Rancher to the Rescue

by Patricia Forsythe

  In addition, there were some beautifully nuanced black-and-white photographs of the ranch in all four seasons. They were grouped together on the wall above the bed and appeared to have all been taken from the same spot, looking down on the main lodge, at roughly the same time of day with long shadows forming on the east side of the building as the sun dropped behind the mountains to the west.

  Last night after the barbecue, he had knelt on the bed and examined them carefully. He didn’t know who the photographer was, but love for Eaglecrest was evident in every detail of the pictures. The welcoming hominess of the ranch shone through.

  Brady smiled. There was something about this ranch, this entire area, that drew him, even before he’d seen it. Too bad he couldn’t put a name to the sense of longing he felt. Maybe it was nostalgia for something he wished had once existed for him, a different upbringing than growing up in the hustle and bustle of the various cities where they’d moved as his parents pursued business opportunities.

  He shook his head. It was crazy. He had a wonderful family. He’d had a great life, every advantage, but something about Eaglecrest pulled at him. He couldn’t quite put a name to it. How could he feel nostalgic about a place he’d never been before?

  On the wall by the door, there was a bulletin board with a list of the ranch activities, emergency numbers, instructions on what to do in case of a visitation by unwanted creatures such as rattlesnakes and scorpions, and a dozen thank-you cards and notes from former occupants of the room to the owners and staff at Eaglecrest. Some must have been written on a computer and then printed. A few were written by an adult hand, others in a childish scrawl. His favorite was from a boy named Arlo, who insisted no one should ride his favorite horse, Voyager, until he and his family returned to Eaglecrest. Brady doubted that the kid got his wish.

  His phone rang, and he answered it to hear the voice of his brother Finn.

  “How’s it going, little bro?” Finn asked.

  Brady chuckled. “I’m sitting here looking at a board full of thank-you notes from guests to the staff.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Yeah, people actually seem to like camping out, gathering cows during a rainstorm and developing saddle sores.”

  “You sound like you’re either puzzled by that or envious.”

  “Yeah,” Brady said. “I know.”

  Finn didn’t respond, obviously waiting for Brady to go on. When that didn’t happen, he said, “It’s an adventure—which is what you’re supposed to be having, right?”

  Brady looked down at his blisters. “More right than you know. How is it going with you?”

  “Haven’t found a suitable business yet. Everything I’ve come up with so far is too run-of-the-mill to meet Dad’s requirements.”

  “It can’t be that hard to find a financially strapped company related to the entertainment industry that you can invest in and turn around in one year.”

  “You only say that because Eaglecrest Ranch practically fell into your lap,” Finn grumbled.

  “It pays to keep in contact with old college buddies.”

  “Uh-huh,” Finn responded on a sigh. “You’ve always been a lucky so-and-so. Running into Garrett Flanders at that alumni meeting last month was pure luck.”

  “Yup.”

  “And he conveniently came out with the information about Eaglecrest?”

  “He’s in the cattle business, too, in New Mexico, not far from here across the state line. Anyway, Gus and Garrett’s father, Jeff, are friends. Gus told Jeff he was looking for a partner—something Gus hadn’t shared with his daughter, by the way.”

  “What?”

  Brady explained about the day’s events.

  Finn whistled through his teeth. “Sounds like a bad start with her.”

  “Gus warned me she’s really attached to the place, although I didn’t think that was the case when I first heard about the ranch a few months ago. She wasn’t even here. Sounds like her decision to come home was very recent.”

  “Well, watch your step. People are attached to their home places.”

  Brady chuckled. “We wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Mom and Dad are slowing down now, though. They’ve been in their current house for almost two years.”

  “Yeah, but Mom was talking about sprucing up the exterior.”

  Finn groaned. “A sure sign she’s getting ready to sell. Do you think Mom and Dad will hire housepainters this time?”

  “Why would they when they’ve got three able-bodied sons?”

  Finn groaned again. “I can already feel the muscle spasms.”

  “Me, too. Say, have you heard from Miles?”

  “He checked in with Mom and Dad a few days ago. He’s in Colorado somewhere but won’t say what he’s pursuing. You know he always plays it close to the chest.”

  “’Cause he’s afraid we’ll steal his thunder.”

  “I told you we should have been nicer to him when we were kids. It’s our fault that he never learned to share.”

  Laughing, Brady agreed, said goodbye and hung up the phone. He was just getting ready to find some kind of treatment for his blisters when someone knocked at the door. Crossing the room, he swung the door open to see Zannah standing on the mat with a white metal case under her arm and a determined look on her face.

  Brady gave her an uncertain glance. “Um, hello, Zannah. What can I do for you?”

  She swung the case around so that he could see the red medical symbol printed on the front. “First aid.”

  He reached for it. “Thank you. I was just about to go find—”

  She pulled it away. “I’m the official administrator of first aid around here. I’ll do it.”

