Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(3)

“Good luck with that chat,” Reyes said.

*

Mack felt kind of bad about buying out the store’s entire stock of bacon, but it was a breakfast staple at Patrice’s table—both the one she set in the main dining room for guests, and the smaller buffet she provided for the ranch hands in the back room. This was why they ordered ahead of time: so the store’s owner could fill their needs without depriving his own customers.

Oh well.

One of the stock boys brought boxes out of the backroom to use for the groceries, instead of wasting a bunch of plastic bags. Reyes bought himself a bag of barbecue potato chips, which had been a favorite of his since forever. Mack studiously avoided the ice cream aisle. Ice cream always reminded him of Geoff, and he didn’t need to get depressed on his Saturday night off.

He and Reyes packed up the bed of the ranch’s pickup truck with their supplies, then puttered back through town. Garrett had a meager population of five thousand, give or take, and had been settled during the gold rush.

Mack hadn’t even known the town existed until about ten years ago, and now he couldn’t imagine leaving. He loved knowing more about his roots, and he loved this old, dilapidated town.

The truck ambled through the worn downtown, past town limits, to where Mack could safely press on the gas. Their police force was tiny, but they gave out tickets for anything they could in order to keep funding their own jobs. Their town barely kept afloat year after year, as the population continued to dwindle. Arthur had long lamented he couldn’t do more to drive tourists into Garrett itself.

“Stop it,” Reyes said.

“Stop what?” Mack retorted. “Driving? We don’t want the bacon to cook in the sun.”

“Jackass. It isn’t your job to save this town, and you know it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s a lot of my family history here, buried on this land.”

“Even so, worry about the ranch first. You still gotta talk to Arthur about the supply order snafu.”

Mack grunted. A small part of him hoped Judson had taken care of that chore, but he’d yet to get a text about it. Mack would probably end up confronting his grandfather himself, and that would suck. He wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Hell, Mack had been Los Angeles County SWAT for four years. No, he was more afraid of the emotional damage this might do. Reminding an old man he was just getting older.

He parked in front of the guesthouse. Reyes and Patrice helped him unload the truck and store the supplies in the kitchen’s industrial walk-in. When they finished, Reyes took the empty boxes over to the garbage shed—the place they hid their garbage and recycling containers so they didn’t kill the feel of the ranch, or attract unwanted pests. Behind the shed was also a compost pile for food scraps. The ranch made extra cash for the horse rescue by turning the compost into a nice fertilizer to sell to town residents. The smell stayed downwind of the guesthouse, so it had never been an issue. Not that it should be. It was a ranch. The place smelled like horses and dirt.

Mack would never forget the guest two summers ago who’d carried a bottle of air freshener with him everywhere the first day, until he tried spraying it around the horses. After that, Mack banned its use to the guesthouse.

He moved the pickup to its usual spot east of the main house, next to Judson’s personal vehicle, and the garage that housed four ATVs that the staff had free range to use.

“Mack!” Arthur’s voice dragged his attention to the front porch. He stood at the top step in his ever-present denim overalls, the purple undershirt making his white hair and beard stand out even more.

A widower from a young age, Arthur had served in the Army for a lot of years, before turning a struggling cattle ranch into a successful vacation spot and horse rescue. And while no one was getting rich working here, he took care of his staff. But he was also aging, and sooner or later, he’d have to retire from the business end of things and turn control over to his general manager and foreman, Judson Marvel.

“Yes, sir.” Mack strode over to the porch, shoulders straight.

“You got the sleeping arrangements done for tomorrow?”

“A while ago. I posted it so you could take a peek, but Reyes double-checked me. It’s good.”

“Excellent. Food delivery come okay?”

Mack stifled a sigh; Judson hadn’t talked to him. “It came, but we had a slight hiccup. You under-ordered again. Three staples.”

“Well, shit.” Arthur frowned. “You checked—”

“I checked your original order against the one Juno had on him. They matched. Reyes and I went into town a bit ago to get what extra Patrice needed. You’ll see the charge on the business card.”

“I’m sorry about that. Honest mistake.”

“On flour, bacon and eggs that you’ve been ordering for ten years?”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped. Mack loved his grandfather and hated seeing him upset, but this was about the business. Arthur’s business, and they both had to protect it.

“We fixed it, but this is the third incident in four months,” Mack said. “This coming week, just let me or Judson double-check you before you send the order over. We all need a second set of eyes sometimes. Just like I had Reyes double-check me today.”

“Makes good sense. Better for business.”

“And I think the store will appreciate it. I bought out all of their bacon.”