Gael’s phone pinged, and Rowan shot him a grin. “Go talk to Joel, I’ll get started on this paperwork.”
“Thanks.”
Rowan went through the barn doors and took a moment to appreciate the fans that moved the thick Kentucky air through the center aisle. Sweat rolled down his spine and soaked into his shirt. He pushed open the tack room door with his shoulder and walked through it into his office.
If there was one place on the ranch that truly felt like his, it was this room. It wasn’t fancy, and it certainly couldn’t be called big. But it had a door that closed, a desk that didn’t wobble, a coffeemaker he didn’t share with the bunkhouse, and it looked like the CHU’s. As he’d spent most of his adult life in those containerized housing units, at military bases across the globe, his office felt like home sweet home. He flipped on the light, grabbed the half-empty pot, and refilled his mug. The coffee was half-bitter, half-burned, and mostly cold.
The perfect mug of Navy sludge.
He kicked the door halfway shut with his boot, dropped into his chair, and set the clipboard flat on the desk. The monitor blinked awake when he jiggled the mouse. Rowan flipped to the open spreadsheet. The columns were already half-filled, with dates and lot numbers, and he sipped from his coffee.
Fucking paperwork.
We should hire someone for this shit.
He frowned as he remembered Jericho and his spiked coffee, grabbed a stack of Post-it notes, scribbled the reminder to talk to Scout, and stuck it to the monitor.
I hope to fuck he remembers what it means to communicate with command.
It would suck to have to fire him. But everyone’s safety had to be a priority. He placed his mug out of the way of his elbow, pulled the top sheet from the pile, and started plugging in values. Registered name. Barn name. Sex. Age. Breed. Color. Dam and sire. Height at last measure. String test and predicted height when full gown. Everything they would need to make a final decision on their keepers, or that buyers would want to know when they were going to drop five figures on potential stock. By the time he’d made it to the last sheet, he found the scribbled note Gael had put in the margin and dug out his phone. He opened his messages, found the number for the vet, and thumbed out a request for a morning slot the next day.
There were no medals for paperwork. But paperwork and intel were what kept the Stronghold running. He glanced at the cursor blinking at the bottom of the spreadsheet, waiting for him to finish the last field, and entered the final note on the bay colt’s vaccination record. Then he tabbed across to flag the reminder for Coggins testing, saved the file, and emailed it to Gael to print and paper file it in the fireproof cabinet in the office up at the house.
He leaned back in the chair just long enough to crack the tension in his shoulders and sighed in relief when his back popped. The chair gave a low groan that said it had one good year left in it, maybe two if he tightened the bolts.
I’ll tighten the damn bolts.
Rowan scribbled a Post-it note for that too, and it joined all the others in the brightly colored circle around his computer monitor.
His phone pinged.
Asher Clinic: 7.30 AM. See you then. K.
Rowan: Thanks.
He grabbed a marker and left his office for the whiteboard in the tack room. He scribbled in the vet appointment for tomorrow, then checked the feed orders and pasture schedules that were mapped out in lines of color-coded marker. He made a mental note to confirm they had enough health cert forms before the vet arrived. He was halfway back to the office when his phone buzzed once on the edge of the file tray. He checked the screen, and excitement flared to life somewhere deep inside him.
Cross: Call me
Rowan punched in the speed dial button for Theo and put the phone to his ear.
“Talk to me.”
Theo’s voice came through with that clipped edge. “You busy?”
They were on a ranch, of course he was freaking busy. They were always freaking busy, and if they weren’t, then it was either Sunday or they were sick. “Just finished paperwork. Why?”
“I’ve got something,” Theo replied. “Need you to come up here and tell me if you see what I do.”
Rowan didn’t ask what it was; he’d find out soon enough. “I’ll be there in ten.”
CHAPTER FIVE
TUESDAY. CHIQUIMULA, GUATEMALA
They didn’t even turnon the freaking fans.
Are there any fans?
