Peltzer had been on the orchard for a year, the newest of her men, and the laziest. She hated laziness. “I’ll deal with it. Go shower. I’ll meet you inside for dinner.”
Eduardo glanced at Hank and then back to her. “You sure?”
Her dad placed a concrete hand on the shoulder of the man by his side. “My daughter can handle it, can’t you?”
Trisha nodded and smiled, pleased her father appeared undisturbed from the night before. “Go on. I’ll talk to him.”
After locking the shed, she headed toward one of the ranch homes behind hers. Disciplining the men was not her favorite task, but with running a spread comes responsibility. She could lay down the law as easily as she could smile. Business was business.
Pushing the nerves to the back of her mind, she slipped inside the back door. “Woman in the house, be decent!” she yelled.
Andrew McArthur met her in the hallway. Dark red hair mussed from his shower and a towel draping his wiry frame, he grinned. “Hope this is decent enough, ma’am.”
She liked Andrew. He worked hard, got along well with the men, and had been stable at her orchard for three years now. She smiled. “It is. Get dressed and eat.”
He leaned in a little closer. “You looking for Mike?”
She nodded, and he peeked over his shoulder before whispering again. “He’s been acting a little funny, ma’am.”
She ignored the “ma’am” comment. No matter how many times she told him to stop he kept doing it. She looked square in his hazel eyes. “How so?”
“He’s been moody, stays in his room a lot.” He looked over his shoulder again as if to find him there. “He started a fight with Chuck last week. Nothing major, but started it just the same.” He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. “Forgive me, ma’am, but if we can’t get along, we can’t work.”
Trisha patted his arm. “You’re right. I’ll talk with him and meet you at the main house.” Glancing around, she asked, “Are you the last one here?”
He nodded, then slipped into his room down the long hallway.
Trisha knocked smartly on the last door to the right. “Mike, I need a word with you.” Taking his grunt for an invitation she opened the door and shut it behind her.
The hardwood floor was littered with clothes, and the trash can overflowed with rotting food. The pungent smell stung and she pinched her eyes to the stench. Mike was sitting on the bed with his feet crossed watching an old rerun of The A-Team. The thirty-six-year-old man looked much older in the drawn light and not at all friendly.
Marching to the small window, she threw open the drapes and lifted the pane to let fresh air in. Whirling to him again, she eyed the situation. “You don’t look sick to me, Mike.”
Not acknowledging her, he continued to stare at the television. She paced over to it and slammed her hand on the power button, shutting it off. She kept her voice even. “You show a lot of disrespect for me and the other men here.”
His eyes flashed heat. When he sat upright, his sandy hair was greasy and unclean. He rose and took two full steps toward her, his size towering hers. “How dare you come into my room and bark insults.”
She stood her ground. “I’ll remind you that you’re in my house. This filth you’ve made here demonstrates how careless you are and illustrates your disrespect. You hardly show up to work, and when you do, it’s half-assed. You’re not getting along with my men, the men you have to live with and work side-by-side with daily.”
He took two steps closer and she caught the stench of whiskey. She curled her lip. “And you’re drunk, not sick. You have until tomorrow morning at seven a.m. to get your things and leave. I’ll have Eduardo draw your pay up to today and have it…”
His fist smacked solidly into her cheek with a pop.
All she saw after that was black.
****
“I want his head on a platter!”
Nick watched Brad prowl the bedroom. He’d been doing it since Nick
Eduardo glanced at Hank and then back to her. “You sure?”
Her dad placed a concrete hand on the shoulder of the man by his side. “My daughter can handle it, can’t you?”
Trisha nodded and smiled, pleased her father appeared undisturbed from the night before. “Go on. I’ll talk to him.”
After locking the shed, she headed toward one of the ranch homes behind hers. Disciplining the men was not her favorite task, but with running a spread comes responsibility. She could lay down the law as easily as she could smile. Business was business.
Pushing the nerves to the back of her mind, she slipped inside the back door. “Woman in the house, be decent!” she yelled.
Andrew McArthur met her in the hallway. Dark red hair mussed from his shower and a towel draping his wiry frame, he grinned. “Hope this is decent enough, ma’am.”
She liked Andrew. He worked hard, got along well with the men, and had been stable at her orchard for three years now. She smiled. “It is. Get dressed and eat.”
He leaned in a little closer. “You looking for Mike?”
She nodded, and he peeked over his shoulder before whispering again. “He’s been acting a little funny, ma’am.”
She ignored the “ma’am” comment. No matter how many times she told him to stop he kept doing it. She looked square in his hazel eyes. “How so?”
“He’s been moody, stays in his room a lot.” He looked over his shoulder again as if to find him there. “He started a fight with Chuck last week. Nothing major, but started it just the same.” He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. “Forgive me, ma’am, but if we can’t get along, we can’t work.”
Trisha patted his arm. “You’re right. I’ll talk with him and meet you at the main house.” Glancing around, she asked, “Are you the last one here?”
He nodded, then slipped into his room down the long hallway.
Trisha knocked smartly on the last door to the right. “Mike, I need a word with you.” Taking his grunt for an invitation she opened the door and shut it behind her.
The hardwood floor was littered with clothes, and the trash can overflowed with rotting food. The pungent smell stung and she pinched her eyes to the stench. Mike was sitting on the bed with his feet crossed watching an old rerun of The A-Team. The thirty-six-year-old man looked much older in the drawn light and not at all friendly.
Marching to the small window, she threw open the drapes and lifted the pane to let fresh air in. Whirling to him again, she eyed the situation. “You don’t look sick to me, Mike.”
Not acknowledging her, he continued to stare at the television. She paced over to it and slammed her hand on the power button, shutting it off. She kept her voice even. “You show a lot of disrespect for me and the other men here.”
His eyes flashed heat. When he sat upright, his sandy hair was greasy and unclean. He rose and took two full steps toward her, his size towering hers. “How dare you come into my room and bark insults.”
She stood her ground. “I’ll remind you that you’re in my house. This filth you’ve made here demonstrates how careless you are and illustrates your disrespect. You hardly show up to work, and when you do, it’s half-assed. You’re not getting along with my men, the men you have to live with and work side-by-side with daily.”
He took two steps closer and she caught the stench of whiskey. She curled her lip. “And you’re drunk, not sick. You have until tomorrow morning at seven a.m. to get your things and leave. I’ll have Eduardo draw your pay up to today and have it…”
His fist smacked solidly into her cheek with a pop.
All she saw after that was black.
****
“I want his head on a platter!”
Nick watched Brad prowl the bedroom. He’d been doing it since Nick
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