The Wrangler

by Lindsay McKenna

  “No. I’m home no matter what happens,” Griff said, and he managed a smile. “I feel good handing the Tetons Ranch over to you. We need to celebrate in some way after I sign those papers.”

  Happiness flowed through Slade. It was a stunning, unexpected gift. The ranch he’d given his sweat, blood and life for, was finally going to be all his. “Jordana is going to be over the moon when she hears what you’re doing for us.”

  “I’m sure,” Griff said. “Maybe I can wrangle a dinner invitation out of it after we do the transfer of ownership?”

  “You bet,” Slade said. “I’ll talk to Jordana and give you a call.”

  “You sure? I don’t want to butt in where I’m not welcome.” Griff knew he couldn’t tell Slade how much he’d missed that unspoken but magical connection with his twin. Since he’d come home, Slade had wanted as little as possible to do with him.

  Slade self-consciously wiped his eyes. He gave Griff an embarrassed look. “You don’t know how many years I wished you were here, Griff. I missed you, but I couldn’t tell you that.”

  Griff moved forward and threw his arms around his brother. For a brief moment, they hugged one another. Stepping back, Griff wiped away tears forming in his eyes. No longer was there pain or anger in Slade’s gray gaze. Instead, if Griff was reading his twin right, there was a lot of unspoken love for him. Something old and hard broke loose in Griff’s chest. It was as if a lump of black coal that had lived in his heart all these years suddenly dissolved. And in its place was a joy so euphoric he felt like shouting to the heavens with happiness.

  Slade slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go see what Shorty is up to. I just bought two new mares I’m going to breed to Thor. I want you to look at them and see what you think.”

  Just the simple act of being included by Slade sent a powerful shaft of hope through Griff. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, “I’d like that.”

  Griff breathed in deeply as they stepped into the warming summer air. Settling the Stetson on his head, he quickly caught up with Slade on his way to the barn. He wasn’t very experienced regarding a horse’s conformation, but Slade was trying to reach out to him the only way he knew how and for Griff, the gesture was enough. Hurt and anger no longer separated them. They were family again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “GOOD DAY, MISS GUS!” Bobby Fortner called cheerily through the screen door of the Bar H. He mustered a big smile and held up the gift in his hands. “I’ve brought you the best two-pound box of chocolates that Jackson Hole has to offer!”

  Frowning, Gus pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. “Why do I get the feelin’, Bobby, that you’re a Trojan horse come avisitin’?”

  Blushing to the roots of his receding black hair, Bobby said, “Why, I have no idea, Miss Gus. When I called you, you said it was okay to come over.”

  Gus peered about. The ten-o’clock sun was warming the land. Val was out in the barn working on repairing the box stalls. And Griff was visiting his brother. “You’re about as welcome as a rattler under my porch,” she told him, squinting up at the thin, sloppily dressed Realtor. Gus had no patience with this guy even though she had relented to his pleading request to come for a short visit. “I know you work for Downing, so let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?” She poked him in the chest with her index finger.

  Bobby jumped back, almost spilling the box of candy he held. “Now, Miss Gus, it’s true I’ve done some land deals for Mr. Downing, but I’ve been a Realtor here in this county for fifteen years.” He gave her a simpering smile and tried to cajole her out of her black mood. “Here, please take these.”

  Eyeballing the box, Gus muttered, “Set them over there, Bobby,” and she waggled her finger in the direction of the small table near the porch swing.

  Quickly, he did as she requested. He returned, brushed his sweaty palms against his brown slacks and smiled at her. Gus didn’t smile back. Gulping, he said, “I like to drop by the ranches in the valley from time to time.”

  “The Bar H ain’t for sale, Fortner.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s fine. I just wanted to see how things were going. I heard your granddaughter Val was home and you hired a new wrangler. I figured you were gussying up the place?”

  Gus sat down on a nearby wooden rocking chair. She never took her eyes off Fortner, whose brow was gleaming with perspiration. He nervously pulled out a white linen handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “Yes, we are makin’ a lot of repairs,” she told the Realtor. “But that don’t mean it’s for sale.”

