Romancing the foreman, p.1
Romancing the Foreman, page 1
part #40 of A Paranormal's Love Series
Into the Paranormal World: When a human ranch foreman hears a gargoyle claim him as his Fated mate, he isn’t certain even the paranormal can mend his trust button.
As a Native American, Stanley Redfeather has always believed there was more to the world than what the average person could see. Learning about gargoyles and other paranormals is almost anti-climactic. Doing his job working as the foreman of his boss’s massive cattle ranch continues as normal. Occasionally, having a bunch of gargoyles, vampires, and shifters around causes a little hiccup, especially when one of them finds their Fated mate, but for the most part, it’s business as usual.
That changes when a trio of gargoyles arrive for a meeting, and after one sniff, one of them—Kultrak—claims Stanley is his Fated mate. Stanley knows what that means. He’s supposed to be the other half of the gargoyle’s soul, bond with him, and build a centuries-long life with him. While Stanley wouldn’t mind having someone to share his solitary life with, he needs to know the gargoyle more than a day before trusting the male that they’re perfect for each other.
When Stanley gets injured, will Kultrak’s protectiveness in the face of the upcoming danger drive him away or draw him nearer?
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Romancing the Foreman
Copyright © 2023 Charlie Richards
ISBN: 978-1-4874-3975-0
Cover art by Angela Waters
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Romancing the Foreman
A Paranormal’s Love 40
By
Charlie Richards
Dedication
If you’re not moving forward, you’re falling back.
~Sam Waterston
Chapter One
Stanley Redfeather stepped into the dining room, more than ready for the evening meal. After a day of wrestling cows for branding, he was filthy, tired, and starving. Plus, they were only half done.
I get to look forward to this for at least another day.
Still, Stanley wouldn’t trade his job for anything. He’d served as ranch foreman to his boss, Nicholas Lindson, for the last decade. He’d taken over from his own father—Richard Redfeather—when he was thirty-two. At forty-two, he was no spring chicken, but he loved the outdoors, the animals, and the physicality of it.
Keeps me young.
“Hey, boss-man,” Virgil greeted with a wide grin. The tawny-haired wrangler looked him up and down while chuckling softly. “Lookin’ a little stiff, sir. Need me to ask Maggie for some muscle-relieving salve?”
“Laugh it up, Virgil,” Stanley grumbled with a mock frown. “If you weren’t a shifter, you’d be just as sore as me.”
As a Native American, Stanley had always believed that there was more out there than what many humans thought. When Nicholas had brought home Bodb, revealing that gargoyles were real, Stanley hadn’t been too shocked. The fact that Virgil, someone he’d worked with for several years, was a cougar shifter had been a bigger surprise. Stanley had wondered how he’d missed that.
Of course, then Stanley had realized that was the nature of paranormals. They hid in plain sight, carefully hiding their differences. Anonymity was their greatest defense against discrimination.
As sad as the fact was, every minority group in existence had been persecuted at one time or another. Some were still persecuted. Minority groups changed over the years, but the heart of man didn’t seem to.
“Maybe not muscle sore, but that damn calf got me good, and I still feel it.” Virgil’s words drew Stanley out of his errant thoughts. The shifter was rubbing his thigh and shaking his head, his expression rueful. “Didn’t move quite fast enough. I’ve already bruised.”
Stanley recalled the young bull-calf that had managed to kick Virgil. He winced in sympathy.
“Bet Shaw was happy to massage some cream on it, though,” Stanley teased, removing his moccasins and leaving them in the mudroom.
Virgil had recently found his fated mate in a small wombat shifter. According to their beliefs, the pair were bound at the soul level. They would never stray and were completely devoted to each other.
Stanley could admit, at least to himself, that the notion was sweet. Although, he couldn’t imagine jumping in with both feet as fast as paranormals did once they found that special someone. Having been burned in a relationship more than once, Stanley didn’t trust easily anymore.
One-offs every few months are just fine with me.
“Yep. Shaw helped me out plenty,” Virgil agreed with an eyebrow waggle. With a shake of his head, he added, “After reading me the riot act for getting hurt, of course.”
Stanley nodded as they both headed into the main house’s huge dining room. He noticed Virgil had already showered, something he was still looking forward to doing. Stanley intended to eat fast and get back to his foreman’s cottage to enjoy a soak in his jetted tub.
Perks of being the foreman.
The smell of the stew caused Stanley’s stomach to rumble, and he hurried to the sideboard. A massive vat of the stuff already waited there. Grabbing a plate and a bread bowl, he did his best to ignore Virgil greeting Shaw with a deep kiss.
The wombat shifter helped Pauline—a fox shifter—in the kitchen. He also gave Mitchel a hand in his greenhouse, which was a new addition to the ranch. Pauline and Mitchel were mated with gargoyles—Lebone and Sindrid, respectively—and had joined them a few years back after Bodb had moved in. As it turned out, Bodb was a gargoyle elder—one of the ruling members of their race—and he always had at least two gargoyles patrolling the ranch for safety.
