The Renegade Cowboy Returns. Tina Leonard
known you two days, and Jonas has got us chasing peacocks.” Gage shook his head as he steered the truck onto the highway bound for Colorado. “Peacocks.”
Beside him, Chelsea looked out the window. “I’m surprised Cat wanted to stay with Mum.”
“What teenage girl wouldn’t rather go on a wild peacock chase?” Gage was somewhat annoyed with his boss, but to be honest, there were some perks to being on the road.
Namely, his shotgun rider wasn’t too hard on the eyes.
“The upside is that we won’t be gone long. It’s a long day at the most.” He was trying to comfort Chelsea, probably not doing too good of a job. Her deadline was heavy on her mind. He understood deadlines. The fact that Jonas didn’t seem as pressed about getting started on the plans for the ranch as Gage was put him on edge. He’d allotted six months for this job, hoping to wrap it up in four, depending on how fast he could secure building permits. This was no long-term job for him—Jonas knew that.
“What if this Ms. Ellen Smithers doesn’t want to sell us peacocks?”
“Not our problem. We’ll give it our best shot.” Gage shrugged. “Personally, I couldn’t care less about Jonas’s damn birds.” Thinking about birds made him think about his daughter preferring to hang back with Moira and Curly and Mo. He hoped Cat didn’t call her mother and mention that he’d left her behind with a woman she’d just met. Leslie would probably have a fit.
“Still, Jonas seems to have his heart set on them. I can’t believe Ms. Smithers is so ornery with him about peacocks. A paying customer is a paying customer.” Chelsea sighed. “Sometimes I feel like we all just jump around to Jonas’s tune.”
“Sure. He’s our boss. We signed on to his madcap adventures.” Gage frowned. “Normally I wouldn’t mind. If he’d sent me looking for horses, which is under my job description, I’d be fine. But the surprise element is what moves the Callahans.”
“Yes.”
In his peripheral vision he could see Chelsea’s hands fidgeting. She still wasn’t all that comfortable around him. He didn’t guess she had any reason to be. They barely knew each other.
“Listen, we’ll make this quick,” Gage said. “We’ll get you back to your computer, and me back to my kid, and we’ll all have some more of your mom’s delicious cake.”
Chelsea nodded. “That sounds good.”
Gage hoped he was right.
* * *
MS. SMITHERS WAS A TALL, large-boned woman who looked more like a woman who could tame lions than a peacock breeder. Chelsea could see why Jonas was a bit intimidated by her, not that he would ever say he was. For one thing, Ms. Smithers was almost Jonas’s height—and Gage’s. Both were tall men. Not only was Ms. Ellen Smithers tall, she was heavyset. She looked like a stern, no-nonsense person, and Chelsea found herself shrinking back slightly when the woman glared at her.
“You’re here about my peafowl?” Ellen asked.
“Yes. We are,” Chelsea said, noting that Gage seemed happy for her to lead. “We’re interested in purchasing a pair.”
She received a frown in return. “I mostly sell to zoos and other breeders. Not interested in selling to individuals usually.”
Chelsea offered her a smile. “We’re hoping you might make an exception.”
“The problem is,” Ms. Smithers said, “I don’t know if the birds get taken care of by people who don’t understand them. They’re beautiful animals. They have special needs. What do you know about peacocks?”
Chelsea gulped. Gage shrugged. “That they’re good watchdogs.”
“True.” Ellen nodded. “What else?”
“That we pay cash for them.” Gage pulled out his wallet. “And that peafowl can be noisy during breeding season. I’ll be building an appropriate pen with sprinklers and lots of shade.”
“Hot where you are, is it?” Ms. Smithers stared at him warily, one eye on his wallet. “Peafowl need lots of space, too. You got lots of space?”
“I’m from Hell’s Colony,” Gage said easily. Chelsea noticed he sidestepped saying that the birds would possibly be living on the despised ranch Jonas had purchased.
“And you?” the curious Ms. Smithers asked Chelsea. “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.”
“I’m from Dublin.” Chelsea could tell by the look on her face that she wanted more information. “I’m in the States with my mum. She has some breathing issues, and the warmer, drier climate here is helpful.” Chelsea hoped that was enough to satisfy Ms. Smithers.
“Well, now.” Ellen nodded. “Come inside and have a bite while I ponder whether I have a pair of peafowl I want to sell.”
“We don’t—” Gage began, and Chelsea shot him a look.
“We’d appreciate that,” she said quickly, and he gave her a slight squeeze on the arm that she took to be appreciation as he followed the ladies inside. “Play along,” she whispered as Ellen led them into a small, bright kitchen that looked hardly big enough to contain her bulk. “Be nice.”
“I’m always Mr. Nice.”
Chelsea ignored that and sat at the table. Gage took the seat across from her.
“Looks like a storm is blowing in,” Ellen said. “These early summer storms are strong this year. We’ve had a couple of tornadoes.”
Chelsea took the glass of water she was offered. Gage did, too, watching her for cues. “I’ve never seen a tornado,” she said.
“Just hope you never do.” The breeder peered out one of the windows, worrying. “Yep, here comes the rain.”
Slashes of droplets suddenly hit the glass panes, loud in the small kitchen.
“Guess I should have had you move your truck into the barn,” Ellen told Gage. “That’s hail.”
Chelsea looked at him sympathetically. “It was too shiny-new, anyway.”
He didn’t look amused. “So, about the peacocks—”
“I don’t have any right now,” Ellen said. “I’ve got some old ones you wouldn’t want, and I’ve got some that are nesting, but—”
Chelsea thought Gage’s head was going to pop off his shoulders.
“You didn’t say you didn’t have any available when I called you,” he said.
“We’re so eager to see some,” Chelsea interjected, shooting a warning glance at him.
“You can see them. Of course, not now with this storm. The nesters are cozy in their pens right now. I don’t let my peafowl roam during nesting, you know.”
Chelsea had wondered why there were no peacocks roaming about when they’d driven into the red-fenced farm, heralded by a sign that read Smithers’ Peacock Farm and Honeymoon Cabin.
The lights went out suddenly, plunging the kitchen into darkness.
“Well, that’s that,” Ellen said cheerfully.
“What’s what?” Gage demanded.
“That’s the end of the juice.” She sounded so happy about the electricity going out. “Could be hours before it comes back on.”
“All right.” Gage rose, his patience at an end. He handed her a business card. “Why don’t you call me when you have a pair of peacocks you’d like us to look at buying.”
“I will.” She nodded. “You folks be careful pulling onto the main road. This rain’ll be making mud of the end of the drive. Can be tricky.”