  “Pity,” Bobby said, and he looked around with appreciation. “This is a beautiful place, Miss Gus. And you have half of Long Lake on your property. You know, there’s a lot of developers who would give their eyeteeth for your place. And pay darn good money for it to boot.” He gave her a hopeful look.

  Mouth twisting, Gus said, “The day I sell to a developer is the day I’m dead!” She jabbed her cane toward the unseen lake. “There’s too many developments in this county already! Why on earth would I want one more tourist here in Jackson Hole? We’re overrun every summer. It’s gettin’ so you can’t drive in town because of bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

  Bobby assumed a soothing tone. “Well, Miss Gus, this is just progress. You have to agree with me that our county has two of the most beautiful national parks in the USA—Yellowstone and the Grand Teton. You can’t blame folks for wanting to visit here, can you?”

  Snorting, Gus glared up at him. “The problem is developers, Fortner. And you’re part of that cow-manure pile of money-grubbing Realtors who lays in bed with ’em. You’re part of the problem, Bobby. Thank you for the chocolates, but I’m done talkin’ with you.”

  He managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Miss Gus. That wasn’t my intention. I do need to let you know that Mr. Downing has offered you one-point-five-million dollars for this beautiful ranch.”

  “That’s the real reason you came,” Gus gritted out, her lips lifting away from her teeth. “Last time I feel sorry for you when you call and beg to come over with a gift. Tell him to stop makin’ offers. I don’t care if he laid a trillion dollars on this porch, I’m not selling. Now, leave!”

  Fortner rubbed his hands on his slacks, jerkily bobbed his head and aimed himself toward the stairs.

  “You don’t get it,” Gus called, standing up and leaning on her cane.

  “Pardon?” Fortner turned and gave her a confused look.

  “All you see is dollar bills where I see green, rollin’ hills and forests.”

  He chuckled a little and gave her a hopeful look. “They’re both green, aren’t they?”

  Frowning, Gus snapped, “That’s a poor joke, Fortner. Skedaddle!” and she waved her cane threateningly in his direction.

  Smiling unevenly, he waved good-bye and headed down the incline toward his black Mercedes-Benz. “Enjoy the chocolates,” he called over his shoulder.

  Gus waited until he drove away before moving over and grabbing up the box of chocolates. Setting them on the kitchen table inside, she figured they’d make a nice addition to the coming ten-o’clock coffee break they all took. Setting her cane against the cedar table, she pulled her red-checked apron off a nearby hook and wrapped it around her thin waist. She heard the screen door open and close.

  “Who was just here?” Val called, coming in and taking off her leather work gloves.

  “Oh, just that pity party Realtor, Bobby Fortner,” Gus griped, motioning for Val to sit down at the table. “He comes by at least once every six months to see if I’m ready to sell.” She told Val about the latest offer to buy the Bar H. Pointing to the box on the table, she said, “He’s upped his ante. Today at least he bought me a two-pound box of chocolates!”

  Val touched the box. “That was nice of him.”

  “Just p
art of his game, Val. It means nothing. But—” and she brightened with a wolfish smile “—we got some real nice chocolates to munch on for the next week or two. Ready for a cup of coffee?”

  “More than ready,” she said, dropping the gloves over a hook on the wall. “I can get the coffee, Gus….”

  “No, sit, sit,” she replied, and motioned her toward a chair.

  “I needed this break.” Val watched her grandmother move slowly from one end of the kitchen counter to the other.

  “Those box stalls all need replacing. It’s a hard, thankless job,” Gus agreed. She poured the coffee and brought the pot over to Val. “How far have you gotten on dismantling them?”

  Grimacing, Val poured two cups of coffee. “Not far enough. A lot of the wood is over sixty years old. At first I thought we could save it, but we can’t.” She sipped the coffee. “It’s not only the work involved, but the money to buy replacement posts that’s giving me sticker shock.”

