And yet, that was exactly what I’d been hired for.
I forced myself to go to work and started cleaning up the work area before John could ask me to do it. I tried to keep ahead of his requests, to keep on top of what I thought he wanted me to do. The last thing I wanted was to make him think that I was just going through the motions, that I was dependent on him telling me what to do.
He was the owner of the ranch, and he was my employer. I didn’t want him to think he’d taken a gamble by hiring me. I wanted to prove to him that I was responsible.
I’d been a real mess a couple years ago, and I was still trying to come back from that. I was a lot better, but at the same time, I couldn’t shake off who I’d been. Who John had known me to be. That was the reason he’d given me the job to begin with: out of pity.
John walked into the stables and grinned at me. “Hey, glad to see you in here, but it’s such a nice day outside that I have another plan in mind.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“We need to repair a bit of fencing up at the edge of the north pasture,” he said. “I know most of the horses aren’t going up that far this coming winter since the grass is mostly down here, and the herd is going to mostly stay down here, too, but I have a couple people coming in who are thinking of boarding with us this summer, higher-end customers, and you know that fence on the north pasture borders the road. It’s the first thing they’ll see when they drive in. The last thing we need is for them to think we’re sloppy or — even worse — that we’re not prepared to take care of the things we need to take care of.”
I grimaced at the very thought of working on the fence, but it wasn’t like I could say no. We headed out to the fence and got to work.
I had taken some painkillers that morning before coming to work, and they helped keep me going until it was nearly lunch time. Now, I could feel them wearing off, and when I went to lift some wood up toward John, I winced at the tug in my ribs.
“You’re hurt,” he said, eyes narrowing sharply. He hopped down off the top of the fence and faced me, his hands on his hips as he waited for me to explain.
“It’s nothing serious,” I told him. I couldn’t keep the defensive tone out of my voice. As much as I appreciated his concern, and as much as I knew his concern was tied to his worry that I might be slipping back into my old ways, it was embarrassing to have him worried about me like this.
“Let me see,” he said. I knew there was no arguing with that tone.
I sighed inwardly and slowly removed my shirt, trying not to let him see how much that simple action pained me. He whistled when he saw the bruising, which admittedly looked pretty ugly.
“You should have seen the other guy,” I joked, then instantly regretted the words.
“You’re fighting again?” John asked, sounding incredulous. He took a step closer, reaching out to touch the edge of the bruise and watching as I flinched away from the probe.
“I’m not fighting,” I said, shaking my head. “Sorry, that was a joke. Not a good one.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Fell down the stairs?” I tried. When John looked nonplussed, I sighed. “I got thrown off the mechanical bull at the Roasted Bison.” I wondered how John would take that. It wasn’t like I’d been drunk and picking fights again, but he would probably still classify my behavior as drunken and stupid.
Sure e
nough, John looked angry at that. But when he spoke, I realized he wasn’t angry at me. Or at least, not entirely. “I’ve been telling them for years that they need to be more careful with that thing,” he said, sounding disgusted. “One of these days, someone’s really going to get hurt.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “And, I thought we’d talked about you being a little more careful when you’re drinking.”
“I know, I know,” I said, holding up my hands. “It was Brent’s idea. I shouldn’t have let myself get talked into it. But anyway, I’m fine. A little sore today, but nothing’s broken or anything like that.”
“You were lucky,” John said, putting a heavy emphasis on that last word. “Next time-”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted. “There won’t be a next time.”
“I’m not going to hold you to that,” he said, shaking his head. “What you want to do in your spare time is up to you. Just be careful, okay? And I want you to take the rest of the day off and rest up, or you could injure yourself even more. You’re sure nothing’s broken? These bruises around your ribs look pretty bad.”
I shook my head. “Nothing’s broken. Trust me. I know what broken ribs feel like.”
“I’m sure you do.” He shook his head again. “Look, I know you’ve made a lot of changes, and I’m proud of you. But I sometimes wonder if maybe you’re still drinking a little too much.” He held up a hand to forestall my protest. “I know it’s none of my business as long as you’re getting your work done and showing up reasonably sober every morning. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know, and I appreciate that,” I said, lowering my gaze to stare at the ground. Ever since I’d started working for him, John had been more like a father to me than my own dad had ever been. I hated to hear how disappointed he sounded. “I’m not fighting,” I said in a quieter voice. “And, I’m honestly not even drinking all that much. It was just some stupid bet with Brent.”
John hesitated, and I could tell he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Finally, he slowly asked, “You’re not into other things with Brent, are you?”
I flinched even worse than I had when his fingers probed at my bruises. “I can’t believe you would even ask that,” I said, but my words lacked heat. Instead, I sounded more despairing, which I supposed was an accurate reflection of how I felt.
He held up both hands. “Sorry, but I have to ask. I know what Brent gets up to.”