by Deb Kastner
He couldn’t imagine what the old woman was doing here now. She was blatantly trespassing, for one thing. He hadn’t invited her to visit his property. What did she think? That she could just nose around in his barn whenever she liked?
Simon’s muscles tightened and Hudson made a squeal of protest.
“Sorry, buddy,” he murmured before handing the boy off to Miranda and spreading the quilt across the soft bed of hay for the twins, giving him a moment to decide how to approach the unwanted trespasser as he and Miranda situated the babies on the blanket.
“Blanche Stanton,” he said drily. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Miranda caught his gaze and her eyes widened. She hadn’t missed the dripping sarcasm oozing from his voice.
Blanche obviously wasn’t aware that waltzing onto someone else’s property was considered trespassing. Or maybe she just didn’t care. The hunchbacked, gray-haired old lady turned on him, brandishing her cane like a weapon. It was all he could do not to step back, but he straightened his shoulders and held his ground.
“More puppies?” she barked—her voice really did sound like a bark, all dry and coarse. Simon bit back a smile, recognizing that Blanche would be furious if she knew what he was thinking. “You justify bringing more dogs into this world when you already have too many running around this place as it is? This is outrageous. I’ve a good mind to call the animal control police and report you.”
Miranda’s brow scrunched over her nose. He could see the wheels of her mind turning as she tried to comprehend the incomprehensible.
“This is what Simon does for a living. He breeds herding dogs.”
Miranda sounded genuinely confused, as well she might. In Simon’s brief encounters with the old woman, she rarely made a lick of sense.
“What?” Blanche demanded, turning her attention to Miranda. “Who are you?”
“Miranda Morgan. And not that it’s any of your business, but Simon raises and trains Australian cattle dogs especially bred for herding,” she said, louder and slower, overenunciating each syllable as if somehow that would help Blanche understand what she was saying. “His dogs are supposed to have puppies.”
Wow.
Miranda had really been paying attention to what he’d been telling her. His appreciation for her bumped up a notch.
Blanche cackled, but not in amusement.
“Obviously, you don’t have the full story, my dear.”
Miranda stiffened at the artificial endearment, but her voice was steady when she answered. “Simon has been completely up front with me.”
She had no way of knowing that, nor did she have reason to trust him, and yet she was, thankfully, in his corner.
“Ask him what he does with the rest of his time here on the ranch.”
“If you mean about his rescue endeavors, he’s already told me,” Miranda said calmly, tipping up her chin in a silent show of defiance.
Simon was grateful that Miranda was fielding all the questions because he was about to implode, holding back his fury and frustration.
Hudson rolled to the edge of the quilt, gurgling happily and reaching out his chunky arm to grab a handful of hay.
Simon and Miranda reacted at the exact same moment, diving down to rid him of the straw in his little fist before it made it to his mouth. Miranda grabbed the baby and Simon shook Hudson’s fist until it was hay-free.
Miranda folded her legs on the quilt and pulled Hudson and Harper into her lap. That was probably a wise move, since Blanche would stand as judge and jury on everything she witnessed.
Simon stretched back to his full height to face his irate neighbor.
“This,” Blanche said, her wave encompassing both the dogs and the twins, “is totally unacceptable. It’s irresponsible for you to bring babies into this environment.”
Simon had to bite his tongue not to snap back at her that this was the country, and that nearly every baby in Wildhorn was growing up on a ranch, many of which had far more animals than Simon, and more variety, at that.
“That’s it.” Blanche pounded her cane against the ground, but because it was dirt covered with a bed of hay, the tip of the cane didn’t make a sound. It was probably not the dramatic impact Blanche had been going for. Simon’s eyes met Miranda’s and her lips quirked in amusement—at least until Blanche’s next words.
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m calling animal control.”
“You do that,” Simon said, his voice an octave lower than usual.
He had had about enough of Blanche Stanton. His nerves snapped along his skin and a fire raged in his chest, but the only outward indication of his annoyance was the way his fingers kept twitching into a fist. He couldn’t speak to his expression. He forced himself to relax his muscles and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans, rocking back on the heels of his boots as if to put more distance between them.
“Now, if there’s nothing else,” he said through gritted teeth, “you know your way out. And I suggest you take it.”
Blanche shook a finger under his nose. It took every ounce of his self-control not to brush her hand away. He stood stock-still, not even allowing air to enter his lungs. He’d probably breathe fire out of his mouth like a dragon if he so much as exhaled.
“This isn’t over,” she warned.
“I didn’t think it was,” he snapped back.
He knew as soon as he spoke that he shouldn’t have taken the bait. A brief glance at Miranda’s wide eyes confirmed that, even if he hadn’t created the scene, he was at least an unwilling participant. All he was doing was playing right into the old woman’s hands. He knew better than that.
Do not engage.
And yet he had.
It was hard to consider any other way than the way he knew, the defense mechanisms that sometimes rose before he could stop them.
Should he be turning the other cheek here, or was it okay for him to defend his home and his dogs?
