Billionaire Rancher for Love

by Sarah Smith

  “Brock! Well, gosh, sugar, if you’d been here thirty minutes ago, you’d have been able to eat breakfast with him!”

  “Really? Shoot,” Mia murmured, frowning. That would have been so much better than driving thirty minutes to the ranch.

  “Oh yeah, he comes in about once a week and eats a meal here. Usually breakfast, but every now and then he’ll have lunch here,” Laura told her. “What would you like to eat, sugar?”

  “Oh gosh, it’s hard to decide! I think I’ll have a short stack of pancakes, sausage links, and hash browns, please.”

  “I like a girl who eats!” Laura said. Rather than head to the kitchen to turn in her order, she leaned against the table and asked, “So, are you friends with Brock?”

  Southern hospitality mixed with nosy questions, that’s what this town was. Mia smiled and hoped she remembered that line for the article. “Actually, I’m a reporter for a magazine in Dallas. Mr. Maclancy has agreed to do an interview with me.”

  Laura’s eyes shot up, increasing the number of creases on her little forehead. “That’s so funny! I didn’t think he liked reporters.”

  “Well, my boss and I are hoping he’ll like me enough to work with me,” Mia told her.

  “Looking the way you look, sugar,” Laura patted her shoulder, “he’ll like you. The last guy they sent was a real loser.” She shook her head and laughed. “Anyway, he’s a great man, just don’t know if he’ll answer your questions. How about a sweet tea? Or would you rather have coffee?”

  “Coffee first. Then some sweet tea for the drive to the ranch,” Mia said. Laura waved her hand and walked to the kitchen, calling out a greeting to a couple who had just walked in and were headed for what Mia bet was “their spot” in the restaurant.

  Glancing out the window thoughtfully, she thought about the remark Laura had made about her appearance. She didn’t like the idea that a man would only speak with her because she was pretty. A degree in journalism and several published articles spoke more about her than her beauty. Then again, she needed this interview. If her looks got him to talk a little more, she wasn’t above using them. With that thought, she spooned some sugar into the cup of coffee Laura had brought her and poured a healthy dollop of cream into the coffee before she tasted it

  ***

  When her plates of food arrived, Mia thought about her waistline briefly and then discarded the notion. I’m hungry, this food looks amazing, and really, how often do I eat like this? She lifted the syrup and poured a generous helping on the pancakes, thrilled that the syrup had been warmed first. She picked up her fork and dug in.

  On the way back to her car, she stopped in at one of the buildings that had the Maclancy name above the door. The building housed two shops and another restaurant. The restaurant was closed, but Mia peered at the menu posted on the door. Maclancy’s. A fancy steakhouse with his name on it, mused Mia. The prices were out of her range for a normal dinner, but every now and then she would splurge on an excellent steak.

  One of the shops, a store that sold boots of all fashions, but specialized in those made for cowboying, was also closed with a sign up that said “Gone to lunch. Back in an hour.” The display window was adorably decorated with a saddle, rope, and several pairs of boots ranging from boots meant for working to decorative women’s boots. A large teddy pair sat on the saddle and wore a pair of pink cowgirl boots, a matching pink leather vest, a denim skirt, and a pink hat. A little girl would beg her daddy for that cute outfit.

  Mia turned and walked to the other shop, which was open. It smelled strongly, giving off the scent of a dozen or so candles lit and spread around the shop. The odor was unpleasant and overpowering, but separated, Mia assumed the candles would smell heavenly. A woman’s boutique, the wares included, of course, candles, knickknacks of all sorts, and clothes aimed at a much richer wallet than hers.

  Again, expensive and tasteful, Mia thought. If Maclancy actually had a hand in the running of the shops in this building he apparently owned, he catered to a wealthier class than those she’d met in town so far. Billie couldn’t afford these clothes any more than she could. Her curiosity was growing by leaps and bounds the more she learned about this man.

  “Welcome to Monica’s. Can I help you find something?” A bored woman with graying hair stood behind the counter. She was flipping through a magazine and had barely glanced up when she’d spoken.

