Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Well, if it makes you feel better, they were able to get the little calf to come out. Mother and baby unharmed,” he says, clapping my upper arm.
I let out a sigh, letting my shoulders drop with relief. That’s great, considering the stress the cow had been under all afternoon. “Good. That’s really damn good.” After everything today, I could use something positive.
I head outside the barn to check out the sun setting over the mountains. Despite my anger and fatigue, the sight has a way of lightening my mood.
“Mr. Reynolds, everything should be back to normal in a couple of days. You know the drill. If she has any issues, please don’t hesitate to call,” Angela, our vet says, shaking my hand. She’s a petite blonde, but she handles these animals like she’s my size.
“Great. Thank you for coming out here at the last minute.”
“It’s what I live for. Now, excuse me. I have a date tonight.” She smiles and hops into her truck. John and I look back and forth at each other. It’s not like her to date. She’s all work and no play. “I’ll email you my bill tomorrow.”
I nod and wave goodbye. She’s amazing with these animals.
“I’m without another hand and a cook,” I grumble as John stands next to me, watching the sunset.
“At least winter’s on its way,” he remarks. Nodding, I can agree with that. Winter means fewer hours of work to do.
“Yeah. It’s getting darker earlier.” I sigh, running my hand through my hair. I really do need to get it cut. I’ll head in tomorrow morning to get that done since I’ll be putting up some flyers in search of a new cook and getting my own breakfast. Although given my reputation, it’s going to be hard to find a sucker willing to put up with my shit.
“So who’s willing to go in there and pack up her shit for me? I need to strip my bed,” I say as we make our way toward the house and his truck, which is parked by the path that leads to my driveway.
“That’s some shit. I wonder if they just thought it would be dangerous fun or to be assholes,” he says, pulling out his cell phone. He’s probably going to call his wife to let her know he’s on his way home.
“Either way, I’m fucking pissed off. Now I’ve got a lot of shit to do. Seems like I’ll be sleeping on the sofa.”
“Do you want me to call in one of those companies that have a group of maids to clean quickly?”
“Yeah. I guess I’ll be eating with you guys for the time being since finding a cook is a lot harder.” After spending years on the road in locker rooms, at diners, I’d had enough of the whole communal life. I like my solitude. “Well, I’m off to make a sandwich. Send someone over when you can to get her shit cleared.”
“Will do. My wife always has food cooking. I’ll have her share if you want to come over. It’s spaghetti night.”
“I’d love to have Louisa’s cooking, but I’m afraid that if I’m not here when she gets back, shit’s going to hit the fan. Damn, I’m going to need a new lock as well,” I say as the thought crosses my mind.
“No problem. We’re only five minutes away if you change your mind. I’ll see what I can do about the maids in the morning.”
“Thanks, John. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably die a miserable old man. Scratch that—you’re already halfway to the old and way past miserable. I think you need to find you a good girl to marry and settle down with.”
“Maybe one day, but I ain’t got time for it. Unless she lands in my lap, that isn’t going to happen.”
The second I’m through my doors, I walk into the blanket cupboard under the stairs and grab sheets and a blanket to put on the sofa. I could sleep in one of the other bedrooms, but most of the beds aren’t made. I only keep my room and the housekeeper’s rooms prepared. Two bedrooms are empty and the other two are used for my sister and her kids when they visit. I don’t have the energy to make the beds, so the sofa will have to do just fine.
An hour later, there’s a pounding on my door. I open the curtains to see a police officer at my door with that crazy bitch behind him.
“What the hell?” I grumble, then open the door. “Can I help you, Officer Willard?” I ask, reading his name off his badge. I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know the guy personally. He moved into town while I was playing professional football.
“Mr. Reynolds, does this lady live here?”
“Nope, she’s an ex-employee who was fired today.”