Hung: Like a… Read online

  Hung

  Like a…

  Jenika Snow

  HUNG

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © June 2020 by Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: June 2020

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Andrew Biernat

  Photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  Cover Designer: Designs by Dana

  Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  About the Author

  After my father passed away, his ranch—my childhood home—was taken away from me, as well as almost every penny I had to pay his debts. I needed work fast, and in the small country town of Falls View, my options were limited.

  A live-in cook and housecleaner, that’s what the ad asked for. When I pulled up to the ranch, I expected a burly cowboy—just like my father had been—to be the person who interviewed me. But the guy who showed up was everything I hadn’t expected, but sure as hell everything I wanted.

  Dalton gave me the job almost on the spot, and I told myself this would be easy. I was used to hard work on a ranch. What I wasn’t used to was my boss being sexy as sin, or the fact that I saw the way he looked at me when he didn’t think I noticed.

  I had to keep my gutter-thoughts at bay for my new employer.

  Things could stay professional, and boundaries most definitely wouldn’t be crossed… right?

  Chapter One

  Macey

  “You have no money, no assets to liquidate, and anything you had saved, any possessions, will be repossessed.”

  My late father’s attorney’s words played through my head, even a week and a half later. I sat in this shitty pay-by-the-day motel in the small town of Falls View, Montana—a town named after the waterfall that cascaded down the mountain—and stressed over how I’d survive even a couple days from now. Ever since he told me those words. That my father had been so far in debt, kept it so hidden from me—his only living family—that any money rightfully mine, and the ranch he owned that I’d grown up on, was no more.

  We had nothing now.

  I had nothing.

  “You don’t have anything saved up, Macey?”

  God.

  I didn’t even have a job anymore, not when I’d gotten laid off just two days before my father passed and this shitstorm started. I guess the old saying about “when it rains, it pours” was never truer than in this moment.

  My father was gone, the funeral last week, and the ranch I loved and thought I’d inherit was no more. I had no other family, no damn job or place to live, and I couldn’t do anything to help my situation immediately.

  I ran my hand over my face and screamed in my head to stop thinking about the day my life was turned upside down in a matter of five minutes.

  Aside from the five hundred dollars I had in a personal savings account—money I withdrew as soon as I’d left the attorney’s office—I was broke. My apartment was on a monthly leased basis, so getting out of it wasn’t an issue.

  I supposed the first thing I needed to do was find a job. It would probably be shitty, but as long as I could make some money, it would be the lifeline I needed.

  I picked up the newspaper that was sitting beside me on the stained, discolored paisley comforter, turned it to the classified section, and started looking over the ads. The small town of Falls View didn’t have a whole lot of employment opportunities, but traveling somewhere bigger like a city would be too much of an expense for me right now.

  What I needed to do was find a job here, save up, and then see if I could find a position elsewhere that paid more and gave me more stability.

  There was a cook opening at the local diner, and a nurse’s aide position available at the local retirement home. But the nursing assistant one specified the applicant needed to be state tested, which I was not. In fact, I didn’t have anything but a high school diploma, so I needed to look for entry-level employment.

  As I scanned the rest of the classifieds, there was an opening for a maid at the local motel and an ad for a private employer who required daily needs met in his home. Cleaning and cooking at a ranch. The ranch part really called to me, so I made that my priority.

  Three job prospects was better than nothing. Hell, one was a lifesaver. And in a small town like this, I knew jobs wouldn’t last forever. If something came up, everyone jumped to it if they could. Which meant I needed to get into these places, fill out applications, and hope for the best.

  Chapter Two

  Dalton

  I took my work gloves off and set them on the stable bench. I was covered from head to toe in dirt, pieces of straw sticking to me. I took off my hat and wiped my forearm across my brow, beads of sweat covering me all over. It was hot as hell today, but in the stables, it was even hotter. And then there was the scent of manure, feed, and the horses making everything seem real country-like on top of the furnace-like conditions.

  The sound of the horses huffing and stomping on the ground filled my head. Blackstone Ranch had been in my family for four generations, and after my father passed away five years prior, I’d taken over. With no wife and no children, I was the last living heir to this place. And my employees were trusted friends, some having been around when my dad was alive.

  But with no children and no living relatives, I had no one to pass the ranch on to. And the truth was, I hated not being able to keep it directly in the family, to have my son or daughter run things, to keep the legacy since my great-grandfather going forward. But finding a wife and having kids wasn’t at the top of my list right now. Keeping things afloat, which was an everyday struggle in this market, was my priority.