  “There’s an official administrator of first aid?” He had to fight to control his grin.

  She lifted her chin. “That’s right, and I’m here to take care of your injuries.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “You want to bandage my feet?”

  “Not really, but I do want answers. Treating your blisters is my way of getting those answers.”

  Brady stepped back to let her in. “I’m hoping that’s not a promise of torture to come.”

  Zannah rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s only in bad action movies that the torturer announces his intentions.”

  Brady grinned and shut the door behind her.

  “Sit,” she ordered as she flipped open the kit. She motioned for him to put his bare feet on the ottoman while she pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. Glancing around the room, she said, “I would ask if the cabin is comfortable, but, in your case, I really don’t care.”

  “Um, harsh,” he said. “But I do find it very comfortable.” He pointed to the two paintings he had been admiring. “Who’s the artist?”

  She couldn’t conceal a flash of pride as she answered. “My dad’s sister, Stella. Phoebe’s mom.”

  “She’s very talented.”

  “We know,” Zannah stated in a no-nonsense tone. “She owns a bakery in town. We get all of our baked goods from her.”

  He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, he thought, especially considering she was armed with alcohol wipes and iodine. Something about the defiant way she held her head, though, and the direct stare she was giving him, made him want to prolong this encounter. “And the photographs over the bed. They’re very good, as well.”

  She glanced at the pictures, then shot him a swift glance before answering, as if she was trying to test his sincerity. “Thank you,” she finally said.

  “You’re the photographer?”

  “Yes. It was a youthful hobby I don’t have time for anymore.”

  “You’re good. You should take it up again.”

  She gestured to his feet. “Shall we get on with this?”

  “You seem t
o have recovered from the surprise you received today.”

  “Not even close. I didn’t get any satisfactory answers from my father, so it’s your turn.” She leaned over his left foot and tilted the worst blister toward the light. After examining it, she used a cotton swab to clean the surface, and another to spread on a thin coat of antibiotic cream. She looked over the other spots and said, “These only need air and time to heal. Do you have a pair of sandals or flip-flops you can wear for a couple of days?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t wear those and participate in all the cowboy college training and activities.”

  “Why, yes, that’s exactly right.”

  “So I’ll have to spend my time going over the books, seeing what it will take to make this place profitable.”

  “Why Eaglecrest?” Zannah asked, replacing the items in the first aid kit and snapping the lid shut. “Sure, your background is in business, but your family owns auto parts stores, travel stops on the interstates, a car dealership. Why on earth do you want a ranch?”

  “Oh, so, you’ve been busy doing research this afternoon.” He leaned back, tented his hands over his chest and smiled at her.

  Zannah stood up from the ottoman and moved across the room. “We may be behind the times on some things, but most of the time, we do have good internet access.”

  “I told you, investing in Eaglecrest is a challenge.”

  “You’re not afraid it’s going to be a money pit?”

  “The challenge is to make sure it isn’t.”

  She glanced away. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “No, and that’s the point. My dad is a big believer in diversifying both our skills and our income. He issued a challenge to my brothers and me, to find a business that is involved in the entertainment industry in some fashion and turn it into a moneymaker.”

  She stared at him. “You think ranching is entertainment? I’ll tell you what, you go out looking for a stray calf during a storm in freezing weather, then come back and tell me how entertaining it was.”

  “Ranching is only part of the challenge—”

  “What’s the rest of it?” she broke in. “What, exactly, do you get from this challenge?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got two brothers. I get bragging rights.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A sorry excuse.”

  Brady gazed at her for a few seconds, then said, “It all has to do with funding. Whichever one of us is the most successful this time, using our own money, will be fully funded by our dad for the next one.”

  “So what happens to the losers?”

  “Finish the project and move on.”

  “So the stakes are very big for all concerned.” She paused, obviously thinking that over before she asked, “Is there a timeline? A deadline? A specific amount of profit?”

  “Yes, we have to show major progress within six months, and a complete turnaround within a year.”

  “Is that even possible?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

  “If we work nonstop.”

  Before she could ask more questions, he said, “And we’re a very competitive family.”

  “You must be.”

  He sat forward and looked at her intently. “Well, then how about this? With foreign markets opening up for American beef, there are going to be opportunities like this industry hasn’t seen in years.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “I’m not looking for something easy.”

  She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re looking for a challenge.”

  “Not only the cattle business, but also the cowboy college. How many of the guests who have participated have actually become ranch hands? If they can afford what you charge to teach them about riding, vaccinating and rounding up cattle, they’re probably not looking for those skills as a career choice. No, they’re pursuing a fantasy, the cowboy mystique that’s such a huge part of our identity as Americans.” He shrugged. “Entertainment.”

