A Chance for the Rancher

by Brenda Harlen

  “Because you don’t want to stick,” she reminded him. “You want to have some fun and move on, and that’s fine for you, but I can’t do that.”

  “How do you know without giving it a try?”

  She started to dismiss his suggestion out of hand, then realized there might be some merit to it. She was afraid of giving in to the feelings he stirred inside her because she was afraid of getting hurt again.

  But what if she could keep things light and casual? What if she could just enjoy being with him?

  It was a tantalizing possibility.

  “I don’t know that I’m capable of having a casual relationship without the expectation of something more,” she said. “But I’m sure that Brendan isn’t.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “He’s a seven-year-old boy without a father, and he’s already getting attached to you,” she explained.

  “We’re buddies,” he said.

  “And that’s great,” she agreed. “Until he starts looking at you as something more than a buddy.”

  Patrick immediately shook his head. “He’s too smart for that.”

  “You’d think so,” she said, as the theme song of her son’s favorite cartoon alerted her to the show’s conclusion. “But that’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”

  * * *

  She wasn’t surprised that Brendan fell asleep in the truck on the drive home. She was surprised that he didn’t conk out until they were less than five minutes from their destination. Prior to that, he’d kept himself awake by excitedly recounting every minute of his day with Mr. Patrick.

  While she’d been testing potentially infected sheep, she’d barely had a moment to think about her son, but when she did, she’d worried that he might be bored or pestering Patrick with 1001 questions. Based on Brendan’s retelling of the day’s events, he definitely had not suffered from boredom.

  In fact, it sounded as if he’d really enjoyed the time he’d spent at the Silver Star. His busy day at the ranch had included a horseback ride (with a helmet, he was quick to assure her), helping to groom and feed the horses, “consulting” with Mr. Patrick on his proposed child-friendly ranch activities, playing board games—which usually ranked significantly lower than video games in his estimation but had apparently been a lot of fun with Mr. Patrick—and finally, after dinner, some quiet time in front of the television.

  Considering the amount of fresh air and exercise he’d got, it was no wonder exhaustion had finally caught up with him. But not before he’d commented, in a casual tone, that it had almost been like having a dad. The offhand remark confirming that Brooke was right to be worried about her son’s growing attachment to the rancher.

  Another worry was that, by the time she pulled into her driveway, the earlier threat of snow had turned into the real thing. She suspected the forecasted four to six inches would be blanketing the ground by morning, and though it was just a light dusting right now, she parked in the garage to save herself having to clear snow off her truck later.

  Though Brendan was growing fast and getting heavy, she didn’t like to wake him just so he could walk upstairs to his bed. Instead, she unbuckled his seat belt and lifted him into her arms, all too aware that her days of being able to carry her not-so-little-anymore boy were already numbered.

  She pulled back his covers and lowered him onto the bed, then gently stripped him out of his coat, removed his hat and boots, and pulled the covers up again.

  Of course, he hadn’t brushed his teeth, but she knew that if she woke him now to perform the task, he’d be wide-awake until the wee hours of the morning—and so would she. So she only touched her lips to his forehead and left him sleeping.

  He was the love of her life, but recently she’d started to realize that being a mother wasn’t the whole of her identity. Her growing and deepening feelings for Patrick reminded her that she was also a woman, with a woman’s wants and needs. And while she had no doubt that the rancher would be able to satisfy her desires, she knew that falling for a man like Patrick Stafford could only end in heartache.

  But it was Brendan’s tender heart that she worried about even more than her own. After only two weeks, it was obvious that her son had become attached to the rancher. He asked about him every day and was always disappointed to learn that Brooke had gone to the Silver Star without him.

  Obviously it had been foolish to believe that the strong and steady presence of Brendan’s grandfather could somehow make up for the absence of a father in his life.

  But it would be a mistake to count on Patrick Stafford to fill that void for more than a few hours.

  * * *

  Melissa Stafford didn’t believe in signs.

  In her opinion, those who waited for signs wasted an awful lot of time waiting, while those who truly wanted something went after it.

  So she didn’t think it was a sign when she received a text message from her cousin Patrick in Haven only a few hours after she’d been wishing she had somewhere to go to get away from Seattle. But she did recognize it as an opportunity.

  “Are you sautéing or snoozing, Stafford?”

  She ignored the snarky question and tipped the pan so the browned cremini mushrooms spilled over the freshly grilled striploin plated beside a handful of roasted baby potatoes and a trio of asparagus spears.

  “I’m taking a break,” she called out, confident that her vacant station would quickly be filled by one of the eager apprentices who hovered around the kitchen at Alessandro’s, desperate for the opportunity to do something.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and reread Patrick’s message as she slipped out the back door.

  “I thought you’d be working on a Saturday night,” he said, when he connected the call.

  “You caught me on my smoke break.”

  She heard the frown in his voice when he asked, “Since when do you smoke?”