  “Just browsing for now, thanks,” Mia murmured to her. Customer service, nope. She chuckled at her own joke and sneezed suddenly. “Lots of candles lit. Why not pick just one scent?”

  The woman glanced up again. “I like all the different smells mixed together,” she answered curtly.

  “Ah. They’re lovely.” Mia continued to wander around, trying to decide how to broach the subject of the Maclancy name on the building. “Worked here long?”

  “I own this shop,” the woman replied, closing her magazine with a huff. “Have for ten years, give or take.”

  “That’s nice. Are you a Maclancy?”

  “No. They just own the building.”

  Mia detected a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Not a fan of the landlord, huh?” The woman only stared at her. Mia turned away and picked up an owl figurine. “Yeah, we’ve all been there.”

  The woman said, “Yes, sometimes they’re hard to deal with.”

  “I’m Mia.” She held up the owl and looked at the price. “Owls are my favorite, but I can’t afford that.”

  “The prices are a little steep,” the woman agreed, grouchily.

  “To keep up with the rent, I’d bet,” Mia added, watching the woman’s face.

  The woman nodded. “It has steadily increased over the last few years. I may have to move my shop.”

  “What a beating that would be,” Mia replied, sympathy in her eyes. As she had expected, the woman leaned toward her and began to unleash her bitter feelings.

  “The Maclancys own half the town, and believe me, I’ve done my homework. Mine is the only place in town whose rent has gone up more than once in five years,” the woman complained.

  Mia was surprised by how much the woman revealed so quickly and without even knowing her name. However, she was the kind of woman who needed to complain, who enjoyed telling others her problems.

  “That’s strange. Why would only yours go up?” Mia asked, her sympathy turned to indignation with just the right tone of voice.

  The woman sensed a comrade and fumed. “I have no idea! What I do know is that when the heater was broken in this building last winter, a repairman didn’t show up for a week. Even after I called four times!”

  “That’s just outrageous!” Mia sympathized. “So I guess that Brock Maclancy isn’t so great after all,” she said in a tone that sounded a little surprised.

  “No, he’s not. He doesn’t take care of his tenants in the least,” the woman supplied.

  Mia chatted with the woman a little longer, commiserating with her and nodding in understanding. She ended up buying the owl figurine, as she really did like it and it would look perfect on her bookshelf. Plus, she had new information about Brock. Some of the townspeople seemed to love him, others not so much. As she walked to her car, she wondered what she would find at the ranch, a saint or a sinner. More likely, she’d find someone in between.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After a half hour drive, Mia finally reached the ranch. She’d been going over the things she’d heard in town. The woman at the boutique, she was sure, couldn’t be trusted completely. She seemed too bitter and perhaps angry because she didn’t own the space her shop was in, which was understandable, to a point. More research would be required there.

  Billie and Laura were both upstanding citizens, both business owners. The women loved Brock Maclancy and had nothing bad to say about the man. However, both were from the same hometown, and the Maclancys had been here for over a century. Their influence was clear everywhere. In fact, one of the local schools was named after them, and as far as she could tell, they
really did own most of downtown and just rented out the space. Again, more research would be required.

  Right now, though, she was at the ranch, aptly named the Maclancy Ranch. The sign above the gate had the brand they used on their cattle on either side of the name. Although fences were now the norm to keep cattle on the proper land, many cattlemen, especially in Texas, still branded their cattle. The Maclancy’s was a circle with a capital M inside. Mia shuddered at the idea of scarring a creature so others knew who it belonged to. Barbaric, she thought.

  Her car bounced over the cattle guard, clicking her teeth together loudly. She grumbled to herself about the shock. The suspension in her car certainly wouldn’t be the same. Her coffee had sloshed and spilled out, filling her cup holder with the lukewarm liquid. Just inside the gate on the other side of the cattle guard, she stopped her car and used some napkins to soak up the coffee, grumbling some more that everything would now be sticky.

