The Wrangler

by Lindsay McKenna

  “No problem there. I can’t stand the slimy veggie, either. I was thinking of cutting up some of that roast beef we had last night, putting some horseradish sauce on it and slapping it between two pieces of bread.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Fritos?”

  “Count me in.”

  “Dessert?”

  Raising his brows, Griff said, “Miss Gus made some apple dumplings last night. Are there any left?”

  “Yes. I’ll put a couple of them in plastic containers along with flatware and napkins.”

  “Sounds like a great lunch.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled.

  Warming beneath his little-boy grin, Val said, “You’re so easy to please….” She thought back to her father, who had been a control freak in comparison.

  “Hey, I’m one lucky dude,” Griff called over his shoulder as he sauntered toward the hall.

  When he disappeared out of the kitchen, it felt as if the sunlight had left with him. Val was amazed at his energy, his thoughtfulness and intelligence. Griff was just too good to be true, Val decided, walking to the refrigerator. There had to be a flaw in him that would one day be exposed. He was too virile, too damnably good-looking and that smile of his was enough to melt ice. Even…the kind that encased her heart.

  * * *

  THOUGH HIS ARM ACHED, happiness thrummed through Griff as he saddled the two geldings. The one Val had chosen was a red chestnut with four white socks and a wide blaze down his face. Socks, as he was known, was a quiet, common-sense ranch horse and Griff liked him a lot. After saddling and bridling the Quarter horse, Griff got to work on his horse, the ten-year-old Appaloosa named Freckles. This was an unexpected turn of events and he was looking forward to spending quality time with Val.

  Griff stopped at the tack room for two saddlebags and tied them onto the back of each saddle cantle. He buckled the leather rifle sheath onto the right side of his saddle and pulled out a 30.06 rifle from the locked gun cabinet in the tack room. Griff was good with guns, having been a champion pistol shot, and this one was big enough and had enough firepower to stop a grizzly bear in its tracks should it charge them. He never rode anywhere on this ranch without a loaded rifle, in case of an emergency.

  As he led the horses out of the barn and into the early-morning sunlight, Griff saw Val waiting for him on the porch. The sun was slowly raising the temperature. In the lower pastures, fog hung like white cotton, but was rapidly burning off as the sun lifted higher into the pale blue sky. Griff led the horses around to the front porch and tied them to a nearby hitching post. Val had tamed her shining red hair into a ponytail. She always wore a gray Stetson on her head. Those Levi’s clearly outlined her long, beautiful legs and curved hips. She wore an orange tee with a light denim jacket over it. At seven a.m., the morning was cool.

  Val walked to the where the horses were tied and packed the saddlebags with their lunches. Griff waited until she was done and untied the horses, placing the reins over their heads. They worked like a well-oiled team. After buckling down the flaps on the saddlebags, Val untied Socks’s reins. Over her shoulder she said, “I brought my camera with me,” and she patted the pocket on her jacket. “So we have visual references of what kind of work needs to be done and where.”

  “Good thinking.” Griff gripped the saddle horn with his right hand and swung easily up on Freckles. The Appaloosa was sixteen hands high, heavily built and perfect for ranch work. He snorted and tossed his head, eager to stretch his legs. “That’ll help us know what supplies to buy for the repairs instead of guessing at what we need.” Val was nothing but grace as she swung her long leg over Socks’s broad back and settled into the saddle. He saw her cheeks flush a pink color. Griff wondered what that meant. His gaze dropped to her soft, parted lips and he thought he saw a hint of a smile at the corners.

  What would it be like to kiss Val? The thought drifted provocatively through him. He felt his body tighten over the meandering of his mind and foolish heart. Pushing all those sensations and needs deep down inside himself, he walked Freckles alongside Socks as they left the house and plodded down to the nearby dirt road.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Val said with a sigh, looking around. The hills were gentle and undulating, hiding pockets of white fog here and there. The forest was a blue-green color to her left and looked like a thick carpet across the taller hills that loomed above them. The call of robins filled the area as the horses moved spiritedly in the morning air. To her left was the first major cattle pen where Griff was replacing all the posts and rebuilding it from the ground up. Ahead was the dirt road filled with tire ruts from the rain a few days earlier. There were several other corrals hidden around the curved corner. The route rounded and would eventually lead them to the fence line.

  “Have you ever ridden a fence line before?” Their boots occasionally brushed one another as the horses walked side by side down the narrow dirt road.

  “Yes, I helped Shorty, who is Slade’s head wrangler over at the Tetons Ranch.” Griff laughed a little. “I’m afraid I was all thumbs at first. Shorty was real patient with me. He said I had McPherson blood, so he knew sooner or later I’d learn how to patch, stretch and fix a barbed-wire fence.”

