Cain Ranch (9781311658128) Read online

  He smiled when he saw Micah’s note, reading it over and over, chuckling softly at how he instantly declined Gatlinburg. He wouldn’t argue. He actually slipped the note into the pocket of his sweats, and then started floating around the kitchen, trying to decide what he should make for dinner.. and what would make his headache go away.

  Micah was hard at work while Princeton was busy washing his lovely bronzed body. First he had to check in on all the boarded horses. As he moved about the barn, he thought about what Prince had said about tallying up the costs versus the price of his services. After chewing it over—and literally chewing on the cinnamon toothpick in his mouth—the cowboy decided it wasn’t that big of a task at all, and would take him less time than the rich boy, since he knew off the top of his head how much everything cost. So. While he brushed the horses and led them out to the pen, he painstakingly added up everything in his head. He kept at it, even as he went to say hello to Nacoma, and then he had to brush him down too. By the time he got the horses settled (Nacoma prancing happily in the front pasture, all proud of his clean self), Micah had worked out all the horse boarding costs. He was out of coffee too, so he headed back to the house.

  Prince greeted Micah with a soft “Hi,” from the kitchen when he pushed open the front door. The sound of it’s natural slam made Prince flinch, headache flaring. The boy had apparently decided on a veggie and meat casserole.

  The cowboy was too busy taking his hat off to notice the flinch, so he just breezed on in. Micah walked with a purpose, limp all but gone. “Hey there.” Setting his coffee cup down, he went into the living room to the antique roll-top desk, fishing around until he came up with an old fashioned composition notebook and a pencil.

  Prince looked up from slicing vegetables to watch Micah move naturally around the living room, one hip dropping lazily as he walked.

  “I was working on them numbers we talked about last night, for the boarding. Gonna write em down for ya,” he explained as he sat down at the kitchen table to do just that.

  “Mm... okay,” was Prince’s only reply.

  After a quick glance up at the rich boy—and what a glance it was, with those sweats perfectly outlining his ass—Micah got to work. It took a few minutes of writing down all his numbers for his cheeks to cool down. The cowboy was quiet, just writing as Prince prepared dinner; he chopped the vegetables and started cooking the meat to deposit into the casserole. Deer meat that he’d found in the back of the freezer and some chicken to go with it. The rich boy didn’t know what he was making but he knew if he added some cheese, it’ll be okay. And they had a lot of cheese. When he started layering the casserole, putting a layer of cheese and vegetables at the bottom, he looked up at Micah again.

  “So… What’s the total?”

  “One sec.” Micah grimaced. He had to get up at that point to grab a calculator, because no phone. Sitting back down, he added everything up. “Right. It’s… wait. Lemme divide.” They had four horses, and he’d done everything all together, per month. “Okay. Per horse… $354.00 per month. And we charge… $500 per month. We pay for feed, farrier, and medicine. They pay for teeth and any other vet stuff.”

  “So… Your time is only worth $146 per month? Per horse? I’m pretty sure you do a lot more than $4 a day per horse.” He mused gently as he layered the meat in the pan and then another layer of vegetables.

  Micah pushed away from the paper a bit, sitting up. He put one hand over his mouth, shocked by that. Four dollars a day, well, sixteen dollars per day… that was terrible wages. He loved the horses, but yeah his time was worth more than that.

  “Well goddamn,” he said after his hand dropped to his thigh. Micah shook his head; Prince smiled and whipped open the oven to put the casserole in. “You’re right. My time is worth more than that. I just brushed them horses down, for god’s sake. It’s like a horse spa or something.”

  “How much time do you think you spend with each horse per day?”

  Micah tilted his head, thinking. “Four hours? All together — with the boarding horses, at least.”

  “Hmm.. okay..” Prince moved over to Micah, settling down next to him easily and reaching over to grab the pen out of his hand and he started writing figures. “So just say.. because you know what you’re doing with horses and you’re taking expert care of them. Because you’ve been doing this so long, your time is worth.. I don’t know… twenty dollars. Per Hour. That would be $80 a day so that would be an extra $2400.” Prince mused, “Divided by four…. and then add that to the cost of upkeep. You should be charging about a thousand dollars per horse, Micah.”

  The cowboy blinked at him, realizing that Prince was adding all those numbers in his head as he was talking. That was… so sexy. Micah blushed, looking back down at the paper. “Well. I guess we gotta find people who’ll pay a thousand dollars a month to board a horse.”

