Page 80 of Ransom
"Supervising," I provided deadpan. "Go on, Ranger. Get to work."
He looked around at the piles of shit Galahad had left in his pen, at the flies buzzing and Galahad's tail swishing. "You're not serious."
"Deathly," I said. "You get Galahad's stall cleaned out, and Tilly's next door, and you'll get it done by lunch or else."
"Or else what?"
I grinned and picked up my shovel. "Or else you'll be sleeping in the guest room tonight instead of my bed."
Winston stood there a moment as if waiting for me to take it back. When he realized I wasn't going to, he turned and scooped up a big pile, muttering, "Motherfucker," under his breath.
My phone buzzed once more in my back pocket.
I didn't look.
My daddy used todump yesterday's taco meat into a bag of Fritos and call it Frito pie. Sierra's was a casserole with beans, green chile and cheese over the top, served with a sideboard of pico and sour cream and onions. The ranch hands lined up buffet style and loaded their plates. A few tried to wander outside, but Sierra herded them back to the table.
Fenix sat in the chair furthest from Joe. He wasn't eating. He was sneaking plain corn chips to Pearl under the table when he thought nobody was looking.
Joe ate with his head down, hunched over his food like he was afraid someone might steal it. He looked older than he was. Prison did that. The boys around him were younger than him by a few years and looked younger than that by a decade. Pae Saco had been the difference. The boys had landed here. Joe had landed inside.
The phone rang just as I got to the table to sit beside Ransom. Sierra glared at it like it'd tracked mud onto his clean floor.
"I'll get it," Rafe said, and started to stand.
"Rafe Fernando Lujan, if you touch that phone, you'd best find yourself a spot to sleep out with the horses," Sierra snapped.
The whole dining room went quiet except for the ringing phone. Rafe sank into his seat and went back to eating. The rest of us resumed our dinner like it'd never happened.
"So," Linc started, fork halfway to his mouth, "Doc Olivier flushed Aspen this afternoon. She's still throwing debris, but the culture came back light. He wants to flush her again Wednesday and breed her Thursday if she's clean."
"How much debris?" Rafe said.
"Tablespoon. Mostly old. He pulled a clot the size of my thumb out of the catch pan, said it'd been sitting up against the cervix."
"Color?"
"Brown. Nothing pink."
I wrinkled my nose, but kept eating. Being on a working horse ranch meant talking shop at the table, I guess.
"Good." Rafe nodded. "Tell him I want eyes on the cervix Wednesday before we commit to Thursday. If it's still angry, I'd rather skip and try her in the spring."
The phone started up again.
Sierra's jaw tightened. He set his fork down and pushed back from the table.
"Pinche teléfono."
He crossed to the kitchen with a hand towel still tucked into the front of his jeans and snatched the receiver off the wall mid-ring.
"Whoever this is, you better have a damn good reason for interrupting my dinner."
A pause. Sierra's posture changed.
"Yes, sir, he's here." His eyes landed on me. "Ranger. It's for you."
Shit. My phone had died the night before, and I hadn't bothered to charge it.
