The Rancher and the Rich Girl

by Heather MacAllister

  The thing of it was, after he’d found out his mother had died, there hadn’t seemed to be much point. Yet thanks to old Barnaby, he’d ended up with his own place, anyway. Who’d have thought it?

  Matt knew the inheritance hadn’t been all altruistic. Barnaby had left him the ranch so he could take care of the people and animals who lived there, and that was fine by Matt. He wouldn’t have abandoned them even if Barnaby hadn’t left him the ranch. Frank and the others were the nearest to a family that he had.

  He wasn’t going to let them down.

  There was the Roadkill Grill. He could still smell the grease-laden air—was anything as good as their fried hamburgers and golden onion rings? He’d have to stop by for dinner after he settled Black Star up at the ranch.

  Now, there was a new place—Twyla’s Tease ’n’ Tweeze. Ruby slippers? The place kind of stuck out, painted pink and all, or maybe it was just because it wasn’t part of the Main Street he remembered.

  Reilly’s Feed Store next door looked the same as ever. Matt had enjoyed the trips into town to get supplies for the ranch.

  Three parking spots—two for the feed store and one for the beauty parlor—were free. Matt eased his truck and trailer into all of them, hoping neither establishment had a run of business in the next few minutes.

  The traffic light at Pine changed, and he waited until a bright yellow school bus passed by before he got out of the truck and stretched his legs. He watched as the bus headed toward Cottonwood and took a left. It sure was an improvement over the old clunker with the cracked vinyl seats that had bounced him to and from Lost Springs. Some of the boys used to poke holes in the seats with their pencils, but Matt never did. He’d never wanted to break any rules that would get him sent away from the ranch, because then how could his mother find him again?

  Shaking his head over the boy he’d been, he walked back to the trailer to check on Black Star.

  “Just a little longer,” he crooned as he patted him.

  A couple coming out of the General Store across the street stared.

  A corner of Matt’s mouth lifted. He’d traded feed for the horse trailer, which had belonged to one of the circus performing acts. Although he had painted white over the wildly colorful images that pranced all over the sides, the job needed two coats, and Matt had run out of paint. Horses leaping through flaming hoops or being ridden around the show ring by spangled women wearing more feathers than anything else were still visible as ghostly images through the paint.

  In a way they were ghosts.

  Matt lifted his hand to the couple, who waved back, but still stared. Then he pushed open the door to the feed store and felt as if he were stepping back in time.

  Mr. Reilly hadn’t changed the layout—in fact, Mr. Reilly himself hadn’t changed much. A little grayer, maybe, but he was still parked behind the counter and still wore plaid shirts—flannel in the winter, cotton in the summer, if Matt remembered correctly.

  A vaguely familiar-looking younger man was leaning against the glass—something Matt and the other boys hadn’t ever been allowed to do. Both he and Mr. Reilly turned when the cowbell on the door clanked.

  “Hi, Mr. Reilly. I’m Matt Winston.” Matt approached with his hand outstretched. “Remember me?”

  “Matt—the responsible one. Sure, I remember you.” Mr. Reilly grasped his hand. “How have you been?”

  As Matt shook hands with Mr. Reilly, the other man smiled.

  “Matt, I’m Rex Trowbridge. Good to see you again. And thanks for coming to the auction.”

  “No problem.” Matt had thought that’s who he was, but since Rex had been several grades ahead of him, Matt hadn’t known him well. “Hey, it’s lucky I ran into you. I was on my way out to Lost Springs with Black Star. Thought I’d stop by here first and get some feed.”

  Rex gestured around them. “This is the place, as I’m sure you remember.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “So you brought your horse?” Mr. Reilly asked as he came out from behind the counter. “If it’s the one with you in the auction brochure, he’s a mighty fine-looking animal.”

  “That he is.” Matt swallowed. “I’m thinking of selling him, if either of you know anybody who might be interested.”

