Roman's Choice (Saddles & Second Chances Book 1) (6 page)

“I second that,” Urban said as he rounded the barn and joined them in the enclosure.

Presley widened her almond shaped eyes. “Well, it’s good to see that you’re finally seeing things reasonably, Urban.” She and Urban glared at each other like two dogs ready to fight. They didn’t get along. Something about him cutting off her braid back in school. Roman couldn’t remember the story and didn’t care to.

“Where’s Weston?” Penn asked.

“He had a family emergency,” Roman said.

“Babysitter fall asleep again?”

“Yup.”

“We do this the same way as always, y’all,” Presley called out, pulling on her gloves. “Remember, it’s important for us to minimize the amount of stress on our youngins’. Nurturing and care will give them optimum chance for a good immune response. It’s really hot today too, boys. That never helps. At least we have lots of shade over here for now.”

“What happened to the days of shoot ‘em, brand ‘em, and send them on their way?” Urban asked, mostly joking by his shit-eating grin.

Presley looked like she could shoot darts out of her dark eyes. “I’ve explained this process numerous times.” Her soft Texas twang took away some of her firmness.

Roman shook his head. “Don’t let him get to you, Presley. We know the drill. It works and it’s efficient.”

Her smile made her eyes soften. “Then let’s see how you cowboys work.”

They’d all worked together for years, even when they were tousled headed little boys, and girl, learning the ropes at their father’s hip. Although Presley had kept some of the ideas from her own father who’d been a reputable vet for many years, she’d also integrated a newer vision she had for a more humane process of handling livestock. Since they’d implemented her process, they’d had less injury and stress on the calves.

As they all settled into their spots, Roman’s mind wandered to a petite brunette who didn’t seem to want to leave his brain, or his gut. She’d planted herself in every part of him. He wasn’t quite sure what the hell had come over him, but he’d lost himself when it came to Pippa Wilder. He hated to admit it, but while he’d waited in the terminal at the airport, he’d Googled her and scrolled through article after article she’d written. He also skimmed through the reviews. There were a handful of haters who slammed her, made her views on marriage and relationship seem too modern. One person had even accused her of being a cold-hearted wench because she was in her thirties, unmarried and childless. Although he doubted Pippa cared what everyone said, something protective inside of him reared its head and he wanted to shelter her. He knew first hand that she was far from being cold or a wench. She was one of the warmest people he’d ever met.

He’d even went as far as checking her public Facebook page. That’s when he realized how successful his ‘wife’ was in the terms of helping others. Although he wasn’t sure how it was possible, he felt a sense of pride for her.

Maybe he’d been too quick in calling quits to a marriage that he hadn’t even given a shot. The thought drew his attention to Presley who was hunched down looking over a calf, inspecting it before she gave the shot. A handful of her hair had come loose from the braid and was flowing across her face. He liked the color and thought she was a very pretty woman. She’d made it clear not too long ago that she had a crush on him, but that’s where it ended. Hugh and Presley had dated when they were teens, and although Roman had no clue what happened between them, he didn’t think Hugh had ever gotten over the break-up. Not only would Roman never do that to his brother, but he wasn’t interested.

However, he needed to lose interest in Pippa. Fast.

She was a one-night stand, a short romance. Soon their impulsive unity would end and they’d never see each other again. He didn’t need a woman commanding his thoughts.

Now it was his turn to round up a calf to be treated. He was ready to have his thoughts sidetracked to something more useful.  Sliding into the saddle, hooking his rope over his shoulder, he rode toward the group of cows and scanned for the babies who wouldn’t be happy about leaving their moms.

As easily as if he were born with a rope in his hand and a saddle between his legs, he lassoed his mark and gently reeled in his catch, careful not to stress out the baby. Presley and Hugh were there immediately, releasing the rope and inspecting the calf before doing their part.

Then on to the next, and three more, before Roman and Urban traded spots.

His brother wasn’t as smooth with the rope, but when it came to riding, he looked like a pro in the saddle. That’s what made him great at riding bulls.

“Hey, trying to party without me?”

Roman looked around to find Weston coming his direction, his rope slung over his shoulder and a grin on his face.

“Hey, I thought you were with Brie?”

Weston shrugged. “She ate her ice cream and now she’s happy, with a fully alert sitter who apparently just needed a dose of sugar too.”

“Ahh, so you’re one of those people, huh?”

“And who are
those
people?”

“Ply a woman with ice cream and leave her. No wonder you don’t have a relationship to speak of.”

“
Pfft.
Who has time for a relationship? Not me.” He climbed into his saddle and took off to the center of the group of cattle. With Weston on the scene, they’d be done faster.

When the last calf was vaccinated and branded, Roman smacked his gloves together and dirt clouded above him. He guessed he had a layer of dust on his body and clothes too.

Later that evening as he watched the lengthening shadows slant across the front yard like fingers brushing the grass, Roman sat in the rocker on his porch and took a sip from the cold bottle of beer. After finishing with the calves, he’d come home and taken care of his own animals. Then he’d finally gotten a shower and opened a cold one. It’d been a long day, but he was recuperating fast.

He patted his scraggly old dog who laid sprawled out beside him. “Bojangles. You enjoying the evening?”

The dog made a whimpering sound, but didn’t stand. The boy was getting old and his bones were sore. Presley had stopped by to see him before she left the ranch and said that he seemed better, lazier, but better, after the shot she’d given him for arthritis. If it’d been her father who examined Bojangles, he would have suggested putting the old dog out of his misery instead of bothering with injections to treat him. Roman wasn’t quite ready to pull the curtain on his dog. For the last twelve years the scraggly friend had been a loyal companion.