Unfortunately, Simon knew all too well that this was only the beginning of his problems with his new neighbor. That Miranda had been there to witness the whole sorry scene only made him feel worse.
How humiliating.
Blanche turned away and stomped a couple of feet toward the door—or at least as much of a stomp as she could make with a limp and a cane—and then slowly turned back to address Miranda, rudely pointing her finger directly at her.
“You’d do well to avoid this one,” Blanche warned, nodding her head toward Simon and sniffing loudly.
He stiffened. The nerve of the woman. Not that he and Miranda had a personal connection, but it wasn’t any of Blanche’s business if they did. No one had called her in to be judge and jury of his character, especially because she continued to malign him for no good reason.
What if Blanche put doubt in Miranda’s mind? Enough to make her reconsider about him spending time with the twins?
He swallowed the gall that rose to his throat at the thought.
Miranda merely lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Simon couldn’t tell, either by her expression or the inflection in the tone of her voice, whether Miranda was agreeing with Blanche or merely humoring the old woman, but Blanche seemed content with the answer and made her exit.
“Okay, then,” Miranda said as soon as Blanche was gone. “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
* * *
Miranda’s naturally empathetic nature—even to a man who tended to be a bully and had issues trusting her—kicked in despite her best efforts to the contrary.
Poor Simon’s face had turned a distressing shade of red, followed by an unhealthy yellowish-green color, as if he was about to be sick.
She could see no reason why the strange old woman had gone off on Simon the
way she had.
Over a litter of puppies? What was with that?
Practically all of Wildhorn was working ranch land. Horses. Cows. Pigs. Chickens. Llamas.
Simon’s endeavors might veer slightly away from the typical cattle ranch, but he was offering a much-needed product—if you could call a well-bred and well-trained cattle dog a product, or maybe a service—to grateful ranchers in Wildhorn and beyond.
Now that the elderly busybody was gone, Miranda stood and plunked the wriggling twins back onto the quilt in a demonstrative display of rebellion.
Take that, Blanche Stanton.
How dare the woman render judgment on her choices where the twins were concerned? The old lady didn’t even know the first thing about her. And anyway, it wasn’t any of her business if the kids were lying on a quilt in a barn.
Then again, Blanche might be right.
Simon might be right.
Maybe she wasn’t good mother material. But she was bound and determined to do her very best.
Simon sighed in frustration and picked off his hat, scrubbing his fingers through his thick blond curls.
“Yeah. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“Who is she?”
“My next-door neighbor. Or one of them, anyway. There’s a small housing development and retirement community along the south border of my land. That woman, Blanche Stanton, moved in a couple of months ago, and she’s causing me all sorts of trouble—as you witnessed today.”
“Yeah. What is with that?”
“Evidently, she really, really doesn’t like dogs.”
“What kind of person doesn’t like dogs?” Miranda asked, realizing even as she spoke the words that, although she didn’t exactly dislike dogs, it would never have occurred to her to keep one of her own.
“Cat people,” Simon joked drily, one side of his mouth kicking up.
“She’s probably one of those old ladies who has a hundred cats living in her house. That’s why the idea of a dog upsets her so much.”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
“I still don’t see how it’s any business of hers what happens on your property, as long as it doesn’t directly affect her. I can’t imagine that you allow your dogs to run wild. Or do you secretly let them out on her lawn?”
Simon snorted. “Now there’s a thought. But truthfully, I don’t give her any reason to complain about me or my dogs. My property is well fenced, and I almost always ride along to supervise when the dogs go out for their runs.”
Simon crouched before Shadow’s whelping box and checked her out, then stood and scooped Harper into his arms. It was oddly comforting, watching the big man holding the infant against his broad chest.
“Come on. I want to show you something.” He started toward the barn door and then looked back to see if she was following.
She quickly bundled Hudson into her arms. “Should I leave the quilt?”
He glanced at Shadow and nodded. “Yes. We’ll be back shortly to attend to the puppies. But there’s something I’d like you to see back at my house.”
Curiosity swelled within her as she caught up with Simon and walked side by side with him up a small incline to where his ranch house stood. They passed by several dog kennels built underneath a lean-to, but all of them were empty.
When he reached the door, he slid her another glance. “This is, I believe, the real reason Blanche is kicking up such a fuss.”
She could already hear what sounded like a dozen barking dogs, everything from a low woof-woof to the high-pitched yapping of the smaller dogs.
He opened the door with a flourish. Even though Miranda had some idea what was coming next, she couldn’t have guessed at the enthusiasm with which the dogs—more than two dozen in various breeds and sizes—greeted Simon.
He laughed—really laughed—as the dogs ran around his feet and nuzzled his hands with their wet noses, begging to be petted.
“These are my rescue dogs.” He crouched briefly to accept doggie kisses as he scratched ears and wriggling tail ends.
Was this the same man who, in the past, had such a chip on his shoulder?
