Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(17)

“What time do we open?”


“Six bells.” Velma dumped two packages of frozen hashbrowns on the griddle.


“Most of the early customers are construction workers. They like a big breakfast in a hurry. So I always have a bunch of potatoes and meat done ahead of time.”


“Good plan.” Macie donned an apron, lifted the metal press flattening the bacon to check on its doneness while downing her coffee. “Mostly egg specials?”


“Yeah. Some with pancakes, most with toast. You have any problems making omelets?”


“Nope. But I didn’t check to see if there’s anything fancy on the menu like eggs benedict.”


Velma poured her another cup of coffee. “No. No huevos rancheros either, no matter how much Diaz begs me to add ’em.” She confided, “Don’t seem worth it since Diaz is the only Mexican around here. Though he threatens to bring his cousins up from Denver all the time.”


“If he asks me, I might just surprise him and whip up a plate.” She added more oil to the sizzling potatoes. “Most folks assume I’m Mexican anyway.”


“I didn’t want to be rude and ask, but are you?”


Macie smiled. “No. I’m half Lakota Sioux.”


“Oh. So the man with you last night? Is he your…”


“Dad. Cash Big Crow.”


“He don’t look old enough to have a daughter your age.”


She’d fielded this question often enough it was second nature to her. “He was sixteen when he knocked up my mom.”


“I know how that goes. I had my first kid when I was seventeen.” She shrugged. “It happens. What’s your dad doing around here?”


“He’s the new foreman for Gemma Jansen’s ranch.” Macie froze. Maybe that wasn’t supposed to be common knowledge.


“’Bout damn time Gemma hired somebody decent. She’s been tryin’ to do it all since Steve died. Be workin’ herself into an early grave.” Velma seemed ready to settle in for a long chat. “Do you know Gemma very well?”


“No. I just met her yesterday.”


“Seems strange she didn’t offer you a job on the Bar 9.”


“To tell you the truth, Velma, I’m not much interested in ranching. I’m just tagging along with Dad for the summer, but I couldn’t sit around and do nothing. I don’t want to be accused of being lazy.” Macie knew her father still struggled against that racial stereotype—of being nothing more than a lazy, freeloading, boozing injun. An attitude she’d run into a time or two herself.


Velma chuckled. “You ain’t been here for more than twenty-fours hours, and you’ve already got a job, so I think it’s safe to say you ain’t lazy.”


“Thanks.” Macie flipped the hashbrowns. “Just so you know, I’d much rather be back here than out front.”


“We’ll get along just fine, Miss Macie, ’cause I’ve had enough years of cookin’ over this hot griddle. I do believe there’s more grease in my veins than blood.”


Macie laughed. “Must be why you look so young, Miz Velma.”


Velma snapped a dishtowel at her on the way to unlock the front door. “Yes sirree.


You and I are gonna get along just fine, squirt.”


Chapter Eight


Gemma woke alone. She’d gotten used to it in the last three years, but she still experienced a pang of disappointment.


Thank God Cash was conked out when she’d come to bed. But in her restless state she couldn’t sleep. When she’d quietly crept out to stare out the window, the tears started.


Unwanted tears, both happy and sad, as she said goodbye to her past and hello to her future.


An odd thought occurred to her. Cash hadn’t overheard her crying, had he?


Pointless to worry about now. She rolled her lazy ass out of bed, realizing she’d overslept by a good hour. Did Cash think she acted the lady of the manor, lolling around between the sheets all day while he was out busting his ass?


Places were sore on her body that hadn’t been sore in awhile, so she popped a couple of aspirin. She dressed in her usual attire of jeans, boots and a lightweight, long-sleeved cotton shirt to protect her skin from the blistering sun.


Cash wasn’t in the kitchen. A single bowl and spoon rested in the dish rack beside the sink. No coffee was left warming; the pot was still sparkling clean. Well. Shoot. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Would’ve been nice to share a cup before heading out to feed the cattle.


She stepped out onto the covered porch, shielding her eyes against the bright rays.


Cash’s pickup wasn’t parked in front where he’d left it last night, and the ranch truck was in its usual spot. Then Gemma remembered Macie. After devoting last night to her, Cash was probably hanging out with his daughter.


Gemma didn’t want to interfere, but she had a perverse need to make sure Cash was all right. He seemed a more contentious sort than to take off without telling her where he was going.


Are you speaking as his lover? Or as his boss?