  He got the words out without choking. So far, so good.

  “I saw that picture, too,” Rex said. “Lost Springs can always use a good horse, but we’re tight on funds just now.”

  Tell me about it, Matt thought.

  “Donating a horse like that would give you a good tax write-off.”

  The silence that followed Rex’s smooth request seemed to stretch forever. Matt was taken aback until he remembered that Rex was a director of the ranch and getting donations was his job. Now he had to figure out a way to refuse Rex without offending him or embarrassing himself.

  “I’ll be sure and mention the tax advantages to the person who buys Black Star,” he replied, hoping Rex wouldn’t pursue his request.

  He didn’t.

  “Well, let’s get you fixed up here,” Mr. Reilly said. “Then we’ll go have a look at your horse.”

  * * *

  ACTING AS IF SHE WERE doing nothing more than running to the store for a gallon of milk, Jessica waved her fingers at Rachel, then backed her car out of the garage, turned it around in a perfectly executed three-point turn and drove down the pretentiously long, winding driveway to Little Creek Road. And there, framed by the stone gates, she lost it.

  She’d held herself together in front of Rachel, her friends and the various people she’d spoken to on the telephone, but her fragile self-control finally shattered. The shaking started deep within her, so she put the car in Park and rested her head on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths until the panic passed.

  Think. To the right was the intersection of Pine Street and Little Creek. From there, it was a short block to the tree-lined street passing right by Lander Elementary. Jessica didn’t think the bus went that direction. From the way Sam talked, it usually dropped off the kids who lived on Cottonwood Lane first.

  So she’d try Cottonwood.

  Just as soon as the shaking stopped.

  * * *

  “THAT OUGHTTA DO YA,” Mr. Reilly said. “And I’ll see what I can do about getting you a price on the Berkley’s stuff.” He scratched his head. “We don’t get much call for that high-protein mix.”

  “What are you feeding it to?” Rex asked.

  Max hefted the sack for Black Star. “I’ve got some exotics on the ranch, but a couple of years ago, one of the cows got into their feed. Seemed to like it, so I mixed some in with hers, and darned if she didn’t have a prize-winning calf and become my best milker.”

  “No kidding.” Rex looked thoughtful, then started questioning Matt.

  Matt eagerly told him and Mr. Reilly about his experiments with the high-protein feed originally meant for Sheba, the elderly tiger. He’d missed talking ranching with people who knew the life inside and out.

  “Wonder if we should look into that. If there’s one thing we need at Lost Springs, it’s milk,” Rex said.

  Matt grinned. “Not many of the cows take to it, but those that do have good results.”

  “Sounds like you’re on to something.” Mr. Reilly reached for a pad by the cash register and tore out a page. “Write down the mix and I’ll suggest it to some of the ranchers around here.”

  “You breeding the exotics?” Rex asked as Matt wrote down the feed ratios.

  “Not on purpose. I’ve got a little animal sanctuary going.” He grimaced. “Didn’t want them to end up on one of those fake safari places where people pretend to be big-game hunters.”

  “I can see you doing something like that,” Rex said. “You were always a soft touch. That’s how you ended up with old Barnaby, isn’t it?”<
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  Before Matt could respond, he caught a movement through the feed store window. A young boy was climbing onto the truck’s bumper. Once there, he inched his way onto the coupling, then found a precarious balance on the smooth wheel cover of the trailer. Hanging on to the edge of the metal lattice with one hand, he tried to pet Black Star with the other.

  “Uh-oh, can’t have that.” Matt dropped the feedsack, then headed for the door, carefully opening it so the cowbell wouldn’t clang and startle the boy.

  “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” he said when he was close enough to catch the boy in case he slipped off the wheel covering.

  The boy nodded and withdrew his hand, which was what Matt hoped he’d do. “Is this your horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he perform flying feats of eq-equine artistry?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Do you make him leap through flaming hoops?”

