Taken By The Bull

Chapter 2

It was twenty minutes past noon by the time the van finally wound its way up the dusty road that led to the Double Thunders ranch; the plan had been to arrive by ten. That fell to the wayside when they were delayed one hour for an unsatisfying breakfast, and another because Mikey hadn’t the slightest clue where the hell to go since his GPS didn’t seem to know that the place existed.

“And I was worried we were going to be too early.” Staci drew in a dramatic and world-weary sigh as she pushed open the passenger-side door and swiveled her body ninety degrees, letting her legs dangle out over the side of the seat. The welcome breeze was cool against the bare skin of her ankles between the cuffs of her jeans and her sensible sneakers. “But no, you had to take us halfway across the State.”

“And I was thinking I’d be back in Jackson with plenty of time to wind down before this evening, but no. You had to take us the whole way into the country.” Mikey still wasn’t exactly happy about how he was spending his day so far. “So I guess we’re even.”

His apparent ill-mood didn’t faze the young reporter in the slightest. She knew that he didn’t really mean it; the guy wasn’t ever mad about anything for more than a few minutes at a time. “Just think about the neat story you’ll have to tell when you get back, though!” She turned her head, and shot a sunny smile over her shoulder towards him. “Getting to see a real working ranch. All the… Cows. And horses. And grass! There’s so much grass!”

“Not the kind I prefer.”

“Hmm.” Her nose wrinkled. “That stuff will kill you, you know.”

“Jeez mom, get off my back, will ya?” The hinges of the driver’s side door squealed as Mikey opened it, his feet hitting the ground with an audible thud as he vacated the vehicle. “So, Stace, you got a plan for today?”

“Not – entirely,” she admitted, sighing lightly as she followed him out into the bright sunlight, shading her eyes from the glare with the flat of her hand. “I guess… We’re just here to get a look into the guy’s life. The usual.”

She hadn’t mentioned anything to Mikey about the angle she was going for on this, not yet. Given some time, she undoubtedly would; but he was a trusting kind of guy, who tended to always see the best in people. That’s why he only operates the cameras, and doesn’t ask the questions, she thought, her expression unchanging as she reached back into the cab of the van and grabbed her bag from the footwell.

“The all-American hero. Man of action. A guy with many hats!” Mikey crossed over to the front of the van, only a few feet from where she stood, turned and squinted at the bumper. “’The usual’. The ladies at home will love that.”

“Call it, a ‘romantic ideal’.” This morning she had pulled her hair back into a French braid, but already some strands had worked their way loose and hung in front of her ears, tickling her skin. No matter how many times she tucked them back, they’d make their way loose again. “Get the camera, we’ll go and see if we can find Steve or Seth.”

“You think that rolling up and pointing a camera in his face right from the get-go is the way to do things?” He glanced up from his inspection of the paintwork. “Really? After we were invited here like real people?”

“I guess, you got a point.” Turning her head, she scanned the area, eyes settling on the big wooden house at the end of the short road that led into the ranch proper. “We have to pretend to be ‘real’ people. How’s about, you get some establishing shots of the place, drink in a little of the ambiance? I’ll go and look for signs of life. I’ll shoot you a text once I find someone lurking about.”

“Sure.” With a shrug he turned on his heel, and headed around to the sliding door at the side of the van. “You’re the boss.”

“Sure I am!” I still like it when he says that.

“Boss until three PM, when I’m heading back into Jackson,” he countered swiftly. “Because then you’re on your own.”

*****

There was no one at the door of the big house when she knocked. Her only answer came from the soft ringing of a wind-chime stirred by the breeze, and the distant, calming lowing of cattle.

The porch was shaded, cool and airy; a line of potted flowers stood at one end, bright red and violet. The other end held a porch swing made of dark, natural wood, looking out over the wide expanse of grassland that stretched out under a bright blue sky to the far horizon. The urge to sit in the thing for a moment or two and take refuge from the hot sun was pretty overwhelming – and she might have done it too, if she wasn’t pretty sure that Mikey would catch her in shot, lounging about as if she owned the place.

Leaning over, she curled her hands against the door and peered in through the smoky glass. She partly expected to see a scene from an old Western; a small kitchen with a rough wooden table, hooks and brasses hanging from beams, and a grandma with a blanket over her knees sitting in a rocker in front of an old stove. But, no; there was only a modern-looking and spaciously clean lobby with wooden floors and white-painted walls, a small table opposite the door with mail neatly arranged on top in a little wicker-work basket.

My mom would love this place. She always wanted to move to the country;if I made a million dollars tomorrow, then I’d make it happen for her. Might take more than a million, though.

“Having a good old look-see?”

The voice behind her startled her so badly that a small, high-pitched sound like a mouse’s cry escaped her lips as she whipped around. Steve Law stood at ground-level, watching her. The edges of the sun’s rays caught him in profile where he leaned with an elbow up on the wooden rails. He was grinning, amused at how he’d caught her unawares; for such a big man, he moved as quietly as a cat.

Her hands flew up to press against her mouth, as if she could push the sound back where it came from. “Aw, hell! I’m sorry!”

“No need for apologies.” He was still grinning; cheerful and confident on his home soil. “For all you know, I could’ve been stood in the hallway, saying to myself ‘Aw, no. It’s that lady with all the questions and the stupid hat.’”

“You gave me that hat!” She brushed her hands off on the heavy denim of her brand-new jeans, trying on some subconscious level to order herself back into an acceptable state of professionalism.