Barry Logan’s day starts out shitty and continues to go down the crapper. His car breaks down in the Middle of Nowhere, Colorado. The only mechanic for miles is out of town, forcing Barry to hole up and await his return. Bored and hungry, Barry goes to the town’s only bar in search of food and entertainment. The former is almost inedible, but his interest in the latter is piqued when two specimens of cowboy perfection walk in.
Barry has always had a thing for cowboys, and he’s been on a mission to get up close and personal with as many as possible before flying home to England. Having two cowboys at the same time would be a new experience, and one Barry is eager to try. So when the two men leave the bar, Barry follows in hot pursuit. He overhears them arguing about whose turn it is to bottom that night. Without thinking, Barry offers his services.
Jimmy Pierce and Jake Wilson drive Barry back to the Double J ranch for a night of wild passion he won’t forget. The next morning, Barry wakes in an empty bed to a beeping smoke alarm. It seems the ranch cook quit the night before, leaving Jimmy, Jake, and their three ranch hands to fend for themselves.
Barry immediately takes charge. His cooking meets with everyone’s approval, and he agrees to stay on both in the kitchen and in Jimmy’s and Jake’s bed. The two cowboys are physically demonstrative, both with each other as well as with Barry, who finds himself falling fast for both of them. It’s like a dream come true -- Barry has two men and a job he loves.
But petty jealousies, rivalries, and miscommunications threaten to shatter the dream, and when Barry’s scheming ex shows up, things get even worse. Sandwiched between two cowboy lovers, has Barry bitten off more than he can chew?
The bed felt cold and empty. Barry opened his eyes. The room was dark. Why wasn’t it daylight? Where were Jimmy and Jake? And the bloody alarm clock was giving him a headache.
Groping around on the bedside table to his right, Barry searched for the damned alarm clock. It wasn’t there. Slowly he became aware that the noise wasn’t coming from inside the room. He switched on the lamp on the bedside table and looked around. The room seemed pretty much the same as it had the previous evening, with the addition of more scattered clothes. Didn’t these men ever clean up after themselves?
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Barry stood and immediately wished he hadn’t. The dull ache in his rear suddenly became more acute.
“Jesus, what did they fuck me with last night?”
Taking a few tentative steps, Barry searched for his clothes. Then he smelled it. Burning. Suddenly he realized the noise was a smoke alarm.
Donning the first clothes he found -- a pair of blue boxers, his own jeans and a red flannel shirt, Barry slipped sockless feet into a pair of trainers that were several sizes too big, and waddled out of the bedroom.
The burning smell was greater in the hallway. He could hear raised angry voices so headed toward them. Turning into a doorway, Barry took in a scene of total chaos. Four men were running around a kitchen, carrying knives, spatulas, and spoons, bumping into each other and not seeming to achieve anything. A fifth man, Jimmy if the back of his blue T-shirt was any indication, was poking a butter knife into a toaster that was belching out large quantities of black smoke.
“Jesus wept,” Barry muttered. No one heard him so he took in a deep breath, not easy given the smoky atmosphere, and yelled, “What the hell is going on!”
Everyone froze. The man at the toaster turned around and dropped the knife. Barry had been right, it was Jimmy. Jake stood at the kitchen island, a tea towel wrapped around his right hand, spatula held in his left, scraping at the cremated contents of a large frying pan. Another man, older than the others, was fighting a losing battle with a loaf of bread, which was bowing under the pressure of a huge and no doubt blunt butcher’s knife. Two other men stood wielding other pieces of kitchen equipment. It was obvious from a simple glance they, too, didn’t have a clue how to use them.
Instantly knowing he had to take charge -- someone had to -- Barry barked, “Jimmy, unplug the toaster at the wall and step back. Jake, drop that spatula and what have you done with your hand?” Barry turned to the other three. “Put down those things before you hurt yourselves or each other.”
Amazingly, everyone did as they were told. Barry then asked the cowboy who was standing closest to what was probably the back door to open it. He did so and Barry carried the still-smoking toaster out onto a wooden deck.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Barry reentered the kitchen. The rapidly disbursing smoke revealed the full horror of what had transpired. Every work surface was covered in a mixture of flour, ground coffee and goodness knew what else. The floor was littered with more flour and ground coffee. In addition, pieces of eggshell, yolks and whites had been tracked into the mess.
The smoke alarm was still screaming. Barry said, “Does anyone know how to turn that bloody thing off?”
Jimmy left the kitchen, a few seconds later there was a soft crash, but mercifully the alarm ceased its screaming. Jimmy came back into the kitchen holding several pieces of broken white plastic.
Barry sighed and addressed the group as a whole. “What happened?”