  “No...” Matt’s gaze settled on the foggy images showing beneath the paint. “Oh—he’s just borrowing another horse’s trailer,” he explained.

  The boy looked relieved. “I was worried he might get burned.”

  “Not unless he backs into a campfire,” Matt assured him.

  “Does he bite?”

  “He might. He’s been cooped up there a long time and you’re a stranger to him.”

  “I’m Samuel Fremont,” the boy said in a rush. “I used to be Samuel Fremont the third, but my daddy and granddaddy died, so I’m Samuel Fremont all by myself now.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Samuel Fremont. I’m Matt Winston and this is Black Star.”

  The boy smiled, then said wistfully, “I sure would like to pet him.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Matt reached through the opening and rubbed Black Star’s neck. The horse shifted, but didn’t seem to be nervous or edgy. “Give me your hand.”

  Together he and Matt touched the horse. Matt felt a quiver, then realized it was Samuel. The boy was gazing at Black Star with unexpected intensity and longing. He didn’t have the sure touch of someone used to being around animals, but if ever a boy wanted a horse, this one did.

  The bell on the feed store door clanked. “Sam, is that you?”

  “Hi, Mr. Reilly,” Sam said without turning around. “I’m petting a horse.”

  “I see that.” Mr. Reilly set the sack of feed Max had bought on the bench next to the store window. “What are you doing here this time of day?”

  “Petting the horse.”

  Matt sent a questioning look toward Mr. Reilly and Rex, who’d joined him on the sidewalk.

  “Does your mom know you’re here?” Rex asked.

  Sam kept running his hand over Black Star’s neck.

  “Sam?” Matt prodded.

  “She doesn’t care about me,” Sam mumbled.

  Those words were guaranteed to send a chill through a man with Matt’s background, though his first impression of Sam hadn’t been that he was a neglected boy, and Rex gave no indication that he was a Lost Springs resident.

  “What makes you say that?” As Matt spoke, he studied the boy’s clothes and scanned his arms and legs for signs of bruises. His shoes were a brand-name and worn, though fashionably so, not hand-me-down worn-out. His denim jeans fit and a little embroidered horse and rider were on his shirt. He looked better than okay to Matt.

  “She’s busy having a party with her friends,” Sam grumbled. “She won’t miss me.”

  Matt’s jaw tightened. That kind of neglect was sometimes worse than the other. “Where do you live?”

  Sam nodded eastward with his head.

  “He lives in the Fremont house.” Rex pointed.

  Samuel Fremont. Matt hadn’t made the connection. He automatically glanced toward the mansion set on a hill just high enough to overlook the rest of the town.

  So Sam was a poor little rich kid with a mother who would rather spend time with her friends than her son. When Matt was at Lost Springs, people used to say the Fremonts had so much money it was a full-time job just spending it. All the boys, Matt included, secretly hoped they’d be discovered as the long-lost heir to the wealthy Fremont family.

  He turned back to the blond-haired boy. And here was the actual Fremont heir. Poor kid. Matt had a good mind to take him home and give that selfish, overprivileged mother of his a lecture about responsibility.

  “I saw you and your mom out at the ranch last weekend,” Rex said. “I guess she’s been busy helping with the auction.”

  Sam lifted his shoulder in an elaborately casual shrug and continued petting Black Star. If he kept it up, he was going to wear a bald spot on the horse.

  “I believe I’m going to give your momma a call,” Mr. Reilly said, and stepped back into his store.

  “No!” Sam yelled after him.

  Black Star flinched.

  “She’ll just get mad!”

  “It’s okay. I won’t let her hurt you,” Matt assured Sam.

  “I don’t want to go home!” Sam slid off the wheel fender. “I haven’t finished making friends with Black Star yet.”

  A sport utility vehicle driving past on Cottonwood stopped so suddenly the tires squealed. The driver backed up, then turned the corner and came roaring toward them, pulling up beside the trailer. There weren’t any parking spots, so she drove a little farther and double parked in front of the beauty parlor.

