The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  “Yes, we should do that too.”

  Abby had barely finished her first slice of bruschetta when Katie said, “I’m done now, Mommy. Can we go? I don’t want Aunt Marge and Sissie to have to wait on us.”

  Putting down her half-empty glass with a rueful smile, Abby said, “No, that wouldn’t be polite, would it? Well, girls, are you ready?”

  “We have more pictures to color back at our house,” Katie told Bunny. “Maybe we can even use some of Mommy’s paints.”

  “You can use whatever supplies you want,” Abby confirmed.

  “Yeah, paints!” Bunny cried. “Yes, I’m ready, Miss Abby.”

  “Race you to the van,” Katie said to Bunny, and then the little girls were off running.

  Shaking her head, Abby said, “Take your time and enjoy the scenery. Grant will be back midafternoon, so you don’t need to worry about locking up.”

  “Thank you for letting me see the cabin. It’s inspiring.”

  Waving a hand toward the distant hills and canyons, Abby said, “That was inspiring. The colors of tan and ochre and dusty green, the clear blue of the water below. All the colors I wanted to bring inside to reflect the beauty outside.”

  “You certainly succeeded!”

  “Thanks,” Abby said with a smile. “I’ll be expecting a text setting up a get-together.”

  “You’ll have one soon,” Mary promised.

  “Don’t bother walking me out.” Abby waved them back down as Mary and Brice stood. “I’ve got two impatient little girls waiting and need to hustle. Finish your bruschetta and lemonade. See you later, Brice.”

  “You, too, Abby.”

  *

  Her initial nervousness at being alone with Brice quelled by the lazy camaraderie of lunch and the beautiful scenery, Mary told herself to just relax. The picnic would be topped by a tour of the ranch. If the rest of it was as beautiful as this place, she could understand why the McAllisters were so attached to their land.

  While she gazed around, Brice was assembling another bruschetta. “In case I missed telling you emphatically enough, this is great!”

  Mary nodded, pleased he liked it. “It was one of the first things my nonna taught me to make. I always smile and think of her when I bite into the crusty bread, with the smooth taste of mozzarella cheese, the sweet tomato, tangy basil, and the bite of the vinegar.”

  “Do you see her often?” Brice asked.

  His question shocked her into realizing that, relaxed and with her guard down, she’d let slip the first thing about her past she’d ever revealed to anyone in Whiskey River. After an initial jolt of alarm, she told herself it was silly to be concerned. Up until now she’d avoided talking about her family because thinking about the past hurt too much, but some memories, like those of her grandmother, were only sweet.

  No reason she couldn’t share those—without giving anything else away.

  “I wish I could,” she replied at last. “I lost her when I was sixteen. I miss her terribly—she was the one who taught me to cook, emphasized how much better food tasted when it came directly from your garden into the kitchen. Instilled a love of gardening I still carry with me.” Enough sharing; determined to direct the conversation away from her before he could use her confidence to ask any more questions, she said, “What about you? Do you still have your grandparents with you?”

  “Sadly, no. Granddaddy—my daddy’s father—died the winter before Daddy did. He’d still been helping out on the ranch almost right up to the end, but after my grandma died, he . . . just drifted away. It was hard times then, with beef prices way down and grain prices high. Daddy did more of the work himself, spending long hours out in the fields in all weather. He got sick—just a cold, he told us boys. Wouldn’t see a doctor or slow down. Turns out the ‘cold’ was pneumonia, and by the time we finally realized how sick he was, he could hardly breathe. Seems like he was sick, and then gone so quickly, we couldn’t believe what had happened.”

  Brice blew out a breath. “I still feel guilty that we didn’t realize how seriously ill he was, didn’t do more to help him around the ranch. Just dumb kids, all wrapped up in ourselves and school—I was playing junior high football then and had just discovered girls. Makes me ashamed to remember how much we groused about the chores he did ask us to do. Then he was just . . . gone.”

