by Jen Peters
Sophie snorted again. “Oh, he’s long gone. Let me tell you about Richard…”
By the time they hung up, Maddy was laughing. But Sophie’s earlier words echoed.
Adam and her? Her sister was delusional.
6
Maddy returned to the office, her phone in her hip pocket and a serious look on her face. Adam tried to watch her without being obvious, but she stared at him.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and returned to his own work. Not that moving their calving season was anything he wanted to consider, and this guy’s writing didn’t get any more interesting, but it wouldn’t do to just keep watching her.
Was she someone he might want to date? Did he really want to date anyone? He’d have no time at all until the rest of the calves were born, and his days would still be overloaded after that.
On the other hand, ranch work shouldn’t fill his entire life.
Adam sent a glance her way, just a quick one. He was glad that her desk wasn’t facing the wall, that he could see her face and not just the back of her head. But it was taking a lot of effort to get his own work done. He put the article aside and pulled out the breeding reports from last year.
He studied which cows and bulls produced calves with the highest weight, who had problems, how many heifers they needed from this group for replacements. His senses tingled—someone was watching him.
He glanced at Maddy, whose eyes were focused, whose fingers were flying on the keyboard. Nope, not her.
He looked at Dad, who didn’t drop his gaze quite in time.
“What is it?” Adam whispered, leaning forward across the double desk. Dad had given a pointed look earlier—he’d better not say anything about Maddy now.
Sure enough, Dad glanced over at her. Then quickly back and down. “Nothing. Wait, there is something.”
Adam raised his eyebrows. Dad pushed some papers across to him. Adam looked at scribbled diagrams and math problems, then back up.
His father’s blue eyes clouded over. “I can’t make the numbers come right. I add them and add them, and it’s never the same.”
Adam chuckled. “Gotta move into the 21st century, Dad. Try using the calculator.”
But Dad shook his head. “I did. I still can’t figure it. We have six hundred acres in hay, right? And about two tons per acre?”
Adam ran a hand through his hair. “No, Dad. Once the cows and calves are up at the summer pasture, we’ll have about 1200 acres in hay. About three tons each for the first cutting, and one for the second, if we get a second.”
His father nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Another bout of senior-itis, I guess.” He shrugged and waved his hand at the papers. “You figure it out.”
Adam shifted his foot, ignoring the throb in his, and set the papers on his side of the desk. He used a spreadsheet to plan the hay required to carry the cows through winter. And why his father thought he needed to calculate it now, he had no idea.
It worried him occasionally—this wasn’t the first time Dad’s thoughts didn’t make sense—but it wasn’t important now. “Actually, Dad, I do need to talk to you about the pastures. It’s time to take soil samples, isn’t it? Or did you do that already?”
“Already done,” Dad said. “I sent them in last week.”
If he had, they should have gotten the results by now. Adam frowned, making a mental note to call and check. Before he could say anything else, his father shoved his chair back and stood.
“I’ve got to look in on Caleb,” Dad said, not meeting Adam’s eyes. He walked out at a steady pace, but somehow his footsteps didn’t carry the energy they used to.
Adam tapped his pencil. It sounded loud in the quiet room.
“Is he okay?” Maddy asked. Her brown eyes were warm with concern. “He seems sad.”
Adam shrugged. “Just a little off his feed, maybe.” He wished he could put his finger on what was wrong. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was his imagination.
“How’s your ankle feeling?”
He tamped down the growl that wanted to come out. “Fine. No problem.” If she was going to hover over every little hurt, he not only wouldn’t be dating her, he wouldn’t be sharing an office with her for very long.
It was time to see how repairs were going. “I’ll be back in time to feed the bird again.” He labored to his feet and strode out the door, not limping a bit. He didn’t give in to his ankle until he’d closed the door behind him.
After a long day of work sorting out tax information, Maddy collapsed on her sofa and pulled Mia into her lap.
“Did you have fun today, sweetie?”
“Yup! Did you?”