  Micah dared to look up at him, those steely blue eyes glittering. ”Know any?”

  "I think we should talk to the current boarders, at least get them up to $700. How many spots do you have for boarding horses? None, I thought?"

  “Seven hundred, we could do yeah. And no… hm. We got four open stalls, well, eight total, but I like to put Nacoma and some of the others up too.”

  "Okay.... so there's the potential to add right there at least four thousand dollars to our monthly income. Question, Micah." He chewed his bottom lip. "I don't know a lot about boarding horses, but are the ones you're boarding now family horses or racing horses? I would guess racing horses have different needs and would take more of your time? I read that, last night, on the internet."

  Micah chuckled, smiling at him. "Yeah? Is that why you've got those dark circles? Readin up on horses?" He wanted to brush his thumb under his eye, but just clenched his hand on the table. "But yeah. You got it right. We got four thoroughbreds, those dark red and black horses, and they take up a lot more time. I gotta work them more, let 'em run. And their feed's more expensive."

  "Mmhmm," Prince made a pouting face when Micah mentioned the dark circles under his eyes. "I would say we charge anyone with a racing horse something like $1600 and stress the additional time you spend with them, the default training just because you handle them. Things like that."

  Those blue eyes went wide at that figure. “Sixteen… okay then.” Wow. That was serious money. “I guess, yeah I do train them,” he said slowly.

  "Yes, sixteen for now." He stood up to go back to the kitchen and check on the casserole, "We should be able to function off of just our boarded horses. And then the other things you do just add to the income... like private training lessons and..." He flushed and was then mad that he did, "Breeding."

  “Wow.” Micah shook his head a little, still kinda freaked out by the thought of how much money they could be making. Blinking, he looked up to Prince, so of course he saw that blush. Which made him blush. “Uh, yeah. I’ll run the numbers on the lessons tomorrow. And… stud fees and all that.”

  Prince pulled the casserole out of the oven just as Micah mentioned stud fees 'and all that'. He let the pan drop onto the counter with a bit of a clang. The casserole smelled good, and it was like dumpster casserole - Prince literally put all the extras right into the casserole and it turned out to something that smelled amazing and rich and spicy. The scent floated into the kitchen, curling its vapors and beckoning Micah into the kitchen. Prince pulled plates from the cabinet and forks from the door and started plating dinner. Nothing fancy. "Micah." He sounded almost exasperated.

  Oh. Oh, those smells were enticing, and they brought him out of the chair and into the kitchen, all right. “Yeah?” Micah asked curiously as he took out glasses, leaving Prince’s out but pouring himself some milk.

  "I... nothing. Casserole is for dinner," He set Micah's plate in front of him. "Which rodeos do you want to participate in?"

  Micah was confused, but then food. “Oh, uh. Those on the list were fine, except for the Gatlinburg one. Like I said. That’s all.” Blushing, he
ate a little bit.

  "And just steer wrestling? Or do you want to do the thing with the calves, too?" He started nibbling his food. He gave himself half of what he gave Micah and of course he still played over it.

  “Hmm… you got it backwards. I wanna do the calf roping every time, steer wrestlin only sometimes. It’s hard on my body, so I can’t be doing it every time. Not unless you wanna add a vet bill for me too.”

  "Oh." He tipped his head. "I get it. You're an old man and we can't wear out your old man body." He bobbed his head in a nod. "Calf roping. And then steer wrestling sometimes. How fast can you rope a calf?"

  “I can get a solid eight seconds most of the time,” Micah answered without hesitation. Not commenting on his old man body, though it wasn’t age, it was mileage.

  Something about watching Micah tie up a calf or wrestle down a steer sounded... oddly appealing to the rich boy. It was so organic, almost like the primitive bear baiting for a game. Prince was skeptical about it, about the people, but he wouldn't miss Micah performing for anything. "But maybe faster if I'm there? Because you're showing off?"

  Then it was Micah’s turn to blush. “Yeah.” After a boyish smile, he gave Prince a serious look. “I do need to practice, though. Might have ta buy couple calves from a neighbor.”

  "Borrow." He corrected, "I watched some videos of the calf roping..."

  “Right. Borrow. I can talk to Carter about it. He’s got cows.” One of the neighbors Prince had yet to meet.