  Like Ian, Mary thought. One minute vibrant, laughing, the center of her world. Then . . . gone.

  “I’m sorry. It must have been terrible.” She knew only too well how terrible.

  Brice nodded. “Bad for us, but my stepmom, Miss Dorothy, felt even more guilty. I think that’s why she moved back to San Antonio as soon as Duncan finished college and came back to run the ranch. Her guilt over not recognizing how sick Daddy was, and her sense of failure at having had to sell off land while we were in high school to meet payments on the loans Daddy had taken out when times were good. She knew Duncan hated losing any part of the Triple A and felt she’d let all of us down.”

  “Did Duncan resent it?” she asked, wondering if those problems had caused a rift in his family. Family rifts being another thing she knew all too much about.

  “Duncan hated selling off land, but he didn’t blame Miss Dorothy for it. Things were bad for all the ranchers then. She always felt, if she’d been a man with a better understanding of ranching, she might have been able to find some other way to raise the money. Whether that’s true or not, I’ve no idea, but we’ve all tried to tell her that none of it was her fault. She knows we love her, and is always happy to see us when we visit her condo in San Antonio, but . . . she won’t come back to live in Whiskey River, despite how much we’ve urged her.”

  “Too many bitter memories,” Mary said softly. She could understand that too.

  “Too many bitter memories, I guess,” Brice agreed. “But eventually Duncan recovered the section of land she had to sell, so all is well again with the world.”

  “And Miss Dorothy is happy in her new life?”

  “Yes. She’d lived in the city before Daddy asked her to come take care of us after Mama died. She never complained about living on a ranch with nothing but work and few leisure activities, but I think she was happy to get back to the city. She has her circle of friends, restaurants, music, shopping. There’s a lingering sadness, I think, but basically, she’s happy.”

  Maybe there was hope for her, too, Mary thought. In this new life in a new place. Would she end up settled, content, like Brice’s stepmother, only a “lingering sadness” to remind her of all she had lost?

  Would her shrunken heart expand to be able to include someone else, someone new, in that world? To make the new world fuller and more complete?

  Realizing she’d been sitting silent, she looked up to see Brice watching her.

  Could she include that man?

  She looked away quickly, afraid her expression might reveal her longing. “Would you like more cheese or tomatoes?” she asked.

  “I think I’m done. Are you ready to go see the ranch?”

  Some of her misgivings returned. “I’m eager to see the Triple A. But I’m not nearly as excited to meet my equine partner as Bunny would have been.”

  “Don’t be worried. Snowflake is as gentle and easygoing a horse as you could imagine. Abby hadn’t been on a horse for a long time, either. Grant started her out on Snowflake and she loved it.”

  “I’m counting on your love of Italian cooking to make sure nothing bad happens to me. Like falling off into a cactus or down a ravine.”

  “Making sure nothing bad happens to you is one of my goals in life,” he said lightly. But something in his tone and his expression as he said it sent a little jolt through her.

  He wanted . . . to look out for her? The thought sent a rush of warmth and appreciation through her. He’d make a formidable defender.

  But better not let herself start leaning on him. If losing Ian had taught her anything, it was she could never rely on having someone else in her life to make her happy o
r solve her problems.

  Though getting closer to him was appealing. When she relaxed, enjoying a bantering conversation, it was all too easy to indulge the sensual attraction that had surprised her that first day at the library, and that hummed in her veins every time she saw him. That prompted her to want to take things further.

  Until she remembered the inevitable stumbling block.

  He was a healthy young male, and in today’s world, getting much closer would lead to expectations of intimacy. An intimacy she couldn’t allow herself.

  Better just to remain acquaintances with a common friend—Bunny.

  *

  A short time later, having put their glasses in the dishwasher and stowed away the trash, Mary followed Brice back to the truck. “Will we see the cows on the way to the barn?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the idea of riding.

  “No, they’re in the west pasture, down by the river where the grass is better. It gets pretty dry on the ridges by this time of year,” he explained.

