by Laura Moore
Much of the credit had to go to Adele Knowles. The older woman was like a breath of fresh air. Chic in a pair of light beige trousers and a belted cardigan of a deep evergreen that made her blue eyes that much brighter, she’d greeted Tess politely, asking how she might help her. When Tess told her that she’d come to inquire about any open positions and dutifully relayed Ward’s message about his not being able to meet with her, those eyes widened with surprise. Unwilling to trust her fate to a rude cowboy, Tess had hurriedly added that Ava Day had suggested she try her luck at Silver Creek.
Adele had brought Tess to an airy office and invited her to sit on a pretty indigo-and-cream-patterned upholstered chair. Before settling on the matching one, she asked if Tess might like a cup of tea.
Tess thanked her and declined. “I’ve been driving for the past six days and have consumed more caffeine than I ever thought physically possible.”
“Six days? Quite a journey.”
And so the interview began. Adele listened without interruption to the explanation she’d asked for of how Tess, who’d lived all her life in New York City, had come to be job hunting in Acacia, even though it must have been obvious to her that the story Tess told—of needing a change after her husband’s death—had been carefully edited.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Adele offered when she’d finished.
“Thank you. My husband and I were estranged when I learned of his illness.”
“Nonetheless, he’d been someone you loved.”
“Yes.” That was the simple truth. But though she had the strong impression that Mrs. Knowles was a deeply sympathetic person, Tess couldn’t bring herself to say any more than that.
Tess felt a wave of gratitude wash over her when Adele Knowles nodded and moved on to a new topic.
“Why Acacia, may I ask? Our town is somewhat off the beaten track.”
The understatement of the century.
With a trace of embarrassment Tess told her about Anna and her grandmother’s scarf. “And so that’s how I got to Acacia. Anna was convinced I had to go as close to where my finger landed as I could. She had complete faith in the luck the choice would bring. I did look for jobs in Acacia first, though, because honestly it didn’t occur to me that the blob of green on the map contained anything other than trees. Unfortunately nobody’s hiring in town.”
For a second Adele studied her. “What an extraordinary story. And you actually went through with your friend Anna’s plan?”
Tess attempted a smile. “I may not have been thinking too clearly, and Anna can be very persuasive. And she is my best and oldest friend.”
“And you say you’ve worked at an events planning company called La Dolce Vita? What job did you hold there?”
“Jobs, really. Giorgio Bissi, the owner, was willing to let me try my hand at everything, from waitressing to basic line cook duties, to organizing parties and events. Giorgio hired me knowing that my hope was someday to open my own events planning company. His favorite joke was that I should forgo raises since he was giving me such great on-the-job training.”
Adele smiled but remained silent.
To avoid appearing too nervous or desperate, Tess fixed her gaze on a large painting that hung behind Adele’s desk. Rolling meadows tinted a summer green and spotted with round woolly clumps of sheep grazing contentedly led to a dark green slope of a forest-covered mountain. A brilliant azure blue sky met the mountain’s jagged range. Though the color scheme was different, as January now marked the world with grays and browns, Tess knew she’d seen this same landscape while her car had rattled its way up the long private road. Then, as now, its vast openness intimidated.
Adele’s voice drew her attention away from the painting. “Unfortunately at the moment we don’t have any full-time openings, either. Unless you also happen to know how to rope steer or have experience in animal husbandry.”
She couldn’t manage even a sickly smile as her hopes plummeted like lead.
Great, she thought. She was stuck in Nowheresville, California, and the only place to work that seemed remotely viable wanted applicants who knew about animal husbandry. What a joke. She hadn’t even been able to make her human husband happy.
When she got back to Acacia, she’d return to the organic grocery store on West Street or perhaps Spillin’ the Beans, the coffee shop located a couple doors down from Ava Day’s salon, and throw herself on the owners’ mercy.
But the truth was, she’d gotten her hopes up as soon as the ranch’s main lodge with its stone and timber façade had come into view. Her spirits had risen even higher once she’d stepped into the lobby and seen the wood and reddish tan upholstered chairs and sofas scattered around the lounge to the right of the main entry, and noticed the enormous urn filled with a combination of fresh flowers and twisted dried branches. She’d begun to think the unthinkable had happened—that she’d lucked out. But no.
