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He hadn’t come here pretending to be a cowboy, dressed up in plaid, stetsons, and heavy leather boots. He was still himself. But there was respect for the lifestyle. All his changes to the ranch house and the ranch in general had been in keeping with the traditions of the place. Take his office. It had been Dwight’s before him. Takis had kept some of his father’s things. Photos and personal items — including his father’s bullfighting trophies — had been taken and shared out between the North brothers, but his father’s antique bureau, and the family brand — a compass with the N bigger than the other directions — still hung about the door.
Takis had added a couple of items — a set of old, battered boxing gloves with which he’d won some tournament or other, and a sign for Gilstein’s gym, which was the chain he’d made his money with.
Now, was there a valid reason that Chuck could give Takis? “Here’s a good reason I can’t work with her,” he said. He crossed his hands in front of his chest. “I quit. Didn’t seem right to mention it last night.”
Takis raised a dark eyebrow. “That surprises me.”
“I told you when you first bought the place that I wasn’t sure how long I’d last. Dude ranches… they just ain’t for me.”
“You know this isn’t a dude ranch, don’t you? It’s so much more than that.”
“So, what is it?”
“A sanctuary. That’s part of the reason that I took on Millie. She needs us.” Takis looked deadly serious.
Chuck considered this. Last night, the way that Millie had yelped in fear about her father had surprised him. Was she in some kind of trouble? “Frankly, the fact that you already know her is a huge bonus,” Takis continued.
“She won’t like me.”
“She looked excited to see you yesterday.”
Chuck sighed. “She likes who Iwas. Not who I am.”
Takis’ eyes narrowed. “You have a good heart, Chuck. That’s why I want you to work with Millie. More than Trent, and definitely more than Duke.”
“A good heart? You clearly don’t know me that well. I’m an open wound. Stuck in grief. Not able to do my job, not able to move on from the past.”
“She’s a Little.”
“Well, I’m not a Daddy.”
“Another reason that I want you to work with her. I’m keen to avoid relationships between staff members at this ranch. Age Play is such a complicated power dynamic as it is. Add in a boss-employee element and things could get very messy, very fast.”
“Makes sense.”
Takis leaned forward. “Look, Chuck. Ultimately, if you want to quit, that’s your decision. But I could really use your help, especially in the short term. I have big plans for the opening party here. I have friends coming from New York and friends from a community of Littles and Bigs called Liberty in Texas. I want everything to go smoothly, and the horses are a big part of that. I know that with your help, Millie can be a fantastic riding instructor.”
Chuck rubbed his forehead. Could he hold it together until the opening party? It would be a struggle, but he’d try.
“Fine. I’ll work for you until the opening. But after that, I’m gone.”
“Good. And we’ll give Millie one more day to settle in, then you’ll start your work together. I’ll make sure she’s there, on time, at nine, the day after tomorrow. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Takis nodded and held out his hand. As they shook, Chuck couldn’t help but feel as though he’d made a terrible mistake.
CHAPTER FOUR
Amonghismany,variedpassions, Dwight North had been something of a gun fan. Rifles, specifically. Alongside his lifelong campaign to win as many bull-riding trophies as he could, he also entered a huge amount of target-shooting tournaments.
He never won anything — he had a persistent tremor in his right arm, thanks to nerve damage caused by a particularly mean bull in the late nineties — but he enjoyed the calm, mindful concentration that shooting offered him.
He taught all three of his boys to shoot from a young age, feeling that education, training, and respect were the clearest paths to the safe handling of firearms. The North boys had taken to shooting like ducks to water. When their dad had proposed transforming a decrepit stable into a shooting range at the ranch, they’d jumped at the chance.
They’d extended the horse’s stalls, and had installed automatic pulleys to examine and replace spent targets. The guns were kept under lock and key in an underground armory that only Chuck, Trent, and Duke had the access codes to.
For Chuck, there was nothing like some time spent in the range; it was the perfect mix of meditative focus and sudden, loud releases of tension. When his brothers shot with him, though, things were rarely that calm.
