“Yeah, I guess so. I never got the email. You said you’d try me out. A probationary period to see if I’m suited to the position.” I swallowed, feeling unprepared. “I can show you references…”
“No, no. It’s all right. Your credentials are excellent. But I just realized, I never explained what the job actually entailed. Those details would have been in the email you didn’t get.”
I grinned, putting my hat back on. “Well, I’m assuming it’ll entail a lot of shoveling dirty hay and manure and grooming your horses, Sir.”
Mr. Marsland looked away and cleared his throat. “I had assumed, since Mitchell recommended you for the position, he would have gone into what we do here in some detail?”
I frowned. “No, not really. He just told me you were looking for a stable hand.”
Mr. Marsland exchanged a brief glance with Connor, who looked as though he wanted to be somewhere—anywhere—else. Then he smiled at me and gestured toward the room he’d recently exited.
“Why don’t we sit down in my office for a moment.”
He gestured for me to precede him. “Connor, please hold my calls. I don’t want to be interrupted while I brief Mr. Moriarty on his duties.”
“Yes, Mr. Marsland. I’m sorry about the mix-up.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Connor. Hopefully, we can straighten everything out.”
There wasn’t much conviction to his words, which made me nervous. What was going on here?
“I’m sure whatever your requirements are, I can meet them, Mr. Marsland. I’m young, strong, and highly motivated. And not afraid to get dirty.”
Mr. Marsland made a sound halfway between a laugh and a choke as he sat in the large leather chair behind the desk. “Sit down, Mr. Moriarty. I’m afraid there may have been a slight miscommunication.”
My stomach did a flip. I knew it. I fucking knew this position was too good to be true. I’d driven all the way out here, assuming they had a job for me. I wasn’t about to give up easily.
“I can do the job, Mr. Marsland. I won’t let you down,” I said, trying not to show how desperate I felt. If not for the air-conditioned office, though, I would have become a puddle of sweat on the floor.
I watched Mr. Marsland shuffle through some papers on his desk until he drew one out. “Mr. Moriarty—Jensen. Can I call you Jensen?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Jensen, this isn’t about you not being willing to work for me. I can see you are very motivated, and you look strong and fit.”
I nodded, feeling some relief. “I thought I had a good chance of getting the permanent position from the way we spoke on the phone,” I admitted, turning my hat over in my hands and rubbing my calloused finger along the edge of the brim.
Mr. Marsland held up his hand. “Jensen, you still have a good chance. But… I might have left out some very important details about the kind of ranch I’m running here. You might not want the position once you learn more about us.”
Marsland’s deep-brown eyes conveyed a genuine warmth, which I found comforting, since his words didn’t give me much confidence. An inch taller than me and at least a decade older, Mr. Marsland seemed the kind of distinguished-looking man I could imagine as the lead in a romantic film. But I banished those thoughts and focused on my objective.
“I’ve never worked with Arabians before. But I know I can handle the challenge.”
He stared at me, lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile, or laugh. He ran a hand through his short, slightly greying hair. “I’m sure you could,” he said, leaning back in his chair, assessing me. “But we don’t have any Arabians at the moment.”
“Oh. Lipizzaner horses, then? Obviously, you must have some rare horses here.” I was scrambling. I had no idea what was going on.
Mr. Marsland used the tip of his finger to push the paper containing my information slightly forward as he gazed down at the form and said, “Jensen, we don’t have horses here…at all.”
I blinked. No horses? But, I applied for a job as a stable hand. “Uh, I’m not sure what you mean. This is a ranch, right?”
Mr. Marsland inclined his chin, trying to maintain a straight face. “Yes, but—”
“I don’t see what’s funny about this,” I said. Part of me wanted to stand up and walk out. But I needed this job.
Mr. Marsland nodded, clearing his throat and forcing a serious look onto his handsome face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I never foresaw this situation, and now it’s actually occurred, I’m not sure how to deal with it.”
“Why don’t you show me some of the livestock you do have on hand? And I’ll let you know if I think I can be an effective stable hand here.” I wouldn’t leave without a fight.
