Page 5 of Guys Like Him

“Hay, hooch, and honey. Got it.”

Cash laughed again. “We keep the hay for the horses we rehabilitate, and I sell the hops to commercial beer producers, though I plan to change that in the near future. I have my eye on establishing a winery and a craft brewery. Hooch and Honey would make a catchy name.”

Kieran studied him through narrowed eyes. “I’d want payment for coming up with the name.”

Cash briefly met his gaze in the mirror. “Of course. Do you know anything about making beer or wine?”

Kieran shrugged. “I only know how to drink and serve it.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

Cresting a slight hill, Kieran got his first glimpse at the sprawling ranch below. He didn’t bother to squelch his gasp as he took in the scenery. Kieran’s gaze skimmed over the buildings and homed in on the vast patchwork of green grass, brown fields, and meadows of purple, blue, and yellow wildflowers. A silvery stream snaked a path through the land and disappeared into a thick forest of trees at the base of the mountains.

“Wow.” The breathless reaction escaped unbidden, but he was too spellbound by the magnificence before him to care. The landscape belonged on a canvas. If he closed his eyes, he could smell the paint, feel the weight of the brush in his hand, and hear the strokes it made against the woven fabric. Kieran kept his eyes open and forced his thoughts to his task at hand.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Cash said. “I first stepped onto this ranch twenty-seven years ago.” Kieran knew from the articles he’d read that Durrell Padgett, the previous ranch owner, had taken a chance on Cash when he’d answered an ad looking for ranch hands. That was the same year Kieran was born, and their trajectories couldn’t have been more different, yet there they were at the same ranch.

The drive to the homestead seemed to stretch on for endless minutes. Kieran shifted his attention to the buildings he’d ignored earlier and noted a mixture of old and new. The original log cabin sat proudly in front while a larger, more modern wood and glass structure stood in the background. Several buildings and barns dotted the landscape, and Kieran assumed they housed equipment and animals. He spotted small cabins grouped in a cluster. Their placement was close enough to give a sense of community but far enough away to offer some semblance of privacy. Was that where the ranch hands lived? He assumed they’d bunk together in one of the outbuildings.

Cash drove past the original homestead and parked in front of the towering structure of wood, stone, and glass. “Let’s start with a bite to eat,” he said. “I missed lunch, and even if you’ve eaten, Harry’s cooking will far surpass anything they fed you at Arrowhead.”

Cash killed the engine and got out of the truck without waiting for a response, whistling for Patsy to follow. Instead, the dog turned in the seat and watched Kieran intently as he decided how to proceed. He hadn’t expected Cash to welcome him into his private residence and feed him. He wasn’t there to make nice with the man, and he didn’t want to accept anything he didn’t earn. But Patsy wouldn’t budge until he made his move, so Kieran reluctantly opened the door, stepped out, and whistled for her. The dog obeyed immediately, leaping into the back seat and exiting through the open door. And if he proved Cash Sweeney was the rotten son of a bitch he suspected, Kieran would send that asshole back to prison and keep his gorgeous dog.

Kieran turned to walk up the wide porch steps and froze. The two-story structure was even bigger than it first seemed. Shiny windows and soft gray stone broke up the monotony of dark wood. Black iron porch railing, light fixtures, and door hardware perfectly complemented the rustic design. A massive window above the front door stretched to the roofline, showcasing a huge iron chandelier hanging over the foyer. This was by far the most beautiful home Kieran had ever seen, and he knew the vista in the back would be even more impressive with the view of Pike’s Peak.

Patsy barked and interrupted his gawking, and Kieran jerked his gaze back to the front door, where Cash waited patiently with an indulgent smile.

“Ready?” he asked.

No, but Kieran nodded and jogged up the steps to follow the rancher into the house with Patsy at his side. “She allowed in?”

Cash laughed. “This is her house. I’m just lucky to live here.”

Patsy barked her agreement, and Kieran couldn’t resist smiling as he took in the gorgeous home around him. A staircase to the right led to the second story, and a long hallway stretched out in front of them, leading to a massive room with a wall of windows at the back of the house. Gleaming wood stretched as far as the eye could see broken up by colorful furniture settings, artwork, area rugs, and accent pieces. Several doors opened on either side of the main hallway, and Kieran wanted to explore each one to see what Cash Sweeney hid in his closets.

“Cash, is that you?” a woman called out from deep within the house. Her voice was soft, and her accent was more Southeast than Western. Tennessee, maybe.

“None other,” the rancher replied.

A red-haired lady poked her head around a corner. Her eyes widened when she saw Kieran, and he recalled his state of dress. Ratty clothes and flip-flops hardly made a good impression, not that he should care. The woman stepped fully into the hallway and stopped with her hands on her slender, denim-clad hips. She was petite, not much over five feet if that, and looked to be in her midthirties. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, but a few wisps of tousled waves framed her delicate face. Who was she? Cash’s wife? None of his research had revealed a spouse or significant other, so Kieran had assumed a guy with his looks and money was another playboy.

“Hello, Harry,” Cash said.

Harry?He’d imagined a beefy cook who prepared meals for the ranch hands, not this stick of dynamite masquerading as a woman. She shifted her gaze to Kieran. Her eyes were a pale, unusual shade of green as if her maker had made a second pass with a sea-green colored pencil, pressing harder to get a deeper pigment. Harry’s expression softened, and she extended a kind smile and a tiny hand. “I’m Harriet Bledsoe, but everyone calls me Harry.”

He hesitated a moment before shaking her hand. “Kieran.”

“That’s such a lovely name.”

Shelly Sullivan had named her newborn son after his paternal grandfather because her husband hated the man. She wanted to get even with Kieran’s daddy dearest for screwing around while she was in labor as if Kellan needed another reason to resent his son’s existence. Shelly’s choice of bedtime stories when she wasn’t too stoned or drunk to forget about him had always led to a shouting match between his parents. Kellan would swear up and down that Kieran wasn’t his kid, and his mother would just laugh because there was no denying his paternity. Everyone had told Kieran he looked just like his dad. Pitying looks and remarks like “Kids like him don’t stand a chance” would often follow. Maybe that’s why Carson’s dig at the jail had rankled him. He’d heard a variation of it his entire life and was ready to change the narrative. He just had one little mystery to solve first, and Kieran thought Cash had the answers.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Harry, please,” she said. “Are you hungry?” Patsy barked and turned in a circle. Harry laughed and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Always a given with you, young lady. I was talking to your friend.” Kieran’s growling stomach answered before he could, and Harry grinned. “Follow me to the kitchen. I made chicken and dumplings for lunch.”

Harry spun on her heels and headed back the way she’d come. Patsy nudged him with her nose until he followed while Cash laughed at the dog’s antics.

“I’m going,” Kieran told Patsy and stepped forward. Since the initial shock of seeing the home had passed, his other senses came alive, and his mouth watered at the smells emanating from the kitchen.

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