  “Buck should have replaced all of it when he was alive.” Gus gave a sigh of frustration and sat down opposite Val. “Your mom told me even though your father worked hard, he avoided doing the big, important projects.”

  “Yeah,” Val griped, “just look at the miles of fence post that need to be replaced. The corrals are practically falling down.”

  “Good thing we have Griff. From what I could see the other day, he’s doing a good job of pulling out the rotted posts, enlarging the holes and replacing them the right way.”

  Nodding, Val chose a chocolate from the box. “He is.”

  “That young man has good ranching genes in his blood. He’s a darned hard worker. You’d have thought after dinner, he’d quit for the day. But he didn’t. He was out there with a floodlight off the tractor until ten last night. Now, that’s devotion.”

  “The kind we need to get this place out of its crippled state,” Val said.

  Patting her hip, Gus said, “Well, let’s not get rid of this cripple.” She chuckled.

  Val gave her a pleading look. “Why won’t you let me call the Scooter Store for you? I remember you were like a tumbleweed, always on the move, before your hip broke. I feel badly that you’re hamstrung and having to rely on a cane to limp around on. Wouldn’t you like to be pain-free and be the gadfly you were before?”

  “I don’t like relying on anything but my own two legs,” Gus remonstrated. “My body used to be strong and healthy. Everything went to hell in a handbag when I broke my hip. I just hate the idea of getting weak.”

  Reaching over, Val covered her hand for a moment. “I understand, Gus. You’ve always been outdoors and active.”

  “But the power chairs come in different colors. They even have a red one.” Red was Gus’s favorite color. She watched the elder’s silver brows rise with interest.

  “Really?”

  “Over lunch, let me show you the scooter website on my iPad.”

  Sticking out her lower lip, Gus warned, “Now, just because I look at ’em don’t mean I’m gettin’ one!”

  Val fought not to laugh and remained serious. “Of course.” She felt such a fierce love for her feisty grandmother. Gus was vital, independent and had pride. A lot of it. And confidence in herself. Val could see how the broken hip had shattered her sense of independence and kept her housebound for nearly a year. There was interest in Gus’s eyes but Val knew she couldn’t push her into anything. Gus had to be led to the water trough but she wasn’t sure she’d drink from it.

  The screen door opened and closed.

  “Howdy,” Griff said, hanging his Stetson on a peg near the entrance. “I’m back and I’ll be getting to work.” There was a sense of peace that descended upon Griff as he stood in the entrance to the kitchen. Gus smiled in his direction.

  “Whoa,” Gus said. “Grab a cup of coffee and join us for a moment.”

  Griff hesitated, wanting to continue removing and resetting the posts in the corral. “Well…”

  “Git over here, young man!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, giving Miss Gus a slight grin. Griff poured himself a cup of coffee. Internally, he compared how he felt being at Slade’s home to being here at the Bar H. It was the same feeling. That surprised Griff as he walked over and took a seat next to Gus, who always sat at the head of the table, a spot she’d earned.

  Val couldn’t keep her gaze off Griff. He had cleaned up, his red bandanna tied around his throat and looking ruggedly handsome in his pale blue cowboy shirt and Levi’s. It was his well-shaped mouth, the corners tipped slightly upward, that made heat begin to awaken in her lower body. Did Griff know how sexy he was? Val didn’t think so. “How did your visit go with your brother this morning?” she asked as he sat down.

  “It went well,” Griff said, meeting her warm blue gaze. Strands of red hair curled at her temples and became a crimson frame for her beautiful face. Tearing his gaze from Val, he looked over at Gus. “I think we’ve buried the hatchet.”

  “Good,” Gus said, slapping him heartily on the shoulder. “Family should get along, not fight.”

  Val said nothing and sipped her coffee. She wondered what her life would have been like if her father hadn’t always instilled fear in them.

  “I’m going to work on the corral the rest of the day,” Griff told the elder.

  “From what I can see, you did one heck of a job yesterday pullin’ twenty posts.”

  “It’s just a drop in the bucket. I counted two hundred posts.”

