the driveway split, with the blacktop road on the west side leading to the house, Cash rode east leading them around his 6500 square foot, two-story home which Uncle Clarence liked to describe as an upscale farmhouse to fit the upscale dude ranch. Actually not as all-inclusive and exclusive as the ranch could be, an idea had been rolling in Cash’s head as to a major upgrade.
Cash skirted the front yard of bluegrass and followed the blacktop to a back road, which ran all the way from his ranch, past Triple C Ranch-Central to Triple C Ranch-West. This route took them past Cash’s four-car garage to the guest cabins. A circular drive made drop-offs and pick-ups ofluggage and guests easy and separated the main house from the five, two-bedroom, comfortable log cabins. Each of the guest cabins had a porch with two rocking chairs and its own hitching post.
Cash indicated a spot in front of the middle cabin and Jacob parked the van. Dismounting Captain, Cash left him at the hitching post closest to the huge building which housed his combination Triple C Ranch-East Western Store & Stables. Cash thought his uncle would have approved of the building he’d added and the business he’d grown since Clarence had passed.
“This is impressive,” Jacob said, hopped out of the van and slid open doors.
“Thank you. Welcome to Triple C Ranch-East,” Cash said to the guests, as Sam and Jeff also dismounted their horses and joined him.
“These will be your homes away from home this week,” Sam said, indicating the cabins.
As the women alighted from the van, Cash noted they were all shapes, sizes, and ages. Athletic ability or lack thereof, he’d been informed by Kirk Devereux that none of the ladies had much if any experience with horses. No matter. They would be appropriately, which meant safely, matched to their mounts. The women, chatting as they looked this way and that at their surroundings, quieted and gathered into a group facing him, Sam, and Jeff.
“As you may have heard me say to Jacob, I’m Cash Cooper. I own Triple C Ranch-West. To my right is my right-hand man, Sam Reynolds, the ranch foreman. On my left here is Jeff Reynolds, my lead wrangler. We’re happy you’re here and planning to show you a great week.”
“Y’all will be cowgirls when you leave,” Jeff said, and with a nod at Jacob, added, “and a cowboy.” Jacob and the ladies laughed and clapped.
Sam said, “I have your cabin assignments, so after we help you with your bags, we’ll let you get settled in for the next half hour.”
“Then we’ll introduce you to the best wranglers in Colorado,” Jeff said, proud of his cowboy crew. “There are six of us all together,” he said, indicating himself, Cash, and Sam.
“And we’ll take you on a tour of the stables where your horses await you,” Cash said. “So be dressed to step into the saddle.”
Sam handed out the random cabin assignments with the center cabin and the two end cabins being slightly larger than the two in between them. A couple of the gray-haired women hurried forward to speak with Cash as Sam and Jeff, helped Jacob and the ladies tote bags into their lodgings.
“Remember us? I’m Diane,” the lady who reached him first said.
“And I’m her sister, Joyce,” the other one said.
“I sure do remember you ladies,” Cash replied as the sisters, whom he figured were in their late sixties or early seventies, took turns hugging him. “You have stayed at my sister, Chloe’s, bed-and-breakfast a couple of times, right?”
“Yes,” Joyce said. “And we packed the Western clothes we bought from your store when we visited your ranch.”
