Calamity Gene

Chapter 2

Thank God the Silvermans, O'Malleys and Greens were easy to look after, Trace thought, as they ambled back to the corral after their first ride. They'd been to the ranch so many times they didn't need to be supervised. He watched anyway as they expertly dismounted then groomed their horses, making sure they didn't take short cuts, but they were perfect, and were soon heading for their cabins to freshen up before lunch as their horses grazed outside the corral.

Which left Trace blessedly alone to wait for the other two groups—the intermediates, with Cheyenne, and the beginners, with Emmett—to return.

Cheyenne and Emmett had still been choosing mounts for their riders whenTrace had ridden out with his group, so he was keen to hear their reports oneach guest's riding ability. Not that he was especially curious about the dudesin and of themselves; he did, however, need to know how they enjoyed theirfirst ride because that would be a fair indicator of how the week would go. Most ranch guests were horse lovers who simply wanted to get out of the city and play cowboy but it only took a single pain in the ass to completely screw up a group dynamic, and forewarned was forearmed. And there was always a pain in the ass. The one whose horse was never good enough (yeah, right!) and had to be changed every damn day; the bored one who wanted to be at a bar in town every night; the one who grumbled about the lack of those amenities Trace had already warned wouldn't be forthcoming; the one who was totally inept and refused to get on a horse after day one.

No prizes for guessing they had an inept one in the mix, but Trace was hoping the other asshole roles would go unfilled this week because he wasn't in the mood to hang onto the damn temper he'd promised Buck he wouldn't lose.

When he saw riders in the distance, he opened the corral gates in preparation and leaned against the fence to watch. Cheyenne was in the lead, with a surprising eight out of the ten remaining dudes with her. They'd slowed to a walk, as was mandatory ranch practice once they sighted the barn—not only to cool the horses, but to stop them getting into the bad habit of bolting for home the second they sighted it. As they got closer, he started identifying individuals. The two girls from Chicago were ahead of the guy from Arizona. Next came Jim V, as he called himself, from New York. Then the honeymooners from Germany, alongside two older guys from Texas.

That meant Emmett had been left with Gene and Llew—and as Trace trained his eyes on the horizon, the last group of three finally appeared. Trace reckoned Llew must have taken on the role of Gene's faithful henchman, because if he was as experienced as he'd said he was, he should have been with Cheyenne. Well, it was Llew's business how he spent his holiday; if he wanted to slum it alongside a girl who couldn't ride, so be it. And the evidence that she couldn't ride was flashing like a neon sign even from a distance. Ha! She couldn't even stop her horse from shying, when there was nothing to—

"Fuck!" The word burst out of his mouth, but his brain took a few seconds to catch up. Gene. Shying horse. Paint horse. Black and white.

And then his synapses fired, and his brain formed a whole thought—Gene is riding Cub—and "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," erupted out of his mouth, so loud he made himself jump.

As he watched, rigid, Emmett and Llew rode over to her, and Cub settled, and all three horses walked on as though nothing had happened.

But something had almost happened, and Trace's heart couldn't seem to dislodge from his throat. His unblinking eyes strained to track their progress. One sidestep, and he decided he couldn't bear to watch, so he whirled away. He paced along the corral fence. Okay, he couldn't help it, he had to look. No, not looking. Yes. No. Yes. Aarrgggh. He was going to kill someone.

Back and forth he went, pacing, cursing out loud, alternately watching Gene approach with what felt like a spiky boulder rolling around in his gut, then ripping his tortured eyes away. Back. Away. Back. Away. Willing the time to go faster, faster, faster.