  “Will there be calves with them?”

  “There aren’t any new babies,” Brice told her. “The calves are all born in the spring, so by now they’re all pretty big.”

  Mary looked over in surprise. “How do you get them all to be born at the same time?”

  Brice laughed. “There’s a lot of work to birth, tag, brand, and then nurture both the calves and their mommas. It’s more efficient if all the cows are on the same schedule, so we know when to look for offspring and can do big jobs like vaccinating and branding all at once, rather than over and over throughout the year. So the herd bulls are only put in the pasture with the cows for about two-and-a-half months over the summer, which will result in the calves being dropped during a ninety-day period from February through April.”

  “That makes sense. Sorry for the dumb questions. I told you I didn’t know anything about ranching.”

  “Not dumb at all. Duncan would appreciate your interest.” He chuckled. “But like Tom advised, don’t ask him any ranching questions unless you are really interested. He’s normally not long-winded, but the Triple A is his passion. Ask about cattle breeding procedures and you could be trapped for a long time. When it involves ranching, he could talk the hide off a cow.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She hadn’t initially wanted to get closer to Brice McAllister. But she had to admit, his calm, competent, nonthreatening presence, the strong sense of family love and loyalty evident when he talked about his brothers and the Triple A, appealed to something deep within her. That longing for the family she’d lost, perhaps? The sense of belonging, being a part of a chain of people you love?

  “We’re pulling up at the Scott ranch house now,” Brice told her. “Grant wants to bring Snowflake, Moondust, and his gelding out to the cabin eventually, but he has to build a barn first. So for now, he leaves them here. Besides, the horse barn is at the center of the property, which makes it easy to ride in either direction.”

  “Isn’t this the barn that he’s renovating?”

  “No, that’s the equipment barn. The horse barn will stay. Need a place for the horses to be when kids or other groups come up for ranching days.”

  “Makes sense. Which direction will we ride in?”

  “You’ve seen Grant’s cabin, which is along the eastern border of the Triple A. We’re now at the center. I thought we’d ride to the west, to where the McAllister house and barns are, then down to the meadows by the river to see the cows. There’s also a sharp bend in the river there that has lots of rocks to climb—or collect to decorate your garden.”

  “Sounds good,” Mary said, still trying to quell her nervousness about the prospect of getting on horseback.

  She mustn’t have succeeded in masking her anxiety, for Brice gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “Right. Like sitting in a rocking chair,” Mary said wryly.

  “It will be. I’ll keep the pace very slow. You’ll have to keep talking to me, so I don’t go to sleep and fall off my horse.”

  “Why do I not find that prospect reassuring?” she said wryly, while he laughed.

  After Brice parked the truck, they walked to the paddock fence, where a pretty silver-gray pony with a dark mane and tail lifted her head at their approach. “That’s Moondust, of the sore hoof,” Brice said, leaning over to give the pony a pat. “Hope you feel better soon, little gal.” Turning back to Mary, he said, “I’ll get our horses tacked up and ready.”

  Mary nodded, then watched him walk into the paddock and grab the halters of the other two horses, a tall chestnut with a snowy white blaze on her forehead and an even taller black one.

  “Please tell me mine is the smaller one—although neither one looks like ‘Snowflake’ would be a fitting name.”

  “The black gelding that I’ll ride is ‘Lightfoot,’ named by Harrison’s dad because he picks up his feet like a dancer—and loves to gallop. This little lady is ‘Snowflake,’ for the white blaze on her forehead.”

  “I earnestly hope she’s a well-mannered lady, but there’s no way I’d call her ‘little.’”

  “She’s a sweetheart, though. And don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

  There it was again—the statement that he’d watch out for her. A deep-seated need to protect women, Elaine had told her, born of the inability to help his stepmother when times were bad on the ranch? After what he’d told her today, she could believe it.

  She had to admit, it felt . . . reassuring to be the focus of all that competent protectiveness.

