The Rancher She Loved

by Ann Roth

  Mrs. Yancy shook her head and smiled, as if reliving pleasant memories.

  Sarah wondered if she’d ever have memories of a husband, and a son or daughter to share them with. Someday, she assured herself. She wasn’t even thirty yet, and still had time to have babies. All she needed was to meet the right man.

  “These days, Lucky and I hardly see each other,” Mrs. Yancy went on, “but I always bring him cookies on his birthday and over the holidays.”

  Sarah marveled at the woman’s thoughtfulness. She seemed to have a big heart and a generous spirit. So different from Ellen, who always kept score of who she gave gifts to, whether or not they returned the favor and whether the value of their gift matched hers.

  Sarah had never understood that side of Ellen, and vaguely remembered that things had seemed different when her adoptive father was alive. She had a few hazy memories of family vacations that included impulsive presents for friends, laughter and warm hugs.

  “Be sure to ask Lucky about the time the plague of locusts swarmed through his alfalfa crop,” Mrs. Yancy said. “It’s quite a story.”

  Sarah nodded. “I have no idea what time I’ll be back.”

  “No worries. I’m going to a Saturday-night movie party, where we watch a DVD over dinner. After the movie, we discuss it, and when the girls and I get to talking, we tend to run late. Don’t wait up for me.”

  * * *

  LUCKY ARNETT’S RANCH was all the way across town, a good fifteen-mile drive from Mrs. Yancy’s. The day was warm, and Sarah opened the sunroof and cranked up the music.

  Signs of spring were everywhere, from the bright flowers dotting the long prairie grass on either side of the highway, to the aroma of sweet clover and other plants she couldn’t identify, and the baby calves trailing their mothers in distant pastures.

  On the drive, she passed several fenced pastures and outbuildings that undoubtedly belonged to various ranches. None were identified in any way that she could see, and she couldn’t help wondering if one of the ranches belonged to Clay.

  She wanted to see his ranch, wanted to know more about the business he was starting. Too bad he’d turned down the offer of an interview.

  Sarah couldn’t really blame him, and wished now that she’d tempered some of what she’d written for the magazine. Not that she felt in any way responsible for the woman who Clay claimed had ruined his life. Still, she had been angry and hurt when she’d written the article, which was hardly professional, and in hindsight, a total overreaction. She’d had no claim on Clay. After all, they’d never discussed starting a relationship or even dating, and he’d only kissed her once.

  But that kiss had felt like a promise.

  Sarah was no innocent. She’d kissed lots of men, and had had her share of lovers. But Clay brought kissing to a whole new level, his lips eager and warm and giving. With a whole lot of heart, just as she’d always imagined a man interested in the long-term would.

  Unfortunately, Clay just happened to kiss that way, which was where the trouble had started.

  Knowing that did nothing to dampen her reaction to him now. His kisses weren’t all that drew her. She thought about the footlocker and her reluctance to look through Tammy’s things by herself. Clay had given up several hours of his time to keep her company. There weren’t a lot of guys who’d do that.

  He was different than she’d ever guessed and in many ways a good man. With a weakness for women, she reminded herself. Sometimes two at the same time.

  That was one reason getting involved with him was a bad idea.

  Ahead, she saw the Lucky A Ranch sign, hanging prominently from an iron arch spanning a winding gravel driveway. Sarah signaled and drove under the sign, which needed a paint touch-up. About fifty feet ahead sat a weathered house with a wraparound porch. There were other aging buildings nearby, some in better shape than others.

  Yet despite the less-than-optimal condition of the buildings, the lush fields, herds of lowing cattle and men hard at work showed that this ranch was alive and kicking.

  Sarah slung her equipment bag over her shoulder and exited the car. From behind the house, an older man approached. Tall and wiry, his gray hair cut military short, he clasped a cigarette between thin lips.

  “You must be Mr. Arnett,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Sarah Tigarden.”

  “Folks call me Lucky.” With a somber expression the rancher briefly clasped her hand in a firm, callused grip.

  “I have something for you.” She retrieved the plate of cookies from the passenger seat of the car. “These are from Mrs. Yancy.”

  At last, Lucky smiled, his sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Paula never forgets me, and for that, I’m one grateful cowboy.” He tossed the butt into the dirt and ground it out with the toe of his boot, then peeled back the foil and helped himself. “Double-chocolate-drop cookies—my favorites. You want one?”

  Having eaten her own cookies on the drive over, Sarah shook her head.

  “I’ll set these inside,” Lucky said, chewing. “Then I’ll show you around.”

  He didn’t invite her in. While she waited, she dug into her bag for the camera and snapped pictures of the barn, house and the vast fields beyond.

  Up close, the buildings were even shabbier than she’d first thought. Especially the barn. The roof had been patched in several places, and here and there new siding, primed but as yet unpainted, replaced various sections of wall.

  Lucky stepped onto the porch with a thermos and two plastic cups. “How about coffee?”

  Sarah had already enjoyed several delicious cups of Mrs. Yancy’s brew and didn’t need more, but she wasn’t about to turn down Lucky’s hospitality.