  Mia resumed her journey. The view in front of her was glorious. This time of year was perfect for visiting the country. The grass was the greenest it would be for the rest of the year, as once summer arrived, it would be brown and dry in the hot sun. Cattle roamed about freely in large fields, uninhibited by fences here. She had to slow and come to a halt to wait for a cow and its calf to cross the road. So cute, she thought, until it pooped in the middle of the road right in front of her car. She wrinkled her nose and drove on.

  After a mile-long drive down a dusty driveway, she finally came to the house. Large and rustic, the house took her breath away. She stopped again and grabbed her camera for some shots. The exterior walls were wooden, almost like a wood cabin, but much larger. The roof was metal and probably made beautiful music when it rained. Around the bottom, a rock foundation finished the lovely look of the country home. The porch extended across the front, and large steps led up to it. Wooden rocking chairs perched on the porch, and she imagined sipping her coffee and watching the sun rise from one of those comfortable chairs.

  After taking several more snaps of the house, she pushed that thought aside and climbed back into her car. She wasn’t here as a guest. She was here to work, and work she would.

  Near the house, a large barn stood with a corral attached. Three horses meandered in the paddocks, munching lazily on grass. All three lifted their heads curiously as she drove up to the house. Unsure where to park, she picked the side of the house near a truck.

  Mia wanted a tour and hoped Brock would be willing to take her on one either during or after their interview. First, though, she had to meet him. She walked up the steps to the front door, a mahogany piece of artwork she fell in love with. After another picture, one not necessarily for the article, Mia rang the doorbell, which played a George Strait song she couldn’t quite think of the name of. She smiled as the music stopped, and she heard footsteps approaching.

  When the door opened, an older woman in jeans and a Led Zeppelin t=shirt smiled politely at her, though the friendliness did not reach her eyes. “Hello. May I help you?”

  Mia smiled her best smile. “Good morning. I’m Mia Mellis. I have an appointment with Mr. Maclancy. Well, I had an appointment yesterday, but I missed it.”

  “Yes, Brock was expecting you yesterday, and you did not show up. He did not wait today.”

  Mia was surprised by the response. “I’m terribly sorry about missing yesterday. I had a—”

  The woman lifted her hand. “You can explain it to him, Ms. Mellis. It has nothing to do with me.”

  Mia nodded, her brow wrinkling. Not a good start. Her nervousness jumped about three notches; what if Brock was as angry as this woman? She hadn’t had a number to call to let him know, and by the time she’d thought about it after the deer and ditch incident, it had been too late to call Hal and ask for a contact number.

  “Brock did stay close by, on the chance that you would show up today. Rather than go to the fields, as he normally would on a Thursday, he is at the stables,” the woman told her haughtily, as if Mia were causing so much trouble.

  “Thank you. Can I walk to the stables?” Mia asked. She could see the stables from the front porch, but she had no idea what she might run into.

  The woman looked her up and down, sizing up both her outfit and her, frowning as if she were wearing nothing more than a bikini. “You’ll probably ruin those little shoes you’re wearing, but you can walk there.” She pointed to the stables. “The barn door is around the side. Watch out for cow droppings.” The woman shut the door and walked away behind it, leaving Mia on the porch like an unwanted door-to-door salesperson.

  Great, Mia thought. That woman hates me, whoever she is. Not a good way to start an interview, alienating someone in the household of the interviewee. She wondered if the woman was his mother, but she remembered his parents were both deceased, like hers. So is she the housekeeper? The woman was, in Mia’s opinion, too old to be a love interest. Brock was close to her own age, and the woman had been at least sixty.

  She turned and left the porch, walking slowly, her camera bouncing against her chest on its strap. So many picture opportunities, she mused as she looked around. Mia felt like she was in a movie. The ranch was exactly what one would see in a modern day western. A cowboy walked out of the barn and turned in the opposite direction. His ambling gate looked like a younger John Wayne, and Mia snapped a photo even though she couldn’t see the man or his face.