“Of course!” Maybe not fun, but satisfying, anyway. Except for the time she’d spent puzzling over Adam. He’d been studious sometimes and almost ADD at others. Both patient and frustrated with his father. And surprisingly gentle with Lacey’s hurt bird.
That was what surprised her the most—that a guy who could gallop in and yell like he did could have the patience to coax a wild bird to eat. It made her smile inside.
She tuned back in to hear Mia say, “… thinks it’s time to plant, Mama. Can we plant something?”
Maddy nodded. “I saw some flower seeds around somewhere. But we’ll have to look.”
An hour later, they had sweet pea seeds in three soil-filled paper cups, all lined up on the kitchen windowsill. They cleaned up the mess, scrubbed their hands, and it was time to start dinner.
“I’m making Nonna’s spaghetti sauce,” Maddy said. “Do you want to help me?”
Mia made a face. “Not really. I want to draw some sweet pea flowers.”
Maddy was never sure if Mia didn’t like to cook, or if her daughter was just entranced by many things at once. She nodded, and while Mia colored at the table, Maddy began the sauce. Nonna always simmered it all day, and Maddy never had time. At least it didn’t come from a jar!
She hummed while she worked, smiling when she realized what she was doing—she hadn’t felt calm enough to hum for a long time.
She startled at the knock on the door, though. She set her spoon down slowly and peeked out the curtain. Lacey stood on the small porch, shifting from foot to foot.
Maddy opened the door. “Lacey. We didn’t get to meet properly before.”
“I know, right? I was soooo late for school yesterday. And Dad wouldn’t let me come over until I got my research paper finished—who needs to know about the causes of the French Revolution anyway?—but I finally got it done. And then he said you needed some downtime right after work, and I needed to feed my bird, but is it okay now?”
The girl bubbled over with exuberance, and Maddy opened the door wider to welcome her.
“Ooh, it smells good in here,” Lacey said, sniffing. She tucked a lock of long, blonde hair behind her ear. “What are you making?”
“My grandmother’s spaghetti sauce.” Maddy scooped a bit in a small spoon. “Want to tell me what you think?”
Lacey blew to cool it off first. “Oh, that’s yummy! I wish I could cook. I can make a pretty good peanut butter fudge, and my cupcakes aren’t bad, but that’s about it. I try to watch Uncle Dirt, but nothing seems to sink in. And it’s not like I had Mom around to show me. Did I say how glad I am you’re here? There’s just too much testosterone on this ranch, with only me to balance it out.”
Maddy chuckled—four brothers and all those ranch hands, with only one girl? Lacey’s assessment was spot on. And then there was Uncle Dirt. “I still can’t get over that nickname.”
Lacey laughed. “He’s not dirty or anything. He’s just been on the ranch forever. He’s says he’s older than dirt, so when I was little, I started calling him that. Everyone else does now, too.”
“That’s what your dad said. And he’s your cook?”
“Well, he is now. He used to be out with the herds, I guess, but he got his leg busted pretty badly. So he helps with some ranch stuff and does all our cooking. Ex
cept for my fudge!”
“Sounds like an interesting guy.” Maddy tasted her sauce and added another pinch of oregano. Just right. “What else have you tried to make?”
Lacey made a face. “I tried a soufflé that ended up about as flat as a slice of bread, and some chocolate cinnamon cookies that just tasted weird.” She pulled out a kitchen chair to sit on. “And then last year I watched a YouTube video and tried making a Yule log.”
Maddy raised her eyebrows. “A Yule log?”
Lacey gave a rueful smile. “Yup. It’s a chocolate cake roll with frosting inside, and once it’s all rolled up, you decorate the outside with more frosting so it looks like a log. Except mine looked more like a fat worm covered in lumpy dirt.”
“Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Those were Adam’s exact words. And he was right. See?” The teenager pulled up a picture on her phone and showed Maddy.
It did look like a fat worm with lumpy dirt.
“Well, yeah, but he didn’t need to say that. Besides, brothers never like their sister’s cooking.” Maddy chuckled. “Did it taste good?”