  She nodded, and he set both cups on the porch railing and filled them. After a long pull from his cup, Lucky smacked his lips. “Now that’s what I call high-octane.”

  Sarah liked her coffee strong, but this stuff was turbocharged, bitter and so thick she could’ve spooned it into her mouth. She couldn’t hide her grimace.

  Lucky chuckled, as if pleased by her reaction. “Don’t worry, it only tastes like it’ll put hair on your chest. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  When he wasn’t looking, she tossed the remains into the bushes, silently apologizing to the poor plants.

  “My granddad started this ranch,” Lucky explained as they ambled toward the barn. “His specialty was cattle, but he also dabbled in alfalfa. He managed all right, but he borrowed on the land, and when he passed my daddy inherited a mountain of debt along with the ranch.

  “He and mama scrabbled to hold on to the property. Now it’s mine. I haven’t been able to make it hum the way I dreamed, but I’m getting along well enough.”

  It was obvious that he loved the ranch. “What will happen to it when you...” Not sure how to phrase the rest of the question delicately, Sarah broke off.

  “When I pass? It’ll go to my niece, Gina, but she doesn’t know it yet. She lives in Chicago.”

  Chicago and Saddlers Prairie were worlds apart. “Does she like ranching?” Sarah ventured.

  “She did when she was little. She lived here in town until she graduated high school. She put herself through college and has a degree in marketing. Gina’s a smart one, and I’m betting on her. This here’s the barn.”

  The big doors creaked loudly as he pushed them open.

  Sarah stepped into a barn straight out of a fairy tale: big, lofty and airy, smelling of hay, horses and leather. Shelves and wall hooks contained horse gear and farming tools.

  “This is really nice,” she said.

  Lucky gave her a sideways look, clearly doubting her sincerity.

  “I mean it,” she said. “I’ve never been in a barn before, and yours is exactly what I imagine it should be.”

  The rancher seemed satisfied wi
th this, and almost smiled.

  “Do you mind if I ask a few questions and record your answers?” she asked.

  “Not at all. Fire away.”

  Lucky patiently answered every question she asked with painful honesty. He didn’t hide the hardships he endured, including the time when the locusts had stripped his fields bare, and allowed her to snap photos.

  As they headed for one of the cattle pastures to see some of the herd up close, a big man about Sarah’s age strode toward them.

  “That there’s my right-hand man,” Lucky said. “Come on, and I’ll introduce you.”

  He lengthened his stride and whipped forward. Sarah scrambled to keep up.

  “This is Zach Horton, my foreman,” Lucky said. “The day I met him was the day I finally lived up to the name ‘Lucky.’ Zach knows plenty about ranching, so feel free to ask him anything. You want numbers to back up what I told you, Zach’ll give them to you.”

  A look passed between the two men, and Zach nodded.

  His direct gaze impressed Sarah. He was very good-looking and seemed friendly, but he wasn’t nearly as magnetic as Clay.

  Sarah frowned. She had to stop thinking about him.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk while I take care of a few things.” Lucky turned to Sarah. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  “I won’t. Thanks for your time, Lucky. He was about to show me how to spot a pregnant cow,” Sarah said as the old rancher strode off.

  “All right. Follow me.”

  As Lucky had, Zach allowed Sarah to record him. The old rancher hadn’t been kidding—his foreman knew his ranching and understood the numbers behind the business. Zach explained the costs involved in running the ranch and how food prices caused big fluctuations in profit margins. He didn’t hide how the downward trend of beef prices had hurt not just the Lucky A, but all cattle ranches.

  A busy man, he cut off the conversation all too soon. Sarah understood, but was sorry the interview had to end. There was so much yet to learn. Still, she’d gathered lots of useful information, and had no doubt that the Dawson brothers and the other ranchers on her list would add to her knowledge base.

  “I appreciate your time, Zach,” she said.

  “No problem. If you want to say goodbye to Lucky, you’ll find him in the tractor shed behind the house.”

  Sarah peeked inside what smelled like an auto-body garage. “I’m leaving now,” she told the rancher. “Thanks for letting me spend a few hours with you and Zach. This has been really interesting and fun.”

  “Hold on and I’ll walk you to your car.” Lucky wiped his hands on his jeans. “I trust Zach answered all your questions?” he asked as they crossed the backyard.

  “He was great. You both were. Thanks again for your time.”

  “Thanks for your interest in the Lucky A.”

  “I’ll send you two copies of the article,” she said at the car. “One for you and one for Zach.”

  “That’d be great. Who else are you planning to interview?”

  “I’m scheduled to meet with Dawson brothers at their ranch on Monday.”

  Lucky nodded his approval. “They’re good men who make a real comfortable living. Anyone else?”

  “Mrs. Yancy mentioned a few. Who do you suggest?”

  Lucky rubbed his chin. “There’s a newcomer to town you might want to talk to, young fella by the name of Clay Hollyer. Used to be a bull rider, and could he ride.

  “Couple years ago, he had a bad accident and crushed his knee to smithereens. Just thinking about it makes my own knees hurt. Clay can’t ride anymore, so he’s getting into the ranching business. But not in the traditional sense. He’ll be dealing in stock for rodeos—bulls and steers.”