And now she was going to have to ask for a tow truck. Mortified, she started to rise from the chair when Adele spoke again. “If, however, your references check out, and you pass a background check, I’ll take you on as my assistant.”
Surprise had her sinking back onto the cushion to babble her thanks.
Adele brushed them aside with a smile. “I’ll be honest with you. I hadn’t planned on hiring a new assistant until June or even the fall. But I’m impressed that you’re willing to honor your friend’s rules to the letter and make an effort to live and work as close to the point on the map where your finger landed. That kind of resolve is special. It is,” she insisted when Tess protested. “And we appreciate that sort of attitude here. Who knows, maybe your arrival at Silver Creek Ranch is a sign for us as well. I wouldn’t want to contemplate the bad karma I might invite by turning you away. So let’s see where this fateful decision leads us.”
This time Tess managed to offer her thanks. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am or how lucky I feel right now.”
“You’re welcome. Though you may come to question your luck after a few days with me. I put in long hours.”
“I like working hard.” That was true. And, besides, what else was there to do in a place like this?
“So, have you found a place to stay?”
“No, not yet.”
“We have a cabin you can use if you’d like. It’s one of the original ones my husband, Daniel, and I built when we opened the ranch to guests. A few years back, we remodeled and expanded the number of guest quarters, but we decided to keep a few of the older cabins for the staff’s use. It’s pretty basic, with just a bedroom, a small sitting area, a kitchenette, and a bath. Perhaps you’d prefer to live in town—”
“It sounds about the size of my New York apartment, so I should feel right at home. If I may, I’d love to stay here, especially as my car seems to have met an untimely end at the hand of a cowboy.”
Adele’s eyes widened. “Really? What happened?”
“That guy Ward? He may be excellent at cowboy stuff, but I wouldn’t let him anywhere near your car. Mine was running until he came along.” Recalling his high-handed manner, she frowned and added in a low mutter, “His people skills could use a little work, too.”
The amused smile on Adele’s face told Tess she’d heard this last bit, too. She was going to have to break the habit of talking to herself, which she’d gotten into while driving across the country. At least it didn’t seem as if she had offended Adele, she thought with relief.
“Well, Ward can be difficult at times. He was always a very opinionated little boy.”
“So you’ve known him a long time?”
Adele’s blue eyes twinkled. “Since birth. He’s my son.”
Oh, crap.
IT WAS FEBRUARY 14, and Ward Knowles didn’t do Valentine’s Day. Been there, done that, got the broken engagement to prove it. But it seemed he was pretty much a lone fish swimming against the tide. Everyone else was busy celebrating with all the heart-shaped gooey-centered sentiment the holiday invoked. It certainly
was all around him at Silver Creek Ranch. As the holiday fell on a Saturday this year, the guest ranch was booked solid.
Since Friday, the corks had been popping from the bottles of a Mendocino sparkling wine that his younger brother, Reid, had selected for the weekend’s wine list, and the bubbly was flowing freely. In the main lodge’s gleaming stainless steel kitchen, Roo Rodgers, their pastry chef, had been creating chocolate fantasies to delight their guests’ taste buds. Not to be outdone, Jeff Sullivan, the chef, was offering specials to appeal to every palate: duck à l’orange; pepper-encrusted filet mignon; seared scallops with roasted Meyer lemons and capers on a bed of Israeli couscous; and, for the vegetarians and vegans, a warm orzo salad with roasted beets and greens and a mung bean and butternut squash stew.
His mother, romantic to the core, had worked with her new assistant to create the large floral arrangements in the lounge area as well as the centerpieces for the tables in the bar and dining room. The hushed oohs and aahs of appreciation when the guests entered the public rooms and beheld the gorgeous compositions was music to a hotelier’s ears.
“Luv” was good for business so Ward supposed he shouldn’t grouse. Nor should he be irritated by the fact that his mother’s new assistant continued to treat him with polite hostility. New York brunettes with attitudes sorely tried his generally charming demeanor.
