Читать книгу Who Wouldn't Love a Cowboy? - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 6

It actually took fifteen minutes, about a hundred head of cattle and two more cowboys before the road was clear. The cowboys bringing up the rear were a lot friendlier than the ranch owner had been. They both waved and came over to apologize for holding her up.

Too bad neither of them was as photogenic as their boss.

Anyway, Callie had already tucked away her camera, thankful that the Big Horn’s owner hadn’t insisted she erase the photos.

With the road finally empty, the Mustang made short work of the final few miles to the dude ranch, which was picturesque and welcoming. Someone other than the owner must have done the designing.

The main house—a Montana-style log home—sat on a rise to the right amid a grove of freshly budding aspen. The outbuildings were next, all white with green roofs. These included several barns, storage sheds and a series of loading chutes and fenced pastures. To the far left along the bank of a meandering creek were eight log cabins for the guests. Each one had a hand-painted mailbox out front with a number.

Callie had been booked into Cabin 7 and her directions were to head straight in, she’d find the key in the mailbox.

She eased her Mustang into the parking spot beside the cabin, cleverly disguised by a thick border of shrubbery, then popped open the trunk. She’d no sooner done this than, like magic, a man in his forties dressed in Western boots, jeans and a plaid shirt arrived to help her with her bags.

“Ms. Callie Anderson?”

“That’s me.”

“Welcome to Big Horn Ranch. I’m George, the assistant manager of the guest ranch. You’ll be seeing a lot of me while you’re here.” He grabbed her bags then nodded for her to precede him along the path to the cabin. “We’ve got a basket of fresh scones waiting, as well as the fixings for either French-pressed coffee or your choice of tea.”

“What a welcome!” She stopped at the mailbox for the key, then went ahead and unlocked the door. Inside she found a charming room with a vase of flowers on a small table, a cozy quilt-covered bed and a love seat with a blanket folded over one arm. Hooked rugs were strategically placed on the pine plank flooring and several beautiful quilt squares hung on the walls.

“We aim to give you an authentic Montana ranch experience while you’re here—but we want you to be comfortable, too,” George said with a wink. He set her bags on a bench at the foot of the bed.

“Can I get you anything else? Dinner will be served in an hour, then we can go over your orientation after that. We were expecting you earlier, I hope you had no trouble getting here.”

“I’m sorry. I was held up by a couple hundred head of cattle crossing the road.” She smiled as she said this, thinking she was making a joke, but George looked very serious.

“That’s unfortunate. You must have come in the back way.”

“Yes. The recommended way, according to my GPS, but it was made very clear to me that I mustn’t do that again.”

“So you met Jason?”

“If Jason is the owner of this place, then I guess I did. He didn’t bother with introductions.”

“I’m not surprised. His name is Jason Dowcett. His family has owned this land for four generations.”

“He’s not the friendliest guy, is he? I’m surprised he runs a dude ranch operation.”

George sighed. “He used to be different.”

“Really?” Sounded like a story. Callie’s journalist instincts went on high alert. “What happened?”

But George acted like he hadn’t heard the question and went to the table to check a linen covered basket. “Naomi just brought these scones out of the oven ten minutes ago. You should eat them while they’re warm.”

He smiled, waved and practically ran out the door.