  Clay hadn’t told Sarah the extent of his injury, which sounded excruciatingly painful and explained the limp.

  “I’ll keep him in mind,” she said.

  Keep him in mind? Between her own wayward feelings and the constant mention of his name, she was finding it virtually impossible to not think about him.

  * * *

  TIRED OF HIS own company, Clay stopped at a tavern just outside town on Saturday afternoon. Sparky’s offered on-tap beer, lively music and decent food.

  It was early yet, and the place was quiet, which suited him fine. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with rodeo fans and pretend he was still a star.

  As he looked around for a place to park his butt, he noticed a blonde with big breasts perched on one of the stools—just his type. Her lashes lowered, and she gave him a come-on-over look.

  Last time that had happened, about six weeks before Clay had moved to Saddlers Prairie some two months ago, he’d been learning to walk with a cane, and had gone without sex for over a year. A blonde not unlike the one across the room had slid onto the stool beside him and struck up a flirty conversation. He’d ended up buying them both a few drinks too many, getting wasted and going home with her.

  Which had taken care of his physical needs, but had otherwise left him dissatisfied. When he sobered up some hours later, he left and never saw her again.

  Maybe it was the accident, or maybe he was getting old, but from now on he wanted to get to know a woman before taking her to bed.

  Between building his leg strength, getting the ranch in shape and working on the house plans, he hadn’t even tried to get to know any females in Saddlers Prairie. Which was why, since that sorry night, he hadn’t so much as kissed a woman.

  Then Sarah had knocked at his door.

  Clay hadn’t seen her for two days and didn’t want to think about her or those red-hot kisses. But his mind rebelled, and his body...he glanced down at himself and snickered.

  The blonde was still smiling. Ignoring her, he stepped up to the opposite side of the bar.

  The bartender, a forty-something guy with a receding hairline and handlebar moustache, came right over. “You’re Clay Hollyer,” he said, looking awed. “I heard that you moved to Saddlers Prairie. Welcome to Sparky’s.”

  Clay managed a tight smile. “Thanks. What’s on tap tonight?”

  The bartender told him, and he ordered a beer, a double cheeseburger and fries.

  “Word is, there’s a woman in town writing a story about ranching and researching people by the name of Becker,” the bartender said when he set a frosty mug in front of Clay. “I heard she stopped by your place the other day, looking for information.”

  “That’s right,” Clay said, not at all surprised. In a town the size of Saddlers Prairie, people knew things. He tilted his mug in salute and sipped.

  The bartender left to help other customers before returning with Clay’s meal. “I know a Mr. and Mrs. Becker.”

  About to bite into his burger, Clay paused. “Do they have a daughter named Tammy?”

  “Beats me. I only met them once, when I visited my great aunt. She lives at Sunset Manor, and so do they.”

  “What’s Sunset Manor?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “A retirement home some twenty-five-odd miles from here. The writer lady could probably call and find out if they’re the Beckers she’s looking for.”

  Clay nodded. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll pass it along.”

  What a great lead, and while he ate, he thought about Sarah. She was bound to be pleased, especially if the Beckers at Sunset Manor turned out to be her grandparents.

  No doubt she’d also be nervous like she was about the footlocker. She’d probably chew on her soft lower lip like crazy....

  His body rallied at the thought, and he almost groaned in frustration. A healthy swig of beer helped.

  As soon as he went home, he’d call and tell her what the barkeep had shared. Then he’d leave her alone. She was safer that way, and so was he.

  He just hoped things worked out for
her.

  Chapter Seven

  After giving up her weekends—her life—for a year, Sarah made a point of going out often, especially on a Saturday night. In Boise, there were always plenty of options—movies, concerts, plays, dinner with friends, shopping and more.

  But here in Saddlers Prairie, where she had no friends and there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, figuring out where to go and what to do for the evening wasn’t so easy. The Saddlers Prairie News, the local monthly paper, wasn’t much help, and an online search of things to do in the area yielded dismal results. Sarah wished she’d asked Mrs. Yancy for suggestions. But Mrs. Yancy was at the movie party with her friends.

  Sarah was alone and on her own, and wasn’t that the story of her life.

  A wave of loneliness washed over her, and she seriously considered crawling into bed, pulling the covers over her head and sleeping away the blues. Then she caught herself and frowned. Hosting her own pity party was the last thing she needed.

  Determined to get out and enjoy herself, she straightened her shoulders and thought about dinner. It was almost dinnertime. After several nights of pizza and fast food, she was ready for something better. Mrs. Yancy claimed that Barb’s Café was good. Why not try it tonight?

  While she was there, she may as well check out Spenser’s General Store, too, browse around, and pick up a magazine or paperback.

  “Wahoo,” she murmured wryly. She was definitely in for a busy, fun-packed evening.

  The café was in the opposite direction of Lucky’s ranch, but just as far away from Mrs. Yancy’s. Saddlers Prairie might be a small town, but it sure was spread out.

  As usual, the highway was mostly deserted, and the road was all hers. The sun edged slowly toward the horizon, tinting the vast sky in spectacular pinks and golds.

  Talk about your romantic evening.