Lacey shrugged. “Mostly, but a little, I don’t know, metallic-y? Uncle Dirt said I probably mixed up teaspoon with tablespoon and put too much baking soda in. But I like cooking. It’s fun and something different to do when the ranch is shut down in the winter.”
Maddy gave Lacey a speculative glance. “Winter’s about gone, but would you be interested in doing some cooking together? I’ll teach you some dinner stuff, and maybe we can learn to do Yule logs together.”
The girl’s eyes went wide. “Really? You’d do that for me? It’s so nice to have another female around. I get tired of the guys sometimes. No one to talk to who understands.”
Maddy smiled. She still wasn’t used to being on her own, and she desperately missed her family. Lacey would fill a void in her life, too. “So what grade are you in?”
“Junior. Only one more year of high school to go!” The teenager sighed dramatically.
“Not so thrilled with school, huh?” Maddy could commiserate—she wouldn’t want to go back to being a teenager for anything.
Lacey shrugged. “School’s okay. I see my friends, and I like math. But it seems like everything has to wait until I’m grown up.”
“Like what? What do you want to do with your life?”
“Adam keeps asking me that.” Lacey frowned. “The thing is, I’m not sure. Sometimes I want to go to vet school because I like helping injured animals—that scrub jay is going to be okay, I think. But I think it would be cool to be a nurse, too, and help people. And sometimes I just want to work on the ranch the rest of my life.” She got a gleam in her eyes. “But maybe if I learn how, I’ll be a chef!”
Maddy grinned. “Okay then.” She turned the sauce down to simmer and filled a kettle with water. “First lesson is how to not overcook pasta.”
7
Adam almost slept through his alarm. He’d been out on the three a.m. calving check, and the last cow had finally dropped her calf. Last except for Number Fifty-Two, and she was always late. Thanks, Lord, he sent up as he wandered bleary-eyed into the usual early morning commotion.
Micah was yawning, Jesse was telling a joke about a rodeo rider and a beauty queen, Wes and another cowboy were discussing the cows that hadn’t calved yet, and Ty leaned against the wall with his eyes closed.
“That’s good,” Uncle Dirt said after Jesse’s punchline, “but did you hear the one about the cowboy and the dachshund?
Adam groaned in advance, and Wes, who’d been there a year or two and should have known better, took the bait. “No, what?” Wes said.
“He wanted to ‘git a long little dogie!’” Uncle Dirt cackled.
“That joke is almost as old as you are,” Adam broke in.
“Of course,” the work-worn man snorted. “I wouldn’t have my name otherwise.”
The cowboys were still chuckling, more at Uncle Dirt himself than the joke.
Adam looked at them—good men, all. Mostly, anyway. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ty’s eyes were bloodshot from drinking last night. “All right, there’s a lot going on today. It’s still muddy, so those of you on horseback, be careful of their legs. Don’t need any pulled muscles.” Or sprained ankles where someone would actually cut your new boot off. At least it wasn’t throbbing so much today.
He gave out assignments, naming some cowboys to be on daytime calving duty, and six more to take the night shift rotation through the week. He finished with, “Ty and Wes, it’s your turn for mucking out stalls. Start with the calving barn—disinfect and spread fresh straw—then head over to the stables once Caleb has the horses out in the pasture.”
All the hands took even turns with this most unpalatable job, and Wes groaned predictably. Just as predictably, Ty cussed.
Adam looked at him sharply. “You got a problem with that, Ty?”
Ty glared back at Adam. “No. I just think you could hire day workers for that.” He spat on the floor.
“If I do, you’ll be the first day worker on my list, and that’s where you’ll stay,” Adam warned. “Get some rags from the kitchen and clean up that mess of spit before you go.”
Ty tilted his hat back down over his eyes, but remained silent.
“You want us back on the fencing, boss?” one of the ranch hands asked.
Adam shook his head. “The rest of you are with me. We’ll be assessing the yearling heifers and I’ll need you in the pens out there. Luis, you take the Gator out with the vaccines and some grub for lunch. Wes, we probably won’t be back until late, so you make sure the evening chores get done.”