He and his kid sister, Quinn, were doing their part to make the holiday weekend special for their guests by guiding them on a trail ride that would take them over the ranch’s sprawling acreage and into the neighboring state forest preserve’s miles of trails. The two-hour ride would allow the guests to work off the indulgences of the night before and whet their appetites for the delicacies ahead. Ward would make sure he set a pace just challenging enough so that the guests who’d booked the hour-long full-body massage would be groaning in bliss when their muscles were kneaded and stretched.
The February weather made it too cold for the guests to enjoy the swimming pool, but his mother and Tess Casari, the snippy beauty with eyes as dark as espresso, had made up for any lack of physical recreation by arranging for extra yoga classes throughout the weekend so that guests could stretch their muscles and find calm equilibrium in the light-filled exercise studio. This way, everyone—horseback riders and those less actively inclined—would be in a proper frame of mind and body to enjoy the afternoon’s high tea.
The Valentine’s weekend special and all the accompanying pampering required extra work on everyone’s part, both staff and family members, but the payoff—the glowing reviews posted on Internet travel sites and the bookings from new and returning guests—would be sweet. The businessman in Ward couldn’t ignore the financial boon the holiday presented to his family’s ranch.
So he tamped down on his desire to saddle his gelding Rio and head out for a soul-cleansing solitary gallop.
Like everyone in his family, Ward was fully committed to making Silver Creek Ranch the best guest ranch in Northern California. Today that meant spending several hours acting the genial trail guide to couples celebrating romance. He’d stifle his cynicism and ignore thoughts of irritating New Yorkers. After all, he’d been doing a pretty good job of it for five long weeks, ever since the afternoon she’d rolled up to Silver Creek looking lost and lonely and out of her depths.
The dawn air nipped the band of skin at the back of Ward’s neck where he’d gotten a trim at Joe’s barbershop in town. He shrugged his shoulders and with one hand raised the collar of his jacket while he currycombed Santiago’s liver-colored flank. He’d selected Santiago and twenty other horses for the trail ride later in the morning.
He paused in the midst of grooming to take a sip of black coffee. He’d placed the thick ceramic mug next to one of the corral’s posts, out of harm’s way from hooves or booted feet. The coffee was sorely needed. He’d been up for hours, roused by Pete Williams, the ranch’s foreman, who’d called to tell him that they had a situation down at the barn. Two of their ewes were having trouble lambing. One was carrying twins, who appeared to be trying to come into the world neck and neck. Definitely not a good situation.
Pete had hands a surgeon would envy. Nimble and delicate. Unfortunately, he had only two of them, so Ward had rolled out of bed to lend his own pair to the other ewe in distress.
The second ewe’s problem was far more straightforward than the first’s. Her lamb had been a breech presentation. As malpresentations went, rear legs exiting the uterus first weren’t the trickiest, but Pete had made the right call: The ewe couldn’t have birthed it on her own. The lamb was big—Ward could tell just by the size of its protruding hoof—and the ewe was exhausted. Luckily the ewe had been brought inside. The barn was warm and the straw was clean and dry.
After washing with an antiseptic and applying a lubricant, he’d dropped to his knees by the ewe’s posterior and carefully inserted his fingers into the ewe and gently begun drawing the lamb forward. The ewe appeared quite relieved at the help she was receiving and renewed her own efforts. A couple of muffled, tired bleats and heaving strains later, she delivered a mucus-covered bruiser of a lamb onto the straw. He had wiped the lamb down with a towel and cleaned himself off as well, then waited to make sure the mother would be able to handle the rest.
Once she’d expelled the afterbirth, the ewe clambered to her hooves to nuzzle and lick her newborn. Ward had carried over a bucket to offer her water in case she was thirsty, but it seemed birthing had made her hungry more than anything else. She’d alternated between munching on wisps of hay and casually nudging her lamb.