  "Doesn't the rope around the calf's neck hurt him?" Prince looked seriously concerned about this.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. They’re tough animals, really. I mean, they grow up to be huge cows. A little rope ain’t nothin. And yeah, we flip em over, but it really don’t hurt em none.” Micah went back to eating, quiet after having to explain calf roping.

  Micah managed to smooth out Prince's worry and then he went back to nibbling his food as Micah insisted that they weren't hurt. He trusted Micah with that because honestly Prince didn't know for sure, he just hoped not. He swirled his food around, not because it was bad, but generally because he just wasn't ready to take more bites. But Prince paused when Micah mentioned the flipping them over. He thought about the tying instead, though, the intensity on the cowboy's face, and then the satisfied strut afterwards. It was the same with each man. Rope the calf, jump off, tie three legs, and then stand up and strut back to the horse. Prince couldn't wait for Micah to be the one strutting off with satisfaction. "That's good. That they're not hurt."

  “Glad you approve,” he teased in between bites, a smile lingering on his lips. “Casserole’s good, by the by. This the venison?” Lo and behold, the rich boy was a good cook. Smart, easy on the eyes, and a good cook.

  “Yes... it’s the venison. I wanted to use it before it was too freezer burned to have any flavor.” He was finally done with his meal and full of embarrassment and thoughts of Micah being a cowboy to bother eating anymore anyway, so he jumped up with his plate and took it to the sink to start cleaning up. He didn’t want to look into the cowboy’s eyes any more even though they were gorgeous. They were steel blue, wild, but somehow tamed at the same time.

  Those soulful blue eyes were on Micah’s plate as he finished his meal, even cleaning the plate with a piece of white bread, oblivious to how he’d flustered Prince. Once he was done, he sat back to finish his milk, staring off into space as he thought about calf roping. He’d worked the rodeo circuit for a few years before he came to the ranch, and he’d made his best money at it. The steer wrestling was another thing. That really did make him feel old.

  Prince rinsed his plate and thoroughly washed it before setting it aside to dry and then he started dividing up the leftovers into tomorrow’s meals and one late night meal for himself. He would probably eat again, once Micah was asleep and he was still up because he’d gotten to bed so late the previous night. He opened the refrigerator door and bent forward to tuck the leftovers away, sweats pulling over his slender ass as he reorganized the refrigerator. Unnecessary. But. Necessary.

  Luckily for the cowboy, he happened to look over just as Prince bent over to put stuff away. He waited way longer than eight seconds before getting up to wash his plate and glass. “Keep your eye open for any trick riding events at these rodeos. Might could show off some of Nacoma’s tricks, get more prize money.”

  “Nacoma has tricks? Besides stealing candy from my pockets?” Prince closed the refrigerator door as he watched Micah wash his own dishes.

  Micah laughed softly at Prince as, yes, he washed his own dishes. “That he does. That horse is too smart for his own good. Lessee. He can go around the arena blindfolded, spin around, jump, do the hat trick, and… oh, hell, he lets me climb all over him basically while he’s runnin.” Micah shrugged. To him this wasn’t any big deal.

  “What’s the hat trick?” Micah washed them, but Prince inspected them before he put them to dry and concluded that they were sufficiently cleaned.

  “He steals my hat and drops it. Then I get down to get it, and he picks it up again. It’s like a game. I swear, he thinks it’s the most fun in the whole world.”

  Princeton nodded.

  Chuckling softly, Micah leaned in to look at the dishes, close enough to smell Princeton’s expensive soap. “How’d I do, boss?”

  “Oh…” The boy looked up towards Micah, shoulders shrugging up, then he let a sly smirk pass over his lips. “I think you should stick to calf roping. I’ll do the dishes.” He quipped, because he couldn’t help it, then he moved away from Micah, slithering away to go back to the living room, leaving Micah with that lingering scent of his organic body wash.

  Micah laughed at his comeback, letting him slip away with a nod and a tip of an invisible hat. He wanted to follow after him and… smell him more. But no. The cowboy dried his hands and dithered in the kitchen, putting away this or that.

  Deciding to treat himself, Micah took out one of the brown bottles of root beer from the fridge, carrying it into the living room after him. By the time he entered the living room, Princeton had already flipped open his laptop and started working all over again. Now the boy was formulating a working schedule to see when they would be away from the farm at the rodeo, when they had to find someone to come watch the place while they were off making extra money.

  Princeton looked up when Micah sat down in the armchair, watching his face distort into a frown. He should say something, but he couldn't think of anything. Or he could get Micah could talk... "Micah?" He said tentatively, "how did you learn how to rope calves?"