After filling his bread bowl with the hearty-looking beef stew, Stanley grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge under the sideboard and moved to the table. He placed his food and drink on it before settling in a chair. Stanley barely managed to keep in his sigh of pleasure at getting off his feet.
The first bite of his meal drew a contented grunt from Stanley. He’d never been more grateful than when Pauline and Lebone had arrived. She’d immediately taken over the kitchen, making it her own. While the housekeeper who’d retired just prior to Pauline’s arrival had kept them fed, Pauline was so much better. Plus, being a fox shifter herself, no one needed to explain about making extra-huge meals for all the paranormals around.
Over the last couple of years, they’d even had a couple of vampires join them, which came in handy if a visiting client saw something they shouldn’t. A vampire had the ability to peer into a human’s mind and alter memories. That was how the species hid the fact that they were drinking a person’s blood.
Stanley finished half his stew before tearing off a chunk of the bread bowl. After dipping it into the broth, he popped it into his mouth. He hummed appreciatively as he chewed.
Watching those around him tuck into their own meals, Stanley listened to the other men’s sighs of pleasure and contentment. He smiled at his food, chewing another bite. For the most part, the only conversation was if someone wanted the salt or pepper passed.
Men and their food.
Finishing up his meal, Stanley contemplated getting seconds. He supposed he didn’t really need it, but it sure tasted fantastic. Giving in, he rose and returned to the sideboard.
Besides, I still have over half my bread bowl. I’ll just get a little.
Stanley peered over his shoulder at the over a dozen men—many in gargoyle form—and called, “Anyone want anything while I’m up?”
“Can I get some orange juice, please?” Maggie asked, smiling at him.
“Sure thing, sweet lady,” Stanley replied.
“I could have gotten it, baby,” Sandra claimed, her blonde brows creasing. The woman was very attentive to her lover, especially since Maggie carried their baby and was due any day now.
Maggie patted Sandra’s hand. “I know, love.” The darker-haired woman rolled a shoulder, saying, “But he was already up and offered.”
Sandra didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyway.
“Here ya go, Maggie.” Stanley placed the bottle of juice on the table beside her. Recalling Virgil’s teasing comment, he decided it was actually a good one. “Do you happen to have any pain-relaxing ointment for muscles made up?”
Maggie happened to be a witch, and she made tonics, creams, and tinctures for them. Most medicines designed and used by humans didn’t work on paranormals due to their higher metabolism. The stuff would burn through their system too fast to be effective.
Utilizing a small section of the greenhouse, Maggie grew a variety
Ssimeas was mated with a human named Attain. Under most circumstances, a gargoyle would eat cinnamon in order to render himself sterile, since gargoyles could impregnate their male fated mates. Ssimeas was a rare case where he was immune to the effects of cinnamon, and Attain was allergic, so he couldn’t eat it either. Instead, Maggie’s potion did the job.
“Absolutely,” Maggie replied, picking up the orange juice. “I always make sure I have a couple of jars on hand, just in case.” With a laugh, she stated, “Ranch life is hard work.”
“That it is,” Stanley agreed. Grinning, he told her honestly, “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“It is wonderful here,” Maggie agreed. Turning to Sandra, she asked, “Can you run to my workshop and grab one of the small, green-labeled tubs?”
“Sure thing.” Sandra bounced to her feet, obviously eager to please her lover.
“It can wait until you’re done eating,” Stanley told her, lifting a hand to stay her actions.
Sandra ignored him. “It’s fine. Be right back.”
Then Sandra hustled from the room.
Maggie chuckled and shrugged, giving Stanley a what can you do look before refocusing on her meal.
Shaking his head, Stanley returned to his seat with his second helping of food. When Sandra returned, he quickly swallowed his bite of food in order to thank her.
Sandra grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Stanley watched Sandra return to her chair. After pecking a kiss to Maggie’s lips, she picked up her spoon and began eating again.
After finishing his second helping, Stanley relaxed back in his seat. He let out another sigh, fatigue weighing on him. Stanley knew he should get off his butt and head home, but he needed just a moment’s more rest.
Just when Stanley felt as if he had enough energy to rise, Nicholas and Bodb entered the room. He realized he had to be more tired than he thought to have missed their absence. Stanley would normally give his boss a report of the day during the end of the meal.
“Hi, Nicholas. Bodb,” Stanley greeted with a dip of his chin. Noting the concern creasing his boss’s features, he asked, “Everything all right?”
Stanley knew that, occasionally, Nicholas would struggle with clients or retailers in town due to being in an openly gay relationship. Fortunately, that had mostly died down over the years. Those in their county had grown accustomed to the fact.
It helped that Sheriff Archer Montgomery had ended up being mated to Bodb’s youngest brother, Lludd. When Archer had come out, the current mayor—Sheldon Loreman—had had a fit. Especially when Archer had refused to employ Sheldon’s bigoted son, Darcy. Sheldon had tried to get Archer sacked, but he’d only succeeded in getting himself booted, instead.
