Twenty-two-year-old Bill Webster was out of work because the ranch owner’s son had been kicked out of college and needed a job. As Bill had been last in, he was first out. Armed with a letter of recommendation and the advice to try at the Lazy W two counties over, Bill had climbed aboard his Harley and ridden west. He’d passed through the Lazy W’s wooden archway and rode up the long driveway, impressed at the healthy look of the cattle grazing in the well-maintained pastures. He circled around the neat and tidy ranch yard and stopped next to a ranch hand unloading feed from the back of a pickup.
“Looking for the boss,” Bill announced once he’d cut the engine and taken off his helmet.
“Uh huh?” the handsome cowboy disinterestedly asked as he leaned against the side of the pickup, regardin
