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Wyatt gaped at her, at once appreciative of her blunt nature and slightly offended by the insinuations. “No drug problem, I promise. I’ve got a small savings, so I can pay up front for the remainder of this month.”
“Great, we can talk about that stuff later. The rent’s all-inclusive, so I won’t be nickel-and-diming you for the electric or internet or whatever. Wi-Fi password is on a card by the TV and your room’s this way.” She marched down the hallway.
It took him a split second to kick it into gear and follow her. His room looked like a magazine page out of the 1970s with a hideous green-and-orange bedspread and matching curtains. The orange upholstered headboard was just as scary as the weird green carpet. It looked like a circus tent had vomited into the room. “Wow” was all he could manage.
Ramie laughed. “It’s a bit much but Aunt Florence loved this room. It’s where I stayed when I was a kid. If this arrangement becomes long-term I might let you change it, but we’ll take it a week at a time, yeah?”
“Sure, yeah. But, um, tell me the mattress is at least from this century?”
“It is. So are the sheets. Might be a touch stale, though, so you probably want to turn down the bed and let them air out a little. Haven’t had anyone crash here in a while.”
“Awesome, thanks. I guess this is a dumb question but do you mind if I put food in the fridge or a cupboard?”
“Don’t mind at all. I’m not too particular about my food so help yourself to anything except my Cajun peanuts. If you are particular, feel free to label your stuff or claim a shelf or whatever.”
Wyatt nodded, really liking Ramie already. She was very easygoing and had this big-sister vibe that he dug. Like she’d said before, she wasn’t his mother and didn’t seem to have much going on in the way of house rules beyond “don’t leave a mess behind.” He could deal with that. His stepfather had been a bit of a neat freak and had blown his top enough times over stupid shit like a toothpaste smear in the bathroom sink that Wyatt knew how to keep a clean room.
Ramie showed him the bathroom, the linen closet, and the kitchen. It was a small, eat-in type with no real pantry, just the cupboards and some sort of Ikea-style, build-it-yourself cabinet where she kept extra stuff like snacks, paper plates, and a slow cooker. At the end of the brief tour, she grabbed a bottled protein shake from the fridge. “Okay, I need to get back to work, you two.” She included Brand, who’d hung back in the living room the whole time. “Wyatt, I’ll see you later tonight if you’re still awake. Brand, you mind giving him your key until I can get another copy made?”
“Sure, no problem,” Brand replied.
“See you guys.”
Wyatt made it to the front window in time to see her backing out of the short driveway in a battered Ford pickup that had seen way better days. Keys jangled and then Brand handed him one. “All yours,” he said. “I’ll get outta here and let you settle in. You remember the way to the grocery store in town?”
“Yeah, no problem.” The town was small enough that he’d have to be a complete moron to actually get lost in it. Plus, if he was going to stock up, he’d use his phone to find the nearest Walmart for a cheaper, better selection. Not that he was going to tell Brand that. “Thanks again, man, I mean it.”
“You’re welcome. You ready to get your feet wet tomorrow?”
“Definitely.”
“Good man. See you at eight thirty, then.”
“Bright and early.” Wyatt shook Brand’s hand again before the older man left. Waited until Brand pulled away before collecting his own things from his car. Some of the personal stuff he left in the trunk—he was pretty sure car thieves were in short supply around Weston.
Time to settle into his hideous new room and prepare for his first day as a cowboy at Woods Ranch.
“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
Brand wasn’t surprised to hear Hugo’s voice behind him. He’d heard the storm door creak open but not the louder squeak of the screen door, so he was still inside the relative warmth of the bunkhouse. Brand was sitting in one of the two folding lawn chairs he’d rescued from the garage a few weeks ago so he and Hugo had something to sit on if they felt the need to chill on the porch instead of inside.
Tonight, he’d wanted to be outside.
“Stewing in my big mood,” Brand replied. He was warm enough in his coat and gloves, despite the winter chill of the night air. After the sweltering heat of summer he liked the temperature changes this time of year.
The screen door opened, and Brutus was the first to make it to Brand’s chair. While Brutus still reigned like a king from the family home’s porch during the day, he’d gotten used to sleeping in the bunkhouse with Brand and Hugo. He put his furry chin on Brand’s knee, and Brand rubbed the top of his head and behind his ears.
“What’s this mood for?” Hugo asked as he eased into the other chair. The aluminum frame creaked a lot, and Brand was sure that one day the old chairs would collapse when one of them sat down.
“Just thinking about Dad a lot tonight. Not sure why.”
“Well, he’s going to have surgery next week, so that’s kind of a big deal. You’re allowed to worry about it. Especially after that cancer scare you told me about.”
“Yeah.” Watching his father deal with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma as the eldest sibling (at the time), on top of keeping the ranch going, had been insanely stressful for Brand. Next week’s surgery was nowhere near as scary as cancer but it was a vivid reminder that his father was human. Fallible. Fragile.
“There’s something else, though. I know you, Brand. Is it Wyatt?”
“A little, I guess.” Something about the kid reminded him so much of his teenage years, and it freaked him out more than he wanted to admit. The awkwardness and ginger curls and his age...he saw Ginny in Wyatt, and he really didn’t want to see an old girlfriend in a new employee. Especially an old girlfriend who’d taken a part of Brand with her when she and her family moved away.
