Diamond in the Rough

She was sorting bridles but she looked up when he approached. Like many old-time cowboys, he was sporting boots with spurs that jingled when he walked. He was also wearing an old Colt .45 in a holster slung low on his hip under the open denim shirt he was wearing with jeans and a black T-shirt. It was wild country, this part of Montana, and he wasn’t going out on the range without some way of protecting himself from potential predators.

The girl stared at him in an odd, fixed way. He didn’t realize that he had the looks that would have been expected in a motion picture star. His blond hair, under the wide-brimmed cowboy hat, had a sheen like gold, and his handsome face was very attractive. He had the tall, elegant body of a rider, lean and fit and muscular without exaggerated lines.

“What the hell are you doing?” came a gruff, angry voice from the back. “I told you to go bring in those new sacks of feed before the rain ruins them, not play with the tack! Get your lazy butt moving, girl!”

The girl flushed, looking frightened. “Yes, sir,” she said at once, and jumped up to do what he’d told her to.

John didn’t like the way the man spoke to her. She was very young, probably still in her teens. No man should speak that way to a child.

He approached the man with a deadpan expression, only his blue eyes sparkling with temper.

The man, overweight and half-bald, older than John, turned as he approached. “Something I can do for you?” he asked in a bored tone, as if he didn’t care whether he got the business or not.

“You the owner?” John asked him.

The man glared. “The manager. Tarleton. Bill Tarleton.”

John tilted his hat back. “I need to find someone who can build a barn.”

The manager’s eyebrows arched. His eyes slid over John’s worn jeans and boots and inexpensive clothing. He laughed. His expression was an insult. “You own a ranch around here?” he asked in disbelief.

John fought back his temper. “My boss does,” he said, in an impulsive moment. “He’s hiring. He just bought the Bradbury place out on Chambers Road.”

“That old place?” Tarleton made a face. “Hell, it’s a wreck! Bradbury just sat on his butt and let the place go to hell. Nobody understood why. He had some good cattle years ago, cattlemen came from as far away as Oklahoma and Kansas to buy his stock.”

“He got old,” John said.

“I guess. A barn, you say.” He pursed his lips. “Well, Jackson Hewett has a construction business. He builds houses. Fancy houses, some of them. I reckon he could build a barn. He lives just outside town, over by the old train station. He’s in the local telephone directory.”

“I’m obliged,” John said.

“Your boss…he’ll be needing feed and tack, I guess?” Tarleton added.

John nodded.

“If I don’t have it on hand, I can order it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I need something right now, though—a good tool kit.”

“Sassy!” he yelled. “The man wants a tool kit! Bring one of the boxes from that new line we started stocking!”

“Yes, sir!” There was the sound of scrambling boots.

“She ain’t much help,” the manager grumbled. “Misses work sometimes. Got a mother with cancer and a little sister, six, that the mother adopted. I guess she’ll end up alone, just her and the kid.”

“Does the mother get government help?” John asked, curious.

“Not much,” Tarleton scoffed. “They say she never did much except sit with sick folk, even before she got the cancer. Sassy’s bringing in the only money they got. The old man took off years ago with another woman. Just left. At least they got a house. Ain’t much of one, but it’s a roof over their heads. The mother got it in the divorce settlement.”

John felt a pang when he noticed the girl tugging a heavy toolbox. She looked as if she was barely able to lift a bridle.

“Here, I’ll take that,” John said, trying to sound nonchalant. He took it from her hands and set it on the counter, popping it open. His eyebrows lifted as he examined the tools. “Nice.”

“Expensive, too, but it’s worth it,” Tarleton told him.

“Boss wants to set up an account in his own name, but I’ll pay cash for this,” John said, pulling out his wallet. “He gave me pocket money for essentials.”

Tarleton’s eyes got bigger as John started peeling off twenty-dollar bills. “Okay. What name do I put on the account?”

“Callister,” John told him without batting an eyelash. “Gil Callister.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of him,” Tartleton said at once, giving John a bad moment. “He’s got a huge ranch down in Medicine Ridge.”

“That’s the one,” John said. “Ever seen him?”

“Who, me?” The older man laughed. “I don’t run in those circles, no, sir. We’re just country folk here, not millionaires.”

John felt a little less worried. It would be to his advantage if the locals didn’t know who he really was. Not yet, anyway. Since he was having to give up cattle shows for the foreseeable future, there wasn’t much chance that his face would be gracing any trade papers. It might be nice, he pondered, to be accepted as an ordinary man for once. His wealth seemed to draw opportunists, especially feminine ones. He could enjoy playing the part of a cowboy for a change.

“No problem with opening an account here, then, if we put some money down first as a credit?” John asked.

“No problem at all.” Tarleton grinned. “I’ll start that account right now. You tell Mr. Callister anything he needs, I can get for him!”

“I’ll tell him.”

“And your name…?” the manager asked.

“John,” he replied. “John Taggert.”

Taggert was his middle name. His maternal grandfather, a pioneer in South Dakota, had that name.

“Taggert.” The manager shook his head. “Never heard that one.”

John smiled. “It’s not famous.”

The girl was still standing beside the counter. John handed her the bills to pay for the toolbox. She worked the cash register and counted out his change.

“Thanks,” John said, smiling at her.

She smiled back at him, shyly. Her green eyes were warm and soft. “You’re welcome.”

“Get back to work,” Tarleton told her.

“Yes, sir.” She turned and went back to the bags on the loading platform.

John frowned. “Isn’t she too slight to be hefting bags that size?”

“It goes with the job,” Tarleton said defensively. “I had a strong teenage boy working for me, but his parents moved to Billings and he had to go along. She was all I could get. She swore she could do the job. So I’m letting her.”