The Cowboy Meets His Match

“He strikes me as a good man,” she said, glancing up at him. “The talent is there. He just needs a little practice on some of the things I showed him.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She stopped. “Isn’t that why you hired me?”

“Sure. Some of it.” He wouldn’t tell her that he’d also had personal reasons. Very personal. She would figure that out on her own, soon enough.

“Then there’s no need to talk about it,” she said, then hesitated. “All you have to do is tell me the job you want me to do, and I’ll do the best I can. That’s how I work.”

He knew that. She’d been born into ranching—one big reason he’d hired her. But he’d worked hard at it. Spent years on other people’s ranches, starting at the bottom. Things were different now. He was the boss. He just hadn’t adjusted to it yet.

“It’s only your first day.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “And I can’t keep wandering around, watching others. I need to work with the rest of them. It’s pretty clear you need me, or at least someone. And it wouldn’t hurt to hire another person, especially if you plan to add more livestock.”

He couldn’t argue with that, but it wasn’t as easy as she might think. He’d worked with Gary, so that had been easy. He’d found Bobby Ray through a friend, and Kelly had answered an ad.

“I intend to. There’s a flyer in the café, and I put ads in several ranching papers and magazines,” he explained. “It doesn’t happen overnight. Not with experienced men.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

When he heard a bark, he turned to see his dog and welcomed the interruption. “Looks like Sollie’s coming to tell you goodbye.”

“Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.” When she walked away, she moved fast.

“Same time in the morning,” he shouted as she gained ground.

She waved at him, without looking back.

Sollie stopped beside him, giving his hand a nudge. “Yeah, she’s gone for the day. But she’ll be back.” Scratching Sollie’s head, he watched her until she disappeared from his sight. He looked down at the dog. “We have to keep her here, Sollie. I know you don’t understand, but we have to.”

* * *

JONAH BUTTERFIELD WINCED at the beginnings of a blister on his heel, inside his nearly new boots. He’d done more walking in the past day than he had in half of his almost seventeen years. He hadn’t, really. It only felt as though he had. But it didn’t matter. He was on a mission.

Kicking up dust from the shoulder of the road, he looked again to see if the ranch he needed to find was close by. No house, yet, but he did spy a large, country mailbox set on a post and hoped his journey might be nearing its end.

Another dozen steps, and he could make out the name on the mailbox. JAKE CANFIELD, it said, in bright blue letters. He’d finally made it to his destination, and with nothing but the name of a town, some initials and that name.

He reached the box and stood staring at it for several seconds. No one knew him or knew why he was there. They would learn soon enough.

Taking a deep breath, he started up the long drive to a large two-story house. Nice. Not some old place like a few he’d seen. Behind it were what looked like a couple of barns and some white fences. Corrals. He’d seen them in pictures.

As he walked closer, he saw two cowboys, each leading a horse. He needed to find the one who owned the ranch.

No one seemed to notice him, so he had a chance to run through what he planned to say. He would just tell them he’d been traveling through on the way to visit a friend and stopped at the café in town, where he’d seen a help-wanted flyer. Not exactly the truth, but good enough. He had seen the flyer, but he’d already known to look for a guy named Jake at the Canfield ranch. That much he’d learned while thumbing through a ranching magazine at the library.

He felt pretty safe. No one would be looking for him yet. In a day or two, maybe, but he had some—

“Hey, kid.”

Jonah looked to his right and saw a sandy-haired man walking toward him. “Mr. Canfield?” he asked, hoping he had the right guy.

“Hang on,” the man said, and turned around. “Hey, Jake! Somebody’s here looking for you.”

“Send him over,” the man who answered to the name said.

So that was him, Jonah thought, as he thanked the first guy and walked over to where Jake stood talking to a woman. A cowgirl, he guessed, by the jeans, boots and hat. Jake’s wife?

“Mr. Canfield?” he asked again.

The guy looked at him. “Yeah, that’s me.”

No turning back now. “A man gave me a ride—”

“Are you here about the job?”

How lucky could a guy get? He didn’t even have to ask or anything. But he would have to wing the rest of it. He hadn’t thought much beyond this. “Yeah. Could you use another hand?”

The woman next to him started to move away, but Jake stopped her. “Stay. We’re not through.” Then he turned back to Jonah. “What’s your name?”

“Jonah. Jonah Butterfield.”

“How old are you, Jonah?”

“Eighteen, sir.” Okay, that was a stretch, but did it matter?

Jake looked him over. “You have identification?”

Heart plummeting, Jonah reached around to his back pocket, juggling the backpack he wore, while keeping a tight grip on his duffel bag. “Right here.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jake said, stopping him. “I can get that later. How much do you know about horses?”

“Not a whole lot,” Jonah answered, truthfully this time. “But I’m willing to learn.” When Jake started to shake his head, Jonah hurried on. “I’m a quick learner.” Even his dad said so, not that he cared what his dad said.

Jake glanced at the woman, who shrugged, and then he asked another question. “Do you live around here, Jonah?”

“No, sir. Up north.”

Jake looked at him, his eyes squinting a little. “Where, exactly, would that be?”

Jonah hoped he didn’t have to get too specific, or the whole thing might blow up. He wasn’t ready to walk away, not until he found who he’d set out to look for, got a few questions answered and then said what he’d come to say.

“I’m from Kansas,” he answered.

The woman took a small step back but didn’t say anything. He pretended he didn’t notice, but then she pinned him in place with a look that would have frozen anyone with half a brain.