The Good Ones

Chapter 3: The Cowboy In Me

The sun was beginning to set as Alex walked down the dirt road that led to the cookhouse, followed by an intoxicated Mavis and a thoroughly entertained Archimedes. He turned around to look at Mavis's big, blue eyes, set into a heart-shaped face. Her body was so petite, it was a wonder the wind wasn't carrying her with it. She'd let out her ponytail and now her thick, wavy, honey brown hair was blowing wildly around her. It covered most of her face and she was having a hell of a time getting it under control. Her lack of sobriety wasn't helping her hand-eye coordination one bit, and it was kind of comical to watch.

Archimedes, who was prancing alongside Mavis, gave Alex a wink. Smug bastard. Alex silently swore and turned back around. He'd never hear the end of it from that asshole barn cat. He pushed the thought of Mavis's big, blue eyes out of his mind. That way lay a shit show.

Walking through the front door of the cookhouse, Alex could smell the seasoning on Becky's pork chops, making him forget all about the pain in his thigh. The plump, middle-aged woman with graying hair was rushing around the room as she placed heaping platters of food onto the table. About fifteen or so men, a mixture of the ranch's resident and transient workers, were crowded around the table, discussing how the calves were fairing after branding and how the first cut of hay was turning out. Pookie O' Toole, a tall, thin, older cowboy with a gray handlebar mustache, jumped out of his seat when he saw Alex.

"Hey there, Doc!" Pookie shouted. When he got a better look at Mavis, he whistled and grabbed onto his suspenders, as if the sight of her almost knocked him out of his boots. "Well now...this must be the Dr. Rogers I been hearin' about."

Mavis gave him a shy smile. "Nice to meet you."

The rest of the men leaned sideways in their seats to get a better look at their new veterinarian. They didn't make it off the ranch often, and Mavis was the prettiest thing they'd seen in a coon's age.

"The name's Pookie," he said to Mavis. "And, before you get to dwellin' on it, we ain't blamin' you for that business with Bandit. He was an ornery creature."

"Speak for yourself!" snapped another man's voice.

Rex Potter, the ranch's resident jackass, stalked into the cookhouse. The short, sunburned cowboy walked up to Mavis and squared his shoulders at her. She sobered right up at his dramatic entrance and cowered like a timid little mouse.

"That was my horse you killed," growled Rex.

"No, that was Mrs. Frances's horse," said Pookie, wagging his finger at Rex. "You just rode him cause you was the only son-of-a-bitch crazy enough to do so." When he looked at Mavis, he hastily added, "My apologies for the language, Dr. Rogers."

"No worries," Mavis murmured, not taking her terrified eyes off Rex.

"My point is," continued Rex, "she don't got no business bein' here and workin' on my animals."

Pookie held up his hands. "Now, Rex..."

"I mean it!" Rex spat. "I want the bitch gone!"

Alex grabbed Rex by the front of his pearl snap shirt and slammed him so hard against the wall, all the paintings were knocked to the floor. His quick temper had been something passed down to him by his old man, and Rex Potter had a real talent for bringing out the worst in him. Rex tried with all his might to scramble out of Alex's grasp with no relief. It wasn't that Rex was a weak man. He could throw square bales several feet above his head and not break a sweat. It was that much of Alex's strength came from magical means, not natural.

"Rex," Alex ground through his teeth, "you're gonna wanna think real hard about the next words coming outa your mouth."

"Alexander Dodd!" Becky barked. "If you're going to beat Rex to a bloody pulp again, you take it out of my kitchen! Now!"