  “I don’t,” she admitted. “But the smokers get to skip out of the kitchen for ten minutes every few hours, so I’ve started carrying a pack of cigarettes in my pocket.”

  “Is your boss really that much of a tyrant?”

  “You have no idea. Anyway, your message said you’re looking to hire a cook—is this for your dude ranch?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Are you kidding?” she asked. “The whole family’s taking bets on how long you’re going to stick it out.”

  “Nice to know everyone has such faith in my abilities,” he remarked dryly.

  “It’s not your abilities they doubt but your commitment,” she told him. “My dad says you’ve had five different positions at Blake Mining in the past five years.”

  “Six years,” he said, as if that made a difference. “But I’m going to make this work.”

  “I believe you,” Melissa said. Truthfully, she’d always thought the reason he bounced around from job to job at Blake Mining was that he was never happy there. And while she didn’t know if this current venture would make him any happier, she had her own reasons for throwing her support behind him.

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence,” Patrick said.

  “And to show how much I believe in you, I’ll take the job.”

  There was a pause as he took a moment to process her unexpected offer.

  “You want to leave your fancy restaurant in Seattle to cook for guests at my vacation ranch in Haven?”

  “I do,” she confirmed.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding just a little bit wary.

  “I need a change of scenery,” she replied, aiming for a tone that was casual and carefree and not at all desperate.

  “Not a lot of people come to northern Nevada for the scenery,” he pointed out.

  “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” she told him. “If you were smart, you’d grab hold of it with both hands before I change
my mind.”

  Or started to beg, which would undoubtedly set off all kinds of alarm bells in her cousin’s mind.

  “What’s it going to cost me?” he asked.

  “Whatever you had budgeted for a cook’s salary, plus a room for me on-site,” she impulsively decided, because the salary wasn’t nearly as important as the opportunity to get out of Seattle.

  “I can manage that.”

  “Then I’ll give my two weeks’ notice after the restaurant closes tonight,” she said, grateful that she could see not just a road out of her dead-end life but possibilities for a new start in Haven.

  Chapter Nine

  Brooke was awakened early Sunday morning by fifty-five pounds of jubilant child jumping on her bed.

  “Wake up, Mom!”

  She pulled the covers up over her head. “It’s Sunday,” she reminded her son. “The one day of the week that I get to sleep in.”

  “But it snowed last night and I wanna go tobogganing.”

  She opened one eye and peeked out from under the covers. “It’s not even eight o’clock.”

  Then her cell phone chimed, and she sighed wearily as she reached for it to check the message.

  “Apparently Grandpa’s awake, too,” she noted. “He says you’ve got half an hour to get ready or he’s going tobogganing without you.”

  “Yikes! I’ve gotta get dressed.”

  “And eat some breakfast,” Brooke said, pushing back the covers. “You can’t tackle snow-covered hills on an empty stomach.”

  Of course, Brendan was already gone, racing back to his room in search of something to wear.

  She wrapped herself in a plush robe, stuffed her feet into fuzzy slippers and headed to the kitchen to pop some frozen waffles into the toaster. While she was waiting for the pastries to heat, she sent a quick reply to her dad.

  He’ll be ready. Thank you so much! You’ve totally made his day. xo

  Just then, she heard her son’s footsteps coming down the hall. “I’m ready!” Brendan announced, sliding across the tiles in his sock feet.

  She gave him a quick once-over. “Do you have a T-shirt on under that hoodie?”

  “No, but—”

  She lifted an arm and pointed to his bedroom.

  He sighed but went to do her bidding.

  When he came back again, his breakfast was ready: the OJ poured into his favorite cup and toasted waffles cut into strips to be dunked in the little container of syrup.

  While he was eating, she made herself a cup of coffee, using the last pod in the cupboard. She added coffee to the grocery list on the fridge, beneath likrish and mashmelos—obviously her son’s additions and proof that he was much better at math than spelling.

  She’d just taken a first sip when Brendan pushed away from the island, setting his cup on top of the plate and carefully carrying both to the sink.

  “Thanks, Mom.” He returned to press sticky lips to her cheek.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now brush your teeth, and make sure you clean every tooth because you didn’t brush last night.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  She finished her coffee while he was occupied with that task, then helped him wriggle into his snow pants and ski jacket. By the time his grandfather knocked on the door, Brendan was ready.

  “How is it that you have so much more energy than I do?” Brooke asked her dad.

  He grinned. “I don’t have to be up with a seven-year-old every morning—and I love tobogganing.”

  She knew it was true. She had so many memories of racing down the snow-covered hills with her brothers and her dad, then returning home to warm numb hands around steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

  “Well, then, be safe and have fun,” she said.

  “We will,” he promised. Then he winked at his grandson. “And we’ll let Gramma know when we’re on our way back, so she can have the hot chocolate ready, right?”

  “Right!” Brendan confirmed with enthusiasm.