The newborn hadn’t seemed the worse for wear for entering the world ass-backward. Within a half hour he had gained enough strength to lurch to a stand. Encouraged by a sniff and a push from his mother, he had tottered over to her distended udder. After poking about and a few fumbled attempts to latch on to a teat, the lamb got the hang of it and began to nurse. At the other end, its woolly tail had begun to wiggle and wag, a sight that never failed to bring a smile to Ward’s lips and a chuckle from Pete.
“So, three new healthy lambs and it’s not even five A.M.,” Pete had remarked.
“Yeah, all things considered, not a bad way to start the day,” Ward said.
Since he was already down at the barns, Ward had decided he might as well stick around and help Carlos, Frank, and Holly, three of their ranch hands, water and feed the horses and get a jump on readying the ones needed for the trail ride.
Santiago was the last of Ward’s lot. Like the rest of the horses, he was still sporting a winter coat, so even after Ward had gone over him with a bristle brush he remained somewhat unkempt and shaggy, what Reid called the Jerry Garcia look. By the end of March, when the temperatures had climbed, grooming would involve clouds of black, gray, chestnut, white, and palomino hair floating to the ground, each session revealing more of the horses’ solid musculature.
Ward dropped the brush back into the carryall. Intuiting the grooming session was over, Santiago gave a full-body shake and then returned to his breakfast, feasting with equine delicacy.
A tabby, one of his sister’s rescues, ambled past. His previous owner had allowed a scratch to his eye go untreated. The wound had festered until the whole area was infected and oozing. The owner had solved the problem by sticking the cat in a crate and leaving it in the middle of the private gravel road that led to the ranch, Quinn’s reputation for rescuing animals known all through Acacia and beyond. She’d taken in the cat and footed the vet bill to have the eye, which by that point was beyond saving, enucleated.
Pirate had repaid Quinn’s loving care by becoming one of their best mousers. This morning was no exception. The cat paused in his path and turned his head casually toward Ward, offering a clear view of the gray bulge in his maw.
“Must be off to give Quinn her Valentine’s Day present,” Frank said.
“Yet another clueless male.” Holly’s tone was as dry as kindling.
“What? I thought you said you wanted that set of sau
cepans,” Frank said.
Ward remained silent, unwilling to wade into the treacherous waters. Holly and Frank seemed happily married, but Frank was at times a shade too literal, which worked fine when it came to dealing with cattle and sheep but also explained why he might consider cooking pans a viable Valentine’s present for his wife of ten years. Ward would have to remember to find a moment to suggest Frank drive into Acacia after work and buy something a little less utilitarian for Holly. A necklace from Dazzled, the jewelry store, or a gift certificate from A Brand New Day might do the trick.
Christ, escaping this love business wasn’t easy. He’d even found himself wondering what a certain dark-eyed beauty with great taste in clothes and lousy car sense might like. Luckily he’d caught himself before doing anything foolish, like buying her a bouquet of flowers. He somehow knew that if she smiled at him—a real smile—he’d be in trouble.
And it wasn’t as if he didn’t get a kick out of her New York cheek.
He picked up the carryall and his mug. “I’ve got to go hit the shower. I’ll be back down after the meeting, guys.” He ducked through the bars of the corral.
“Jim should be here soon, so we’ll tack the horses for you and Quinn,” Holly said.
Ward smiled. “Thanks. Hopefully the meeting will be over in time for us to lend a hand. You guys checking the fence later?” Maintaining the miles of fence that enclosed the ranch was a vitally important job, involving frequent inspections.
“Me and Mitchell are riding the line. Pete’s staying here to keep an eye on the sorrel maiden mare. Her udder was real warm and full and she’s been acting restless. Holly’s on lamb duty,” Frank told him.
“Let’s hope any other lambs born today know which way to come out of their mommas,” Ward said.
“I’ll second that,” Holly replied.
After a quick shower and shave, Ward changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt, grabbed his barn jacket, and left his house to walk up to the main lodge. It was only a quarter of a mile, and the morning air was fresh and invigorating. In the distance the mountains were still robed in a violet gray mist, but over to the east, the rising sun shot threads of gold into the weave. If the sun managed to burn off the mist, the blackish green of the fir-covered slopes would be revealed.