  Yeah, getting Micah to talk first would never work. "Oh. I was raised on a farm. Well, it was kinda a home. For boys. Like a big foster family. On a farm. And I did 4H in high school and all that."

  "4H? So you had rodeo as an option for sports at your high school?"

  "Uh... Well it wasn't... Yeah. Yeah it was an option. I also played baseball. Didn't like football though. So... Did you do any sports in school?"

  "Oh.. That's pretty cool." Prince watched him for a moment, wondering if Micah made it through high school without having sex. Then he flushed, instantly and looked down. "I... Swimming. Swim team."

  Micah frowned a little, confused about the flush. Of course then he flushed, thinking about Prince in a swimsuit. "Oh. Nice." Swimming was totally a rich boy sport too.

  "Yeah. My parents had a pool so I've literally been swimming since I could walk. My dad wanted me to play football or something but I'm not really built for it." He started, over explaining because his cheeks were still red. "He never came to any of my swim meets in high school or college even though I was pretty good."

  "Heh, yeah me neither. They wanted me for offense but I liked rodeo better." Micah might have been talking through nervousness too. He frowned. "Sorry to hear that. My foster dad went to my games, but I think it was just because he liked baseball."

  Prince nodded then smiled. "Well, I can assure you that I won't be going to the rodeo because I like it." Then he
leaned over and took Micah's root beer, putting the bottle to his lips for a taste.

  Micah laughed, letting Prince take the bottle. "Oh good." Then Micah realized what that meant and blushed hotly, grinning as he ducked his head to hide it.

  Prince drank a gulp of Micah's root beer then passed it back, careful not to touch Micah in the process. "Yeah." He said softly. "I just hope you don't get hurt... I will have to nurse you back to health." He was still teasing.

  Micah watched his lips stretch around the neck of the bottle closely. "Oh." He blinked. "Well I can't say as I'd mind that. I bet your hands are soft." Then he took a sip of the root beer. Micah hoped to taste Prince but it was just sweet spice.

  "Shh. No. Well, yes I guess. My hands... They're kind of soft I guess. My housekeeper used to moisturize her hands and wear gloves at night. I started doing it too, sometimes... So my hands aren't dry during the day."

  Micah just blinked at that. No way in hell would the cowboy ever wear moisturizer gloves. "Uh, one of the neighbor ladies gave me something..."

  Prince smirked, "If your hands get too soft then you won't be able to work as efficiently."

  Micah laughed dryly. "Yep. You got it."

  "And I'm sure all of your cowboy friends would tease you as well." Prince shrugged. He couldn't also say that he actually likes Micah's rough hands, could he? "Hey... Micah. I actually need you to help me with something."

  "Yeah, all those hundreds of cowboy friends I got." Micah frowned. He had like... Three friends. He perked up at the request. "Sure. Whatever ya need."

  "I know this might sound rather ridiculous to you but I want to move the bed. I don't like the direction it's facing in relation to the room. It doesn't leave a lot of open space for yoga in the morning."

  "Yoga." Micah almost laughed but realized Prince was serious. Then he thought about Prince doing yoga. Damn. His cheeks had just been cooling down. "Sure. I can do that." Setting his root beer down, Micah went to do it right then.

  Princeton stared at him. So serious. "Thanks. I tried to move it myself but it's too big..." Prince grabbed the root beer and followed him up, taking another drink. Prince's room was spotlessly perfect and his bed was made, naturally, with exclusive modern looking sheets. In fact, his entire room was rather modern. Most of Mr. Whitson’s stuff had been moved out and Prince’s stuff moved in but he still kept it sort of country-chic. He liked black washed wood versus the natural stain of cedar and oak. So his bed frame was black - almost black-blue - and the sheets on top were modern. They were white with a monochromatic geometric pattern on top. Simple and complex at the same time. Around the bed, he had two tables (one on either side) and a mini bookshelf above one of the tables. His dresser was on the far side of the room, rectangle and long with several drawers and no drawer handles. His dresser was a little more personal, though, and it had a few pictures of his friends, him and his mother, and him and just a bunch of other people. No pictures of his father, if Micah cared to look. Prince looked just like his mother, the little charming boy version and his mother was absolutely gorgeous. They looked like a model pair when they stood together, especially Prince as a smiling boy. He seemed to have smiled a lot when he was younger.