  So, at thirty-five years old, I was busting my ass day-in and day-out, waking up before the sun rose and going to bed well sun set. It was hard, tedious, and backbreaking work, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I loved every moment of it.

  I headed toward the house to make something to eat, waving at some of my ranch hands in the process. I had Jax, who was eighteen, and his nineteen-year-old brother Charlie. They’d graduated high school last year and decided to take the year off to “have fun” before heading to college but instead found themselves working for me, ‘cause they realized they needed money to actually buy shit.

  I took the porch steps two at a time, and before I stepped inside, I took my work boots off and set them to the side of the door. I started wiping down my pants and shirt, trying to get the excess dirt and straw off. But the truth was, my house was a wreck as it was anyway, and that’s why I put an ad in the paper for someone to help tend to my chaos.

  I was tired of the clutter and making bologna-and-cheese sandwiches every day for lunch. And because I was so busy with the fa
rm, I had no time to clean my house or cook decent meals.

  I stepped inside and looked around, exhausted with the state of my home. I needed more help, but I only had so much money to pay someone, which meant I was hoping when I did hire someone, negotiations could be made. I already included room and board in the classified ad, so that would help immensely.

  I went into the kitchen, washed my hands and dried them, then went to the fridge and opened the door. It was pretty grim inside, with a pack of bologna, a pack of cheese, some condiments, a half-gallon of milk, and a loaf of bread, which I had two slices left.

  I knew the ranch hands always brought their own lunch—most likely because they knew if they didn’t, they’d be hungry, since I didn’t have anything actually edible here and no one delivered this far out of town.

  I grabbed the sandwich making stuff and proceeded to slap a couple pieces of meat and some cheese between two pieces of bread. I grabbed the milk, not bothering with a glass, and leaned against the sink as I ate my sandwich and intermittently drank out of the jug, looking out at my property through the window above the sink.

  I owned one hundred acres, most of it wooded, but about ten of those acres was cleared for the house and ranch. We had horses, chickens and pheasants, a couple goats, even a few alpacas. The chickens produced a hearty amount of eggs, and those were sold to the mom-and-pop grocery store in town. It was kind of ironic, because I hated eggs yet sold them.

  I turned and looked at my kitchen, leaning against the sink. One of the things I’d love to do would be to renovate, update the retro-themed interior of the house, but the all-natural and exposed wood of the cabin gave it a rustic feel. But also, I always had memories of my childhood at the forefront of my mind.

  I only had two people contact me about the position I put in the ad just a couple days ago. I already interviewed one of them, a young guy who was taking a year off before college, just like the brothers. Although he’d probably fit in around the ranch, the fact that he was only here for a year wasn’t really going to work for me. I needed somebody long-term, someone who could see the ranch as an extension of them.

  Although maybe that was wishful thinking, I was hoping interview number two later on today would prove more successful in finding someone to help me out.

  Chapter Three

  Macey

  The position at the diner had been a bust, already being filled the day before. And the maid position at the local motel had been a hard no for me when I caught the owner continuously eye-fucking me, not even caring if I caught him.

  Finding a job wasn’t looking good. Although, I did have one interview left for the cook and housekeeping position at a home ranch outside town. It was a decent drive away, at least twenty minutes from the Falls View town square. I was hoping it proved more positive than these last two interviews I’d done. Because if not, I was shit out of luck and in real trouble.

  But why I really hoped this interview was successful was because in the ad it had mentioned room and board available upon negotiation of the position. That would really solve a ton of my current problems.

  Once out of town and nearing the address, I made a right onto the long gravel driveway of the property. There was a fence on either side of the double-lane private road, and as my Dodge Neon’s tires crunched along those pebbles, I practiced the interview in my head. I didn’t want to stumble over my words over the simplest questions.

  I’d never been so nervous and desperate for a job before.

  The driveway was long and straight, with the woods on either side of me. I could see a stable to my right, a chicken coop and run to my left. The cabin was up ahead, with a couple cars parked in the driveway. The closer I got to the cabin, I noticed another pin, one that held llamas or alpacas. I could never tell the difference.

  I tightened my hold on the steering wheel, silently praying to whoever would listen that this interview would end on a positive note and I’d get the job. I pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, saw a dark, monstrous pick-up truck parked off to the side, and cut the engine.

  I looked at the time on my phone and realized I was almost fifteen minutes early. Maybe that would throw points in my corner. Punctuality and all.

