“Feel free to invite Gerald to the Fourth of July barbecue,” Cash offered, figuring he might as well get a look at the competition. Competition? Was he vying for Tracy’s attention? What had happened to not being ready to give up his living alone, casual sex, bachelor life? “So that Mustang’s a rental?”
“Yes,” Tracy said, finishing the last of her pancake. “If I’d been accustomed to driving it, I wouldn’t have been going so fast or almost run you down.”
“I see,” Cash said, noting the cute blush staining her cheeks.
“The only other standard I’ve ever driven is a truck,” Tracy said.
“The old clunker truck?” Donna snickered and plopped down next to Cash.
“I said my grandmother called it a classic not a clunker,” Tracy countered as Donna shrugged.
“How is your grandma, Tracy?” Jacob asked with genuine concern.
Cash saw Tracy flinch before she replied, “I thought she sounded better this morning when I spoke to her. Thanks for asking, Jacob.”
“Boss?” Sam asked, walking to the table. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” Cash said to Sam and stood. “Let’s ride.”
“I just started eating,” Donna said, diving into a double stack of pancakes. She began shoveling food into her mouth and snatched up her plate as Cristen neared. “I’m not done!” When Beau neared and greeted Cristen, Donna said around a mouthful of food, “Hi Beau!”
“I’m ready to go,” Jacob said evenly, stood, and pulled out Tracy’s chair for her.
“Got your personal belongings ready for the saddlebags?” Cash asked.
“Yes,” Tracy and Jacob both said at once.
Out in the open area, Cash paused to take count of guests, wranglers, and horses. Kellie and Sam loaded some last-minute food items into the covered wagon hitched to Mavis. The wranglers had the horses on standby waiting for their riders. Cash headed toward Captain tethered next to Cinnamon. Jacob walked with Cash and Tracy, stopping when he reached Chief. Donna came running and chewing and was the last to mount up. At the front of the pack, with Patience, Brittany, and Daphne, Jeff nodded to his parents who were chatting with Diane and Joyce. Ed, Beth, and Lisa were to the left of them as Larry, Natasha, Michaela, and LeAnn sat ready to ride on the right. When Jeffglanced at him, Cash tipped two fingers off the brim of his cowboy hat. Jeff tipped two fingers off the brim of his hat in return.
Sweeping his arm forward Jeff hollered, “Wagons ho!”
“Do you always carry a gun, Cash?”Tracy asked, come late morning. “I noticed you had one yesterday when we rode to Fish Creek.”
“Yes,” Cash replied. “This is my ranch revolver, a Ruger Blackhawk 357 Magnum. You never know when you’ll meet up with a snake.”
“We never had a gun so I don’t know anything about them,” Tracy said and let the subject go at that. Glancing up at the clear blue sky as a refreshing Chinook breeze blew past them, she said, “Another beautiful Colorado day.”
Cash’s cobalt eyes swept over her, making her tingle as he said, “Yup.”
Tracy listened as Cash, Sam, Jeff, and the wranglers talked with guests about the dude ranch, local wildlife, and previous excursions. Riding here and there, but mostly near Cash, she took mental notes. Jacob snapped photographs. Donna flirted outrageously with Ed and Larry. Although the men behaved themselves, some of the younger female guests in particular noticed Donna’s flirting, too, and giggled or rolled their eyes. Cash ignored it.
“Fish Creek dead ahead and Turkey Pond on down the trail,” Jeff called.
“Is the fishing pond fed by the creek? Is that why it’s called Fish Creek?” Tracy asked.
“No, but I can see why you’d think that,” Cash said. “Turkey Pond is spring-fed from the water that comes out of the hill behind it.” He indicated what was basically a mountain decorated with ponderosa pines about halfway up it. “The pond is nearly twenty feet deep and gets cold about four feet down because of being spring-fed.”
“So no skinny dipping?” Tracy asked. Where on earth had that come from?
“I didn’t say that,” Cash replied. “But not in the pond.”
Shocked at herself, Tracy didn’t ask where they might skinny dip. Instead she asked, “Are there turkeys around Turkey Pond?”
“Yes, and that’s why my great-grandfather named it Turkey Pond. The turkeys live in the higher elevations of Colorado like these foothills.” He pointed in a wide circle at the trees. “Sometimes we see them and we almost always hear their loud, throaty gobbles.”
“You might be right about hens not cock-a-doodle-do-ing,” she admitted.
“You don’t say.”