Staring out over his land, he always had a strong sense of pride. His father had divided fifty acres of the property evenly among his sons to do with how they pleased, keeping the rest intact as the main property for business. Each brother had built a home on their land, except Weston who stayed in the family home where they’d grown up. Van died and had willed the house to Weston.

Here on his ten acres, Roman had built two barns. He had his own horses and livestock that he was responsible for. Good thing he wasn’t allergic to hard work or he’d be in trouble.

His two story house wasn’t a mansion, but it suited him just fine. Two bedrooms, a TV, a nice porch, and a roof was really all a man needed. But what about a woman’s needs?

His mind traveled straight to Pippa. He shouldn’t care what she’d think of his place. It wasn’t as if she cared, or would ever see it.

He took another swig and thought over what tomorrow would bring. He’d finally finish the fence, make Weston happy, and then he’d be in the office going over the books for the ranch and security finances. None of his brothers enjoyed crunching numbers. It wasn’t as if Roman relished the work, but somehow he found he liked seeing the reward of hard work.

Shifting in the wooden chair, the slats creaked. He propped his booted foot on the rail that served as a footstool when he was tired. He listened and heard nothing but silence. He liked it, especially after today.

Tomorrow they had two new ranchers starting and they’d have to be shown the ropes. Weston had taken on the project, thankfully. One of the boys, Trevor, a nineteen-year-old boy who was the son of a neighbor and friend would be a great addition. He was smart and working his way through college. His parents didn’t have much money, but they were kind and had always been close friends so Roman was glad to help where he could.

The Jerichos had always been generous to the community. They gave financially and in service where needed. All of them volunteered at the fire department. During the holidays they helped at the local homeless shelter, and they supported a Christmas fund that meant children would have gifts under the tree. Roman had played Santa on more than one occasion.

Their father had taught them to be compassionate and kind. Two important values that all of the Jericho boys inherited.

Dust appeared down the lane coming his way. Bojangles gave the obligatory growl under his breath, but didn’t bother lifting his head. “Now don’t you worry, Bo. Don’t let anything or anyone disturb your peace, buddy.” Roman shook his head and placed his bottle on the small glass table next to the rocker. Once the dust cloud got closer he realized it was Trevor’s dad, Ted, driving his old beat up blue truck.

A minute later, Ted pulled up, shut off the engine and slid from the driver’s side. He’d served a deployment in the Gulf War while in the Marines and was caught by a dirty bomb, blowing off his leg from the knee down and leaving him near death. Doctors were able to save his life as well as the remaining portion of his injured leg. He’d gotten a prosthetic leg and walked with a limp, but no one noticed because he always wore a bright smile.

Roman noticed the pie in his friend’s hand and chuckled. “Is that for me?”

“Betty made her famous peach pie and made one extra for you. She knows how you love them.”

Ted’s family, as well as the Jerichos, had been in Colton for generations.

Ted limped toward the porch, balancing the pie plate. The man didn’t look a day over forty, although he was closing in on fifty. He sported a scraggly silver beard, which was his signature look, and his ever present smile was in place, although he seemed to be leaning more on his good leg.

Roman stood and met Ted at the steps, not wanting him to have to maneuver them. He handed over the pie and Roman took it with a smile, brought it to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent of sugar-crusted summer peaches. He knew what he’d be eating later. A big slice with a dollop of vanilla ice cream that he’d bought from the dairy bar. His mouth salivated in anticipation. “You tell Betty that I do believe she outdid herself this time.”

“Ahh, you’ll tickle her pink.” Ted laughed and hooked his thumbs in the straps of his raggedy jean overalls. He had several patches sewn in to save them a little longer, thanks to Betty’s handiwork.

“You want to come on up and join me for a cold one?” Roman offered.

“Sounds like you read my mind.”

While Ted maneuvered the steps, Roman went inside, deposited the pie on the counter and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. By the time he made it back out, Ted was settling into one of the rockers. Roman handed over one of the bottles and Ted accepted the offering with a smack of his lips.

“I heard you got your calves vaccinated today, Ro.”

Roman sat down, popped the lid and took a sip. “Sure did. You’re not working tonight?”

“I’m on call.” Ted owned a wrecker company where he and his oldest son rotated shifts.

“Want a slice of that pie?” Roman asked.

“Nope. I couldn’t eat another bite.” Ted palmed his ample stomach. “You know my Betty believes the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“I’m jealous.” Roman was only partially teasing. He’d been to dinner at Ted and Betty’s house enough to know that she believed that butter made everything better. It was true.

“It’s about time you thought of settling down, my friend.”

Roman laughed and bit his tongue.
If only you knew, buddy.
“Yeah, I keep hearing that, but you know the Jericho brothers. We’re destined to be alone, or so it seems.”

Ted waved a hand through the air as if blowing off Roman’s words. “That’s hogwash. You fellows just need to accept the fact that second chances do happen,” he mumbled around the lid of his beer, then took a healthy swig. “You know Betty has been itching to fix you up with her cousin from San Antonio.”

“Now you told me yourself that Betty’s cousin never stops talking and has a taste for money.” Roman reminded him.

Ted chuckled and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Hey, it’s not me who is trying to play matchmaker.”

“Oh?”

“I ain’t no cupid. Anyway, when it happens, it happens. Can’t rush love. You been to Moat’s Barbecue lately?”

Moat’s was the steak and taters capital of Colton—the only steak restaurant within a nice driving distance too. They had the best barbecue in Texas and had won plenty of awards to prove it to those who doubted. “Nope.”

“I hear they’re adding frog legs to the menu.”

“Frog legs? Now what’s Charlie thinking?”

Ted shrugged a beefy shoulder. “Beats me. I might have to give them a gander though.”

“You go right ahead.” Roman laughed.