The twelve-unit bunkhouse was quiet for now, but Tony knew it was the calm before a brief storm. In the next half hour or so most of the other cowboys would explode out of their rooms, all of them cleaned up and ready for a Saturday night out on the town.
They’d all head to the Watering Hole. The bar was the place to go for drinking, playing pool or dancing in the small town of Bitterroot, Oklahoma.
Tony only rarely joined the other men on their weekly foray of cutting loose after a long week of work on the ranch. He preferred to unwind by watching the sunset, having a beer and, until recently, talking to Dusty Crawford, who had lived in the bunk room next to Tony’s.
But two weeks ago, Dusty had moved from the Holiday ranch into a house in town with Trisha Cahill and her three-year-old son, Cooper. Dusty had chosen a life path that Tony had no interest in following. Tony had been alone for as long as he could remember and he was most comfortable that way.
He reached down and grabbed a beer from the small cooler at his feet. He twisted off the top, tossed the lid into the cooler, took a sip and leaned back in his chair.
In the distance, lights began to glow from the windows of the big house where Cassie Peterson lived. It was hard to believe that it had been almost five months since owner Cass Holiday had been killed in a spring tornado that had ripped through the area. Everyone had been surprised to learn that she’d left the ranch to her niece, Cassie. Cassie was New York City born and raised and since she’d taken over the ranch there had been many adjustments.
The sixty-eight-year-old Cass had been the only person Tony had completely trusted on the face of the earth. All of the cowboys on the ranch had been a bit lost since her death.
He shoved thoughts of Cass out of his head and instead focused his attention on the colorful sunset currently taking place in the western sky. As far as he was concerned, Bitterroot, Oklahoma, was a little piece of heaven on earth.
He turned his attention to the right as he heard a door open and then smelled the scent of minty soap and heavy spicy cologne.
“Hey, brother.” Sawyer Quincy greeted Tony with a grin. “Why don’t you splash on some good-smelling stuff and come with us into town. Maybe you can find yourself a sexy female to warm your cold, lonely bed.”
Tony grinned back at the tall, russet-haired cowboy. “You have enough smelly stuff on for the both of us. Besides, you never come home with a female. You’re usually carried back from town by the other men.”
Sawyer’s inability to hold his liquor was legendary. It took only a couple of beers for him to be half-comatose. “Don’t remind me,” he said ruefully. “It’s embarrassing that I can ride a wild bronco and wrestle a steer to the ground in record time, but I can’t drink more than three or four beers without getting totally plastered.”
“Have you ever considered not drinking beer at all?”
Sawyer looked at him in mock horror. “What kind of a cowboy doesn’t drink beer?”
Before Tony could reply, several other ranch hands made an appearance from around the corner of the building. Adam Benson, the ranch foreman, was followed by Mac McBride, Brody Booth and Clay Madison.
“You keeping the home fires burning again tonight, Tony?” Adam asked.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to nothing more exciting than a good night’s sleep,” he replied.
“I’ll kiss a beautiful lady for you,” Clay said with his usual bravado. “Heck, maybe I’ll kiss two.”
Tony laughed. “Clay, if you actually did as much as you talked, you’d be a real legend. As it is, you’re only a legend in your own mind,” Tony teased.
The others hooted with laughter. There was a bit more ribbing of each other and then they all headed to the outbuilding, where the vehicles were parked. Minutes later headlights wove through the semidarkness in the direction toward town.
Tony finished his beer and grabbed a second one. Tomorrow was Sunday and in the rotation of the ranch work, it was a day he was off duty.
He had no real plans for the next day. He might go into town and see about getting a new pair of boots, or he might not. He tried to live in the moment, never looking to the future or dwelling on the past.
By the time he finished his second beer the dark of night had settled in. He grabbed his cooler and folding chair and carried them into his room.
All of the living quarters for the cowboys who worked the Holiday ranch were the same. A twin bed was on one side of the room and a chest of drawers was on the other. There was also a small closet and a bathroom with a shower.
Most of the men who lived here had added personal touches to make the rooms their own over the years. But other than the brown cowboy hat and gun and holster on top of the dresser, and the clothes in the closet, Tony’s room was exactly the same as it had been when he’d been a fifteen-year-old runaway and Cass Holiday had taken a chance on him.
If she hadn’t hired him on here, there was no question in his mind that he would have more than likely died on the streets of Oklahoma City. He probably would have been beaten to death—not for who he was or any action he’d taken, but rather for what he was.
He pulled out the strip of rawhide that he used to tie back his black hair during the day and then stripped down to his boxers and got into bed.
The only time any ghosts from the past ever threatened him was in the quiet minutes just before he fell asleep, in the darkened privacy of his room.
Half-breed. Your mother didn’t want you and your father was a drunk who was gone long before you were born. You don’t belong anywhere. You have no place in this world. You’re just lucky we took you in.
He consciously shoved the hurtful words away. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, wondering why his foster parents treated him so differently from their own children.
He fell asleep with the ghosts from his youth silenced. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when rapid knocking sounded at his door.
A glance at the clock let him know it was almost one. He muttered a small curse and got out of bed, fully expecting one of his fellow cowboys who wanted to share the drunken escapades of the evening with him.
He pulled open the door and stared in stunned surprise at the blond-haired, blue-eyed woman who stood before him. “Amy...what are you doing here?”
It had been a little over a year ago since Tony had last seen Amy Kincaid. He’d been just a bit crazy over her, until he realized she was more than just a little bit crazy herself. She was achingly thin and sported a yellowing bruise on the side of her face.
“Tony, I’m in trouble.” She cast a glance over her skinny shoulder and then looked at him again, her eyes huge and simmering with what appeared to be barely suppressed terror.
She’d pulled her car up just outside the bunkhouse, had driven across the lawn from where the driveway ended in the distance. The engine was still running.
“Amy, what’s going on? Come inside and talk to me,” he replied.
She shook her head. “I’ve got to go, but I need you to step up.”
Tony frowned. “Step up?”
She turned and ran to her car and opened the back door. She pulled out a medium-sized suitcase and then a car seat with a sleeping baby inside.
When she returned to his door, Tony stared at her in bewilderment. “Would you tell me what’s going on?”
“This is your son. His name is Joey.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t take care of him right now.” Once again she shot a frantic look over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go. Tony.” She grabbed his forearm, her fingers feverish and her sharp nails biting into his skin. “Please...protect him from evil.” She