  “It needed to be done a long time ago,” Gus said, her brows knitting. “But that son-in-law of mine was immune to the really hard work that was required to keep a ranch running in good condition.”

  Griff glanced over at Val. She looked introspective and felt withdrawn. Was she thinking about her father? Fighting his concern, he said to Gus, “I figure if I work hard, I can replace another twenty posts today.”

  “Val is dismantling those ten box stalls in the barn. You two young’uns are going to be dragging by the time dinner rolls around.”

  Val suddenly got up from the table. She couldn’t handle being so close to Griff. He stirred things up in her and it left her feeling confused. “Hey, speaking of that, I’m off to the barn again.” She took her cup over to the sink, rinsed it out and picked up her gloves. “What’s for lunch, Gus?”

  “Lessee...” she murmured, touching her sharply pointed chin. “I just made up some tuna for sandwiches, got some sweet pickles I canned last year from my greenhouse garden out of the pantry and I’ll be puttin’ in the bread to bake shortly. I got chocolate cake for dessert. Will that do?”

  Val said, “Sounds delicious. Thanks for making it. I really appreciate it.”

  Gus snorted and muttered, “Well, I’d better be good for something around here!”

  Griff laughed with Val. He watched her wave good-bye to her grandmother and disappear down the hall. Cupping his hands around his mug, he stole a look over at Gus. Should he ask? He heard the screen door open and close. His curiosity was eating him alive.

  “My brother Slade said that Val’s father, Buck, was abusive when he was drunk.” He searched the elder’s wrinkled face. “I hope I’m not overstepping my boundaries here. I just wanted to understand the truth of the situation.”

  Sighing, Gus raised her brows. “No, you’re not oversteppin’ your bounds, son.” She liked this young man. He was a fine, hard worker and he was respectful. There weren’t many men like him around anymore. Griff reminded her of her late husband, Pete, and she warmed to his question. “We’re a small cow town so everyone knows everyone else’s business. Buck Hunter married my daughter, Cheryl. Even when he was courtin’ her, I could tell he was a mean son of a bitch. I could see it in his eyes and in the way he overreacted to the least little thing. I tried to get my daughter to see how dangerous he was.”

  “But she d
idn’t see it?”

  “Nope. There’s all kinds of love, Griff. My husband cherished me. He thought I was a goddess walkin’ this earth and he treated me as such.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to a growl. “And then you have a man like Buck who abuses and disrespects women. Cheryl was sure she could cure Buck of his alcoholism. But the truth was, after they got married, she couldn’t change him one bit.”

  “From what I know,” Griff said gently, seeing the woman’s pain, “an alcoholic won’t get better until they want to, no matter what the family wants.”

  “Yep, bang on.” Gus shook her head. “And then it got worse. When Cheryl was pregnant with Val, he began to use the smallest excuse to beat the tar out of my daughter.”

  “Didn’t Cheryl call the sheriff?”

  “That’s what I asked her—why didn’t you get help? For whatever reason, my daughter felt that she’d caused the situation. She was an enabler. She took on the guilt and said it was her fault that Buck was beating her up.”

  Sitting there, Griff digested the information. “What happened after Val was born?”

  “For a while, Buck was good. But that’s because we had Cheryl come over to our ranch in Cheyenne. Val was born there and for the first two months of her life, they stayed with us while Buck remained at the Bar H. At that time, I had no idea Buck was beating up on my daughter. I was just reacting on my gut hunch that something was terribly wrong.”

  “I tried to get Cheryl to see Buck for what he was. I warned her that when Buck was drunk, he might harm her or Val. I was so scared for the baby. Pete was so upset he talked to the county sheriff where we lived. But he said as long as Cheryl didn’t press charges against Buck, there was nothing we could do legally.”

  “What did you do?” Griff knew Gus was not the type of person to let something like this slide, legal or not. Her family was at risk.

  “I drove Cheryl and Val home. And when we got here, I cornered Buck in a back room and read him the riot act. I shoved my finger in his face and told him that if he ever laid a hand on them, I was calling the sheriff and charging him with assault.”