He sighed and shook his head at himself. Hungover or not, he couldn’t indulge in this kind of navel-gazing. Ryder had a job to do and he did it well. Period.
Period.
He dialed Rog, his contact at the placement service.
“Good morning, this is Rog. How can I be of service?” The man’s voice was smooth as silk.
“Hello, Rog. This is Charles Martin. Everything is fine, I wondered though if you might have a moment to talk.”
“Mr. Martin!” There was a moment of pure shock. “Of course. Is everything going well with Ryder?”
“Very well. Remarkably well. He’s really a lovely person, a wonderful chef, and he has an extraordinary mind for details.” Even details he wouldn’t have thought about for himself.
“I’m tickled to hear that. He’s new to the company.”
“He’s a good find, and you did well sending him to me.” He’d just fess up and get Rog off the phone. “I wanted to make you aware that I probably pushed the boundaries of his contract last night before you heard it from him. Embarrassingly, I had much too much to drink, and he was very kind in getting me home and in bed. If you have a bonus system, I’d very much like to make sure he’s recognized. Anything I can do to contribute, please let me know.”
“Mr. Martin, believe me. Ryder isn’t going to call and complain over a small indiscretion. For a rodeo cowboy, he’s amazingly patient.” There was the oddest tone in Rog’s voice.
“Well, I felt it was important that I tell you, just to validate anything he might mention. He is patient; you’re right. To say the least. He takes excellent care of me, far beyond anythingI might have expected. It’s hard to believe this is his first position.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s pleasing. He seems perfectly suited, and I haven’t heard a single peep from him since he started.”
“Hopefully that’s good news.” He felt like there was something he should be asking, like whether there was anything he should know that wasn’t in Ryder’s dossier, but he supposed if it wasn’t there, it really wasn’t his business. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I just wanted to be—honest about everything.”
“Of course. Absolutely. Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you. I will do that. Have a good day.” He hung up but couldn’t help thinking there was more to Ryder than he understood. He tapped his chin with his phone, wondering if he should just let it go, but curiosity was still getting the better of him.
He finally gave in and googled Ryder, shocked to find thousands of responses. There were pictures of two little black-haired cowboys, side-by-side, in matching jeans and boots. Silver-haired teenagers—one in long braids, one in a crew cut—in their high school graduation robes. Then there were all the bull riding photos, silver buckles, bruises—always the twins.
Then there was a photo of four young men—Ryder and his twin along with two younger boys, obviously twins as well.
The last photos were of Ryder in the hospital, tubes coming out of Ryder, head shaved, and his twin was right there, holding Ryder’s hand, a rope with a lock tattooed on the twin’s wrist.
That was obviously the career-ending wreck Ryder told him about. Poor man, that looked painful. It was amazing though, how his twin really did look just like him. The tattoo was interesting. He figured it was some bull rider thing so he googled that next.
“Rope with lock tattoo,” he said out loud as he typed it into his phone.
Unity and freedom. Protection. Submission.
He took the time to read that again but he couldn’t be sure he really understood what he was looking at. Unity and freedom, fine. Protection was a little esoteric, but also fine. Submission…to what? Or whom? Was it religious? Maybe it was a cowboy thing. He didn’t know the first thing about cowboys, when it came down to it. Other than he thought Ryder looked great in dressy jeans.
Also, the man who had gone into the wreck seemed at least ten years younger than the man who had come out. He couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed to him that the end of one’s career coupled with some kind of obvious head injury would naturally change a person. Such a shame.
Not that Ryder seemed terribly unhappy. He’d taken to the job well. He was friendly and easygoing; he seemed well-adjusted enough. Maybe he’d had some excellent therapy.
All the photos fascinated him, and then Charles found that the twins had a fan club.
A fan club.
It was still active, or at least he thought it was, but all the new information was about Roper—where he was riding, what he was doing.
That had to be tough for Ryder, being out of that loop. He talked about his brother all the time too, so he certainly had to feel like he was missing everything.
It was a shame there was so little he could do about it. It wasn’t as if he was free to just follow the rodeo around.
Much.