  Zannah studied his face for several seconds before she said, “To you it’s a moneymaker.” She tilted her head toward the other cabins. “To them, it’s entertainment, a chance to participate in a fantasy, the Old West. To me, it’s my heritage, my family’s way of life for nearly one hundred years. Good times and bad times, experiences you can’t charge on a credit card or buy with a check.”

  Brady considered her. “And yet your brother wasn’t interested in staying here, running the place.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. He’s a botanist who works for a firm in Phoenix that’s developing a method to increase crop yield in desert areas.”

  “So you’re the one who will keep the place going.”

  “That’s right.”

  “For whom?”

  “My family, my nieces, whoever comes after me, whatever children I have.”

  “So, how do you plan to do that with a negative cash flow? Without a partner, an investor to help you?”

  “I can deal with the cash-flow problems,” Zannah insisted. “If I’m given a little time.”

  “Do you even know all the cash-flow problems yet? Gus indicated he’s been a little lax in the bookkeeping.”

  Zannah blinked. “He told you that?” A pang of distress pierced her as she wondered why her dad would have told that to a complete stranger when he’d barely been willing to admit it to her.

  Brady’s face softened as he answered. “I guess he felt like he’d have to be completely honest with a potential investor.”

  But not with his own daughter, she thought again, hurt and consternation growing. While she searched for a response, he went on.

  “Would you have fought him on it if you’d known his plans?” His tone wasn’t unkind.

  “Tooth and nail,” she admitted. “And even more so knowing his reason for doing this is so he can go look for a mythical gold mine.”

  “Um, he told me he wanted to pursue his own interests.”

  Zannah shook her head, struck again by the sense of being betrayed by her father.

  “He’s looking for a partner so he can go prospecting, and you’re looking to win a bet. He’s being selfish and you’re being—”

  “Businesslike?”

  “Frivolous.”

  Brady raised an eyebrow at her. “Look, an infusion of capital will make everything easier.” He spread his hands wide. “I’m here, checkbook in hand.”

  “Yes, you are.” And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She watched him ease back into the chair, his body relaxed, his eyes steady, as if he expected her to fall right in with his and Gus’s schemes.

  In her previous career, she had dealt with many tough situations, often faced down hard men. She’d always had backup, though, a colleague or even a police officer. This was completely different. Brady wasn’t hostile or apologetic or intimidating. He was calm, professional and solid, with those brown eyes of his watching her with complete reasonableness. His whole demeanor seemed to invite her to be equally reasonable—which made her completely unwilling to do so.

  Suddenly swamped by exhaustion, Zannah turned away. “Once you see the books, you might decide it’s not worth the trouble. Good night.” She gathered her first aid kit and hurried to the door.

  She swung the door open, but before she stepped out, she looked back at him. “On second thought, to help you make the final decision to invest in Eaglecrest, you need to learn how hard the work of running a ranch really is.”

  Brady’s dark eyes watched her warily. “Uh-huh, and—”

  “If your blisters are better in the morning, you can take over the horse-grooming tasks that Juan Flores usually does. He’ll be gone for a while.” She paused. “You do know how to groom a horse, right?”

  “I’m learning that you appreciate ho
nesty, so I’ll tell you I don’t have a clue. Never done it.” His lips flickered in a grin. “When my brothers and I rode at our uncle’s farm, he did all the horse grooming. I’m a quick study, though.”

  “You’ll have to be,” she answered. “Mr. Gallagher, have you ever been up close and personal with a cow?”

  “You mean like I got up close and personal with a horse today? No, not really.”

  “I see. We’ll soon take care of that, and you might easily change your mind.”

  Before he could respond, she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

  Brady watched her go as he wondered if there were any online videos about horse grooming.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ZANNAH SAT ON the side of her bed and stared dejectedly at the wall of photographs and paintings opposite her. Old black-and-white photos that she’d had printed on canvas showed the early days of Eaglecrest—the first house, which was not much more than a cabin, cowboys lounging on the front porch of the bunkhouse as the long shadows of the trees stretched out nearby. Photographs of family weddings, including her parents’ and grandparents’, were carefully placed along with images of her and Casey as children, riding and roping, trying to learn and keep up with their father and the patient ranch hands who actually knew what they were doing and were willing to teach their skills to two eager kids.

  Her favorite photo was one she had taken herself. It showed her nieces at about three and four years of age, each of them holding one of their grandfather’s hands. He was bending down to accommodate their much shorter stature as they took him down to the corral so he could tell them about the horses.

  A knock on the door had her sweeping away tears and calling out, “Come in,” with a quavery voice.

  She turned as Phoebe stepped inside. Her cousin had showered and changed clothes. She was now wearing her evening outfit—yoga pants and an Eaglecrest T-shirt.

  “I finished teaching the yoga class and was about to head home,” her cousin said as her concerned gaze took in Zannah’s face. “Are you okay? Uncle Gus told me what’s going on.”