The twins gurgled in delight and flapped their arms so hard Miranda could barely keep control of Hudson. Simon tossed Harper into the air amidst much giggling.
Miranda had as many questions as Simon had dogs, but she started with the most obvious one.
“Where is Christmas?”
“I’m sorry?” His eyes widened.
“Thanksgiving was last week and you don’t have a single decoration up yet. And no tree!”
“You almost make it sound illegal.”
“It should be. Where’s your holiday spirit?”
He laughed. “You make up for it at your house.”
“That’s truly sad,” she said, her frown halfway between real and mocking.
He scoffed it off.
“I brought you here to meet my dogs, not critique my lack of Christmas decorations,” he chided.
She gave in reluctantly. “You keep all of these guys in your house? I noticed you have some kennels out there, but they’re all empty.”
Evidently relieved that he didn’t have to talk about Christmas any longer, he grinned and bounced up and down to keep a fussy Harper, who wanted to be thrown in the air again, happy.
“Mostly they live with me. They are all crate-trained and I use the kennels we passed by when necessary, but for the rescues that I plan to rehome, living in the house with me helps them prepare for life with their forever families. And the ones who will never be adopted out for whatever reason, well, they are in their forever home.”
A medium-size, wire-haired dog limped up and bumped Miranda’s leg with his snout, and then sat prettily, waiting for her attention. It was only when she reached down to scratch his head that she noticed he was missing one of his front legs.
Miranda felt awkward, not only because she was seldom around dogs, but because this one looked as if it had suffered a major injury at some point. Still, she continued to tentatively scratch the dog’s ears and pat his back.
“That’s Cumberland,” Simon said by way of introduction. “But I just call him Chummy. He was run over by a car on the highway and left to die. But he’s a fighter. As you can see, he doesn’t let a little thing like missing one leg get him down.”
“So you think you will be able to rehome him, then?”
Simon shook his head. “Unfortunately, Chummy has other health issues besides his leg. He’ll stay with me for as long as he lives. But to be honest, I’ve fallen completely in love with Chummy. I wouldn’t adopt him out even if I could. He’s my dog. I have a blind husky named Loki, too.”
He whistled and a beautiful husky with gray and white fur trotted directly and obediently to Simon’s side. Miranda could hardly tell the dog was blind until she looked into the husky’s eyes, which were white and hazy.
“Extraordinary,” Miranda murmured, then caught Simon’s gaze and held it. “You’re not a typical dog rescuer, are you?”
He ran a hand down his face as if he was embarrassed to admit the truth, although Miranda was impressed by the size of his heart. “No. Not really. I don’t keep the dogs in kennels until they are hopefully adopted out to new families. I rarely have folks visiting the ranch. Instead, I train them to be AKC Canine Good Citizens and then hold adoption events at Maggie’s Pet Store. I’ve found that trained dogs are easier to rehome, and they make better family members once they’re adopted. As for Chummy and Loki—I suppose I just can’t say no to an animal in need.”
He swallowed hard. “When I first saw Chummy, he was all mangled, and yet his eyes were so hopeful. Even with as much pain as he was in, he let me approach him and take him to the vet. Most people would have put him down, I guess, thinking that was the most hum
ane thing to do. But in my heart I knew Chummy wanted to live. Seeing him all bandaged up with an IV sticking out of him—I almost couldn’t stand it. But Chummy recognized me and wagged his tail. He has more courage than I’ll ever have.”
Miranda’s heart warmed. She highly doubted that. In her mind, Simon showed an exemplary amount of courage. She could see how devoted he was to his cause. He was as passionate about his rescue endeavors as she was to her photography, only the work he did helped God’s creatures, ministered to those who couldn’t help themselves, while hers...had been completely for her own benefit. Publicizing famous people who didn’t need any more boost to their egos. The closest thing she got to true charity was photographing high-profile, black-tie charitable events, and even those had mostly been a joke, a way for rich people to feel good about themselves.
“Come sit down for a minute,” Simon invited, settling himself on the sofa with Harper on his lap and patting the seat next to him.
Miranda tentatively made her way to the couch, careful to step around the dogs and not on them. She admittedly wasn’t the most coordinated woman on the planet at the best of times, and the moving sea of fur made her feel like she was walking on a field of land mines with a baby in her arms.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally parked herself safely onto the couch and cuddled Hudson close to her.
“I brought you up here, not only to meet Chummy, but because I have a couple of dogs I’d especially like to introduce to Harper and Hudson,” he said.
She flashed him a surprised look. He couldn’t possibly think that with all she had going on, she’d want to adopt a couple of dogs, or even one.
“I appreciate what you do here,” she said, trying to buffer her next words. “But I want to make it clear up front that I have no intention of adopting a dog. They’re cute and all, but I’ve already got my hands full with the twins as it is.”
Which was true, but it was more than just a matter of having time to take care of a pet. After seeing the way Simon interacted with his rescues and how excitedly they responded to him, she felt fairly certain she wasn’t a dog person.