  After grabbing my purse and the resume I printed off from the local library, I climbed out of the car and made my way toward the front door. I saw a pair of work boots sitting off to the side, straw and mud covering them. I brought my hand up to the door and gave three hard knocks with my knuckles on the wood framing the screen. It banged against the frame from the action.

  And then I took a step back and waited. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and I heard my pulse beating rapidly in my ears.

  I was about to knock on the door again when I heard heavy footsteps coming closer. I tightened my hand on the strap of my purse and swallowed, again saying another silent prayer to whoever was listening that I wouldn’t botch this up.

  The interior of the house, as far as I could see through the screen door, was shadowed, but the person I saw moving closer was big, with broad shoulders and lean muscles. Definitely male. And when he stopped right in front of the screen and I got a good look at him, my pulse started beating for other reasons that had nothing to do with nerves or this interview.

  He pushed the door open, and I took another step back, getting a good, unobstructed view of the man who would be interviewing me, I assumed.

  He looked younger, maybe in his early thirties, with very dark hair cut close to his scalp and a trimmed beard that looked more like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His eyes were equally dark, with onyx slashes for eyebrows, and he had a straight nose and full lips. I’d never examined a man so closely in my entire life. He lifted his arm and braced it on the frame of the door, keeping the screen open with his foot on the bottom.

  He wore a pair of worn-in jeans, not tight like a lot of ranchers wore, but still fit enough that I could make out his muscular thighs and narrow waist. The white shirt he wore was tucked in, a little bit dirty, no doubt from working all day, and also not hiding how toned he was. I could see the lean muscle underneath the material and licked my lips, feeling my face heat, because I worried I was looking like some thirsty bitch right now.

  He lifted his other hand and rubbed his eye, and just now, after I’d been checking him out, I realized he looked like he’d been sleeping. I noticed other things then, little things like his hair being slightly disheveled and the relaxed expression on his face.

  “I’m Macey.”

  He dropped his hand and looked at me, his dark eyebrows furrowing as if he were trying to figure out who I was.

  “I have an interview for the ad in the paper?” I didn’t even know if he was the one interviewing me. Maybe not, since he acted like he didn’t know who I was.

  And then I saw his expression change, as if a lightbulb turned on and he finally registered. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said in a deep, gruff, and very masculine voice. “I laid down for a minute after I inhaled my sandwich, was expecting you, but I guess the sleep fog still had me.” He stepped aside and held the door open. “Please, come in.”

  I gave him a small smile and stepped over the threshold.

  “I swear I’m not this boneheaded.”

  I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him face me then saw and heard the screen door close.

  “We can go into the kitchen and sit at the table.”

  I nodded, but he was already walking by me and leading the way.

  I followed him inside his home. It was absolutely in need of some TLC and a good cleaning. That was for sure. Although the cabin was very rustic in its design, with open beams on the ceiling and hardwood flooring, the accents reminded me of another era. And the furniture looked like it had been around for decades.

  There was random stuff placed everywhere. Boxes and some newspaper tied up with twine were on one side, and horse gear and work clothing, as if tossed aside and out of the way, were
on another side of the room. Although his house was cluttered, it wasn’t downright filthy. But it definitely hadn’t been deep cleaned in… ever.

  We stepped into the retro-style kitchen, which surprisingly was cleaner and less cluttered than what I’d seen so far. And my assumption was that this room wasn’t used as frequently. I knew from experience, when I lived with my father and from growing up on the ranch, they worked the majority of the time, and only if someone was in the kitchen cooking meals or cleaning the house did those things get done. More times than not, they just got quick things to eat. The thought of Dalton telling me about his bologna sandwich was all too familiar with how my father had been.

  He walked over to the kitchen table, one that looked handmade, carved out of a thick slab of wood. It was gorgeous with detailing around the edges, a very cabin-esque feel to it. He pulled the chair out for me, and I sat down, giving him a thankful smile.

  “Do you want something to drink? Unfortunately, all I have is water or some coffee that was made at the ass-crack of dawn this morning.”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks.” I set my resume on the table and gently pushed it toward him. “I don’t have much experience from a business standpoint, but my dad owned the Spur Tex Ranch here in Falls View, and I used to do all the cooking and cleaning for him.”

  He grabbed the resume and nodded. “Your dad was Wilbur Spur?” He lifted his head and looked me in the eyes.

  I nodded and felt my throat tighten from emotion.

  “I’m really sorry about his passing. I didn’t know him, but I knew his ranch helped a lot of people in town, not just with supplies but also with employment.”