  “Ohhhh, Sam.” Rex leveled a look at the boy. “Your mother doesn’t look too happy.”

  A blonde pushed open the door on the fancy car, not bothering to close it as she ran toward them. “Sam!”

  Matt put a protective arm around the boy.

  “Sam, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Heedless of Matt’s arm, she pulled her son right out from under it and fell to her knees, clutching him to her. “Are you all right?”

  Sam made a noise against her shoulder.

  “Oh, Sam, I was so scared!” She swayed back and forth.

  Even with the black picture he’d painted of her, Matt had to concede that this was no uncaring mother.

  She had blond hair like her son’s, though darker, and was wearing a long, loose flowered dress that pooled around her. Matt could see the muscles in her arms work as she tightly embraced her son.

  There, being acted out right in front of him, was the dream of every boy at Lost Springs—a mother coming to take him home. The back of Matt’s throat felt thick when he swallowed.

  “Mom,” Sam protested. “I’m okay.”

  Still grasping his shoulders, she momentarily moved back. “I don’t know whether to hug you or strangle you!”

  “Looks like you’re doing both,” Matt said as a pair of blue eyes warily assessed him, then returned to Sam.

  She loosened her grip on him, lightly running her hands over his arms and legs as she checked to make sure he was all right. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Satisfied that he wasn’t hurt, she clutched him to her once more before rocking back on her heels.

  Matt offered a hand to help her up and she unhesitatingly grasped it. Strength, he thought in the brief moment her hand was in his.

  “Mom, I just wanted to see his horse.”

  “You should have checked with me first,” she murmured with a questioning look at Rex.

  “Jessica, this is Matt Winston. He’s one of our bachelors for the auction.”

  “Oh, right.” The reservation left her eyes and she offered her hand for a forthright shake. “Hello, Matt. Thanks for coming to support Lost Springs.”

  Once again, Matt had the impression of strength. Pretty blue-eyed strength in a flowered dress. A strength his own mother never had.

  “Jessica’s Fremont Construction has donated the extra bleachers for us.”

  “I assume t
he crew I sent out there this morning has finished cleaning up the site,” she said to Rex, still keeping a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not going to get the opportunity to inspect it myself ahead of time.”

  “They finished and it’s looking good,” Rex reassured her.

  “Great.” She glanced down at Sam. “We’d better be getting back to the house. I have guests staying for the auction. Thanks for keeping an eye on him.” She included Matt with a smile.

  And that smile pretty much hit him right between the eyes. His feelings took a turn they had no business taking, not for a woman like Jessica Fremont, who was as deeply entrenched in Lightning Creek as he was at Winter Ranch.

  He should say something instead of staring, but Rex was talking.

  “Yeah, we were wondering if you knew where Sam was.”

  “No, I did not know where he was,” she said, glaring at her son. He hung his head, then looked up again.

  “But, Mom, I had to see the horse.”

  “Without telling me? I called everyone I could think of and I’ve been driving all around town hoping I’d find you.” She drew him to her once more. “Don’t you ever take off like that again! You are to come home right after school lets out unless you tell me ahead of time.”

  “It’s only been a little while,” he protested.

  “Long enough for your grandmother to talk about calling Sheriff Hatcher!”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “You owe her an apology, Sam.”

  Sam jerked away. “I don’t see what the big deal is! So I didn’t come right inside after the bus dropped me off. Nobody else has to! You and Gramma keep treating me like I’m a baby!” His lips quivered, and swallowing a sob, he ran across the street.

  “Sam!” Jessica called after him. “You come back here right now!”

  Of course he didn’t. Matt could have told her that.

  “What is the matter with him?” She started for her car.

  “Is he running toward home?” Matt asked.

  She turned to him, impatience coloring her voice. “Yes.”

  “Then just let him go.”

  “And lose him again?”