  Brooke was smiling as they drove away, but she was going to need another cup of coffee to get through a day that had started far too early. Of course, that required getting dressed and heading over to The Daily Grind, where she could grab a doughnut or muffin to go with her coffee. And since she knew her mom was alone this morning, she opted for two of the vanilla lattes Sandra enjoyed—on the rare occasions that she let herself indulge—and two maple pecan Danishes.

  “You were late getting home last night,” Sandra remarked, when Brooke stopped by with her offerings from the local coffee shop.

  She didn’t bother to ask how her mother knew. No doubt she hadn’t gone to sleep until she’d seen her daughter’s vehicle pull into the driveway. Now that Brooke was a parent herself, she understood why her mom had never been able to sleep until she knew her children were safe in their own beds.

  “Brendan stayed at the Silver Star when I got called out to Rolling Meadows, and when I got back, Patrick invited me to stay for dinner.”

  Sandra broke off the corner of her Danish. “What did he make?”

  “Meat loaf with mashed potatoes and green beans.”

  “Was it good?”

  “Very good,” Brooke admitted.

  “A man who can cook... Imagine that,” her mother mused.

  “Dad can cook.”

  “Breakfast,” Sandra said. “If he ever tackled something like meat loaf, I’d fall off my chair. Then I’d fall head over heels in love—if I wasn’t already there.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Well, my heart is holding out for something that will hopefully last a little longer than an evening meal.”

  “But you like Patrick,” her mom noted.

  “I like him,” she admitted.

  “Why does that sound like a reluctant admission?”

  “Because he’s Patrick Stafford.”

  “And?” Sandra prompted.

  “We went to the same high school,” she reminded her mother. “And even though he graduated when I finished my freshman year, his reputation lived on.”

  “Everyone has a past,” Sandra noted. “Why are you holding Patrick’s against him?”

  “Because I don’t think he’s changed.”

  “He’s been good for Brendan,” her mom pointed out. “Since the first time you took him out to the Silver Star, your son hasn’t stopped talking about ‘Mr. Patrick.’”

  “I know.” Brooke sighed.

  “Or maybe that’s the real problem,” Sandra suggested.

  “I never thought he was missing out, not having a father, because he’s got the world’s greatest grandfather,” she confided.

  “But it’s not the same thing as having a father,” her mom noted. “So maybe it’s good for Brendan to spend time with Patrick.”

  “And maybe it’s a shortcut to heartbreak,” Brooke said. “Don’t forget the way Patrick reacted when I first told him that I had a child.”

  “It’s not unusual for a man to think he isn’t ready to be a father—until he is,” Sandra remarked. “Anyway, actions speak louder than words, and Patrick has been there for you. And for Brendan.”

  “Maybe he’s enjoying the novelty of hanging out with a kid,” she allowed. “But when the responsibilities get too real, he’s likely to back off again.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know what to think. And I don’t like not knowing what to think, how to feel.”

  “You’ve got to stop punishing yourself for falling in love with the wrong man,” her mom said gently.

  “I’m not,” she denied.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I stopped loving Xander a long time ago.”

  “So why haven’t you let yourself love anyone else?” Sandra asked.

  “My life doesn’t exactly lend itself
to romantic relationships,” Brooke reminded her. “Being a single mom with a busy job doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else.”

  “And yet you’ve managed to find time to spend with Patrick.”

  “At the Silver Star, where I treat his injured horse.”

  “And when Ranger’s injury is healed?” her mother asked.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Brooke said. “Because I suspect he’ll be ready to return to his herd by the end of next week.”

  * * *

  “It’s healing nicely,” Jesse Blake said, with an approving nod as he examined Ranger’s injured hoof. “You’ve obviously been doing a good job keeping it clean and protected.”

  “Actually, Dr. Langley’s been taking care of the injury,” Patrick said, because he believed in giving credit where credit was due.

  His grandfather’s head shot up. “Are you telling me that the vet’s been coming out here every day?”

  “The gash was really nasty,” he said in his defense. “And coronary band injuries can potentially lead to malformation and permanent hoof defects.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Gramps bristled. “That’s why I told you to call Dr. Langley.”

  “I’m just trying to explain why I wanted someone with more experience and expertise overseeing Ranger’s care,” Patrick said.

  “I’m surprised Bruce would have the time to trek out here to change a bandage.” Then a speculative gleam came into the old man’s eyes. “Or is it the other Dr. Langley who’s been looking after your stallion?”

  “It’s the other Dr. Langley,” he confirmed.

  “Well, the girl knows her stuff,” his grandfather acknowledged.

  “The girl is a doctor,” Patrick pointed out. “She wouldn’t have graduated from veterinarian school if she didn’t know her stuff.”

  “Graduated cum laude,” Gramps informed him. “An even more impressive feat considering that she studied for her final exams with a baby at home.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about Brooke Langley,” he remarked.