Dad elbowed him. “You sure you ought to be on a horse with that ankle?”
“My ankle’s fine,” Adam growled. He didn’t need anyone hovering over him, Dad, Maddy, or anyone else.
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t look like it yesterday. You push too hard, it’ll come back to bite you.” Then his expression changed. “You got any jobs left for an old man?”
Adam was shocked he’d ask. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Dad grinned. He seemed relieved for some reason.
“You too, Micah? Or do we have machinery that needs your TLC?”
“I’m in,” Micah said. “The tractors can do without me for a day.”
Adam blessed his grandfathers once more as he saddled Mister. If they didn’t have the land they did, they’d have a lot of cows living in mud. As it was, there was room for large pastures so the cows could spread out. The heifers born last year, the ones they were keeping as replacements, were at the east end of the ranch where there was another hay barn and corrals.
They rode in easy camaraderie, sometimes chatting and sometimes silent. The sound of horses breathing, leather creaking, hoofbeats settling in the dirt—they all gave Adam that feeling of rightness. The sun warmed his shoulders, and he thanked God for a beautiful day. And for an easy ride, not stressing his ankle any more than necessary.
Micah spoke up. “I didn’t think you’d ride out today.”
Adam heaved a sigh. “Like I told Dad, my ankle’s fine.”
Micah gave him a long glance. “You know, the rest of us are capable of doing things without you. Including getting the heifers vaccinated and checking their weight.”
“I know. It’s just…” Adam’s voice trailed off. He didn’t know how to put how he felt into words, this drive to make sure everything went properly, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Eventually, he gave up. “I needed to get out anyway. Too much time behind a desk does not a cowboy make!”
“You can say that again.”
“Too much time behind a—”
“I got it, I got it.” Micah groaned.
Adam gave a chuckle, but his mind had flitted to his office…and Maddy at her desk. She’d be having a quiet day today by herself. He was relieved that she was going to get the taxes done, but he wondered what she’d be doing next. He realized he really didn’t
know what an accountant did besides pay the bills and do the payroll.
He ought to ask her sometime. It wasn’t right that he was half-running the ranch and didn’t know what all the employees’ duties were. And if he could manage to talk to her outside, perhaps he’d get to see the sun glimmer in her hair again. He wondered if she’d felt the same quiver as he had when they’d touched.
He gave a sharp shake. Any conversations with Maddy needed to be business-only. No glorious hair, no zinging touches, just business. He had no energy for anything else. Yet.
They found the yearling heifers split into two groups, one scattered across a hillside and the rest throughout a broad gully. The men moved their horses into a lope and circled them widely, then slowed to herd them toward the pens.
Mister walked eagerly, and Adam inhaled deeply as they followed the stragglers. The air felt warm, the breeze was slight, and there was no place he’d rather be than riding in these mountains, pain or no pain.
Micah pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, shading his eyes with his hand and peering into the distance. “Is that Dad facing off with that heifer?”
Adam squinted. They were far ahead and he couldn’t make out facial features, but the horse was definitely Cobbler. “No one else rides a Paint like that; it has to be Dad. I’m going to go help.”
“No, don’t,” Micah said sharply. “He’s doing fine.”
Adam sat back in his saddle. Mister’s muscles relaxed, but that was more than he could say for himself. Dad was working an angry heifer by himself. Adam’s whole being wanted to assist.
But Micah was right. Dad was an experienced cowboy. He’d been wrangling cattle since long before Adam was born—he really wouldn’t like being thought incapable of doing his job.
And he wasn’t. Adam watched as Dad sat deep in his saddle, telegraphing signals with just his knees and his seat and letting Cobbler use his well-developed instincts to block the young cow. At one point, she backed and whirled, taking off up a hill. Dad gave chase and loosened his lariat. He gave a quick flick of the wrist to catch her, Cobbler sat back on his haunches, his weight against the heifer’s movement, and she dragged to a stop.