  She followed him into the barn. Teasing and joking to keep her distracted, Brice got the horses saddled, then helped Mary mount the mare. “If you’d feel better, I can lead her,” he said.

  “Probably makes me look like a wuss, but I’d prefer that,” Mary admitted.

  But after five minutes of walking down the trail from the barn, Mary started to relax. Snowflake really was easygoing, with a smooth gait that didn’t bounce her around too much once she got the hang of being in the saddle. After another five minutes, she relaxed enough to begin to enjoy the scenery.

  “Riding is the best way to see the ranch,” she said. “A whole 360-degree vista all around you, instead of just what can be seen out the windows of the truck.”

  “Horses also go where trails and vehicles can’t,” Brice said. “Lots of places on the ranch are easier to ride to than drive. Though we don’t use horses for the ranch work anymore. If we’re hunting strays in an area that’s too hilly or rocky, we just have to drive as close as we can and then walk from there.”

  “Do cows stray? I thought they stayed with the herd.”

  “Normally they do. But when a mama cow is ready to calf, she sometimes goes off on her own. And sometimes one will just get a hankering to see what’s on the other side of the fence.”

  “To see if the grass really is greener?” Mary suggested with a smile.

  “Okay, walked into that one,” Brice said, chuckling.

  After another ten-minute ride, she could see down the lane in the distance a sprawling ranch house. “That’s the ranch house for the Triple A,” Brice confirmed.

  “Where you grew up?”

  “Yes. Duncan’s done some renovations over the years to bring it into the twenty-first century. Looked pretty much like a magazine spread for the 1950s when we were growing up. Daddy never had much extra cash for things like modernizing kitchens or bathrooms. And in true rancher fashion, he’d rather be out on the meadow, mowing or working cows, than indoors anyway. So he didn’t pay much attention to décor. As long as the electricity and plumbing worked, that was good enough for him.”

  “I don’t imagine you and your brothers cared much about style either.”

  “Not growing up. I think the outmoded house was one reason why Miss Dorothy was happy to get back to the city. Once Duncan moved back after college, he had to replace some appliances that had died, which started him on some painting and re
finishing. Gotta say, the place looks much better now, and Harrison’s beginning to add her own touches. Maybe I can show you around sometime.”

  Mary made a noncommittal murmur. She was warming, vacillating between keep-it-acquaintances and becoming closer friends, but didn’t want to commit herself to anything yet.

  They passed the house, then turned onto a narrow dirt lane that led across the plateau and steadily downward. In a pasture bordered by a small meandering river, Mary saw a herd of perhaps fifty cows.

  “Can we go in and see them?” Mary asked.

  “Might not be a good idea. The mamas can be very protective of their calves. Normally, they are docile folks, but if one took it into her head that you were a threat to her baby, she might charge you. But we can rein in so you can watch them.”

  They halted for a few minutes, Brice giving her a brief rundown of the cows, their calves, and the care the ranch gave them. Then they continued down the trail to where the land flattened out to a broad space. The river curved sharply here, leaving a section of boulders tumbled against each other as if tossed there by a playful giant.

  Pulling up his horse, which made her mount obligingly stop, Brice said, “We’ll dismount and let the horses graze. My brothers and I used to climb the rocks over by the creek, skip stones, and otherwise steal a little time to goof off when we were supposed to be tending fences or mowing.”

  “It’s a pretty spot. And the river is beautiful.”

  He helped her dismount. Her legs felt a little funny, but she managed to stay upright.

  “Okay?” he asked, giving her a steadying hand. “Your knees can feel a little shaky after getting out of the saddle if you’re not used to riding.”

  “I’m okay,” she managed to croak out of a suddenly tight throat. It was the touch of his hand making her feel weak-kneed, leaving her both disappointed and relieved when he removed his support.

  “So, how did you like your first ride?”

  “I liked it,” she said, realizing she meant it. “Of course, my protector was keeping me safe.”