The mayor position was currently being handled by Archer himself, but he didn’t care for the job. Elder Bodb was attempting to get the role filled by a paranormal. Unfortunately, other than those on the ranch, there were few paranormals in the area, and no one there was interested in dealing with politics, either.
“Everything’s fine,” Nicholas assured, his expression clearing. “I just feel a little bad because I’m probably going to be ruining most people’s evening.” He winced and offered a shrug. “At least, for a little while.”
Arching a brow, Stanley asked, “What’s going on?”
Nicholas indicated his gargoyle lover.
Bodb stood at the head of the table, and Nicholas quickly crossed to him.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Elder Bodb asked, his deep voice carrying through the room without him having to raise his volume. Nearly instantly, all other conversation ceased. “Thank you.” Bodb wrapped a thickly muscled, deep-purple arm around Nicholas’s shoulders in a possessive hold. “Elder Gurrando is arriving tonight,” Bodb told them. “I’ll need everyone to assemble on the back deck for their arrival at ten-thirty.”
Stanley winced before nodding once. He’d hoped to be asleep by then, and he knew the others helping him with branding were probably of the same mind.
“All of us, sir?” Keith asked. The older ranch hand looked confused. “If you don’t mind my asking, why?” He shared a look with Walsh before glancing at Stanley and then returning his attention to the gargoyle elder. “Some of us are human.” Then Keith rubbed his knee and offered a wry smile. “And need our rest to keep these old bones in line.”
Keith was only in his mid-fifties, but ranch work could be tough on the body.
Elder Bodb offered Keith a commiserating smile. “I’m sorry, Keith. We shouldn’t be keeping you long,” he told him. “It’s just a formality. The elder and the pair of enforcers with him need to see and scent everyone who lives here.”
“That way, no one is mistakenly taken as a threat,” Nicholas explained further. He patted Keith on the shoulder and smirked. “Enforcers can be protective of their elders.”
Gladstone chuckled from where he sat at the table. He had his arm around his mate, Dayvid. “That we can be,” he agreed amicably. Not only was the man Bodb’s middle brother, but he was an enforcer for him, too. “Can’t be too careful with our elders.” The dark-brown gargoyle cocked his head. “I didn’t think he was arriving until next week. Why the sudden change?”
Before Bodb could respond, Stanley slowly rose to his feet. “Please, excuse me,” he murmured, picking up his dishes. “If I’m to be back here at ten-thirty, I’d really like to take my leave.”
Not only did Stanley still need to get cleaned up, but he wanted to make the rounds of the barns one more time. Everything had been quiet when he’d finished earlier, but they had a mare that was due any day, as well as three heifers. Most births were in the spring, but it didn’t always happen that way.
Besides, gargoyle politics didn’t interest Stanley one iota—not unless it was going to somehow impact his duties, and he didn’t think a visiting elder would do that. Stanley’s job would be business as usual.
“Sure, Stanley,” Nicholas responded with a smile. “See you in a couple of hours.”
Stanley dipped his chin in acknowledgment before placing his dishes in a bin on a rolling cart near the sideboard. Then he headed out of the dining room. As Stanley slipped on his moccasins, he noticed Walsh and Keith following him.
“Later,” Stanley murmured with a wave.
They responded in kind.
While they headed toward the bunkhouse, Stanley strode toward his cabin.
After a long hot shower, Stanley took a few minutes to rub the lotion on his sore upper arms and back. He sighed as whatever healing herbs Maggie put in it began to take effect. Stanley took a few minutes just to sit on the swing of his front porch in a pair of cargo shorts, enjoying the warm evening.
Considering the gargoyles ran around in loincloths, Stanley felt completely comfortable, and he knew no one would give him grief.
At ten after ten, Stanley slipped on a clean pair of moccasins and headed toward the foaling barn. He did a sweep, finding everything quiet. After leaving the barn, he crossed to the paddock containing the pregnant heifers. It was attached to an open-sided barn, but they usually only hung out in there during the heat of the day.
Stanley confirmed that everything was quiet there, too, before heading toward the back deck. He saw that nearly everyone had arrived. The sound of wings told Stanley that he was right on time.
After climbing the porch steps, Stanley turned and watched as forms appeared in the night sky. He noticed Keith slip from the back door, a tumbler in hand, and Walsh was jogging from the direction of the bunkhouse.
That’s everyone, then.
Elder Bodb and Nicholas moved forward, watching the three shapes draw closer, the gargoyles appearing on the horizon. The form in the middle was dark-green with black horns and wings. The figure on the left was a medium-brown and also had black wings but no horns.
To Stanley’s surprise, he found his attention riveted on the gargoyle on the right. The paranormal sported a light-gray hide with white wings and curling horns like a ram. He had the traditional thickly muscled frame and large body prevalent of an enforcer, and Stanley felt an odd desire to run his palms over the male.