  At the barn door, she listened for a moment before walking inside. Noises like she’d never heard escaped the crack in the door, and she wasn’t sure if she should walk in. A man’s voice, coaxing and soothing, joined the grunts, and Mia opened the door and stepped inside.

  The barn smelled of hay and horse as well as something else she recognized: the coppery smell of blood. The man’s voice murmured again, though she couldn’t understand the words. She sneaked closer to the location of the voices until she reached the furthest stall. She peeked around the corner and saw a horse on the floor in a large pile of hay. Two men knelt by her rear, one holding her back legs gently, while the other helped her give birth to a foal.

  As she watched, fascinated, the baby shot out with a spurt of goo, and though it was completely disgusting, it was also incredibly moving. The man who held it lifted it up on its feet, and it immediately began to walk around. The mother heaved her large body to its feet and nuzzled her newborn, cleaning it like a cat cleans her kittens. She smiled as the mother whinnied at the two men, who backed out of the stall more quickly than she expected.

  The man who had held the foal turned, and Mia gasped. “You!”

  ***

  At the woman’s gasp, Brock startled and looked up at her as he wiped his hand on a wet towel he’d left on the side of the stall. His eyes widened briefly when he recognized the woman he had helped last night.

  “And you,” he said to her. “What are you doing here?”

  Mia shook her head and stuck her hand out. “I’m Mia Mellis. I’m here to interview Brock Maclancy.”

  She doesn’t know who I am, Brock thought, and decided to play with her a little. Brock glanced at her hand, then held his up. “I don’t think we need to shake hands right this second.”

  Mia followed his gaze, looking at his hands. She wrinkled her nose and giggled nervously. “Um, no, I’d rather not.”

  Her giggle was infectious, and she was downright gorgeous with her dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. He would guess, based on her looks and her name, she was of Greek descent. He liked her smile, and her voice had a melodic, musical quality that he had missed last night, probably because she had been irritated with the circumstances she’d found herself in.

  Brock returned her smile and played the poor ranch hand. “I’ll go clean up, and we’ll see if we can find him.” He glanced at the other man, who had been watching without speaking. “This is David, the ranch foreman.”

  Mia smiled at him. “Hi. Mia Mellis.”

  “A pleasure, young lady.” His voice sounded like gravel scraping over s
idewalk, but his handlebar mustache quivered when he smiled. He looked a bit like Sam Elliott, and Mia remembered how her mother had once said she could listen to him read the telephone book. She suspected her mother would say the same about this man.

  “Mine as well. So, David, how long have you worked here?” Mia automatically asked, her reporter’s instincts taking over.

  David glanced at Brock, who smiled. “I’ve been here since before Brock was born. Worked for his daddy, and now I work for him.”

  “You like it?” she asked.

  David narrowed his eyes a little and stood up straight. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He stalked away, cleaning his hands on another wet towel.

  Mia looked at Brock, still unaware of his identity. “Was I being offensive?”

  Brock laughed. “Not at all. David is old school, doesn’t like questions, especially about the boss.”

  “Ah. Loyalty. Your boss must be a good man,” Mia hinted, hoping this man she’d met the night before would be a little more talkative.

  Brock chuckled. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I take you to find him.”

  Mia nodded. “Thank you. You know where he is?”

  “He’s close by, I’m sure,” Brock replied with a grin.

  Mia frowned at him, wondering why he was smiling at her so strangely. She followed him out of the barn and to the corral fence. He leaned against it and watched a horse gallop toward him. He smiled and rubbed the horse’s nose as he reached into his pocket for a handful of carrots. “Would you like to feed her?”

  Mia had watched him taking his time rather than leading her to Brock. His question surprised her. “Um, no thank you, I’m good. Did you say you know where Mr. Maclancy is?”

  “Just as I said. Close by,” he told her with a wink, and the joke was over.

  With a wry raise of an eyebrow, she said, “You’re Brock Maclancy.” She made a statement rather than a question, her mouth a thin line of irritation.