  “Do you enjoy doing it, though?”

  Shrugging, Griff glanced over at her. “Yes and no.” He gestured to the five-strand fence that they were starting to ride parallel to as they turned and started up a grassy slope. “I like being outdoors. I like to feel my muscles working. What I don’t like is getting bit by the barbed wire. Shorty showed me his hands and forearms. There were all kinds of scars he’d gotten from fixing fence over the years.”

  Val held up her left arm and pointed to her elbow. “See that? My father was teaching me from ten years old how to fix fence.”

  Griff saw the thin line of a one-inch white scar near her elbow and frowned. “You couldn’t have weighed enough to pull a fence tight,” he said in a low, concerned tone. Wanting to reach out and touch the scar, to take away the pain he was sure she experienced from being snagged by the barbed wire, Griff forced his hands to remain where they were.

  Val gave a derisive laugh. “He didn’t care. When I cut myself and started to cry, he threatened to hit me. He said cowgirls didn’t cry.”

  Unable to stop from staring at her, Griff was speechless. Finally, he forced out, “That’s such bull.”

  “Know it now. Didn’t know it then.”

  “What happened next? Did he take you home and get you first aid?”

  “No. He threw his bandanna at me for me to wrap it with, and we kept on fixing fence line.”

  Disbelief exploded through Griff. “That’s child abuse if you ask me.”

  “Back then no one recognized it as such.

  “We’d get home after dark and my father would tell me to go upstairs and clean up before dinner. I knew where the medicine cabinet was and I scrubbed it out with soap and put Mercurochrome and a Band-Aid on it.”

  “And you were only ten?” he asked, amazed. He saw the pain in Val’s eyes. Her mouth was set, too, as if fighting the pain of that old memory.

  The gentle back-and-forth sway of the horse soothed some of Val’s tenseness. “I think that if you and Slade hadn’t been torn away from your parents at six years old, you would be pretty independent by ten. A ranch kid is a little adult running around in a child’s body.”

  Griff couldn’t argue with that. “It’s true, kids grow up fast on a farm or ranch.”

  “They have to. There’s a lot of work on a ranch and there’s no playtime. We learn responsibility at a very early age. Or at least, I did.”

  “Did your mom ever know about this?” He motioned to her left elbow.

  “No.”

  Shaking his head, Griff said, “Even at six, I remember our mom checking us out, head to toe, every night d
uring tick season. And if we got hurt, she was there to fix us up.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “Yeah, I guess I was.” Still, he hurt for her. More and more, Griff was beginning to understand how tough and independent she had been forced to become. “I don’t agree with what your father did. You could have caught tetanus. A cut like that needs immediate medical attention.”

  “Buck never liked children,” Val said. “He hated them in general and barely tolerated me being around. I realize now it wasn’t my fault. At that age, I would do anything to get his attention. And when I cut myself on the barbed wire, I wanted to be strong like him. I wanted him to like me…maybe love me, because I could tough it out and not cry or complain.”

  Nostrils flaring, Griff said, “I hope by now you realize how screwed up he really was? And that none of his behavior had anything to do with you. It was about him. What I can’t understand is why your mother wasn’t there to protect you, Val. You were a child. You were vulnerable and innocent.”

  Feeling the warmth of tears jamming into her eyes, Val tore her gaze away from Griff. His eyes were alive with anger and confusion. “When you don’t grow up in an abusive or dysfunctional family, Griff, it’s hard to understand the toxic family dynamic. You and Slade, even though you were torn apart and lived with different uncles, were not abused, nor were you placed in dysfunctional situations. I didn’t know anything was wrong. When you grow up in such a poisonous environment, you accept as if that’s the way it is in all families.”

  “I hear you,” Griff said. He reached down and threaded his fingers through Freckles’s short black mane. The gelding’s ears moved back and forth. Griff glanced over at Val, saw her well-shaped mouth pursed. In a heavy voice, he said, “You’re right. You would think it was normal.”

  Val pulled her horse to a halt after spotting some weak fence. “When I went to college, I talked to my roommate about her parents. They were a hundred-and-eighty degrees opposite from mine. That’s when I realized that Buck was an abusive son of a bitch and my mother was a victim incapable of protecting herself or me.”

  Dismounting, Griff studied the fence line. “You’re a survivor, Val. Of the first order. You have my admiration.” He escorted her to the fence. Three of the five strands of barbed wire were sagging. Val critically studied the post. It was leaning, broken off at ground level. She pulled out her pocket camera and took a photo. Griff wanted to reach out, touch Val’s shoulder, hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. The sun was warm against him. A slight breezed stirred, carrying the scent of pine. The tendrils at her temples moved with a passing breeze. They glinted with red-and-gold highlights. The temptation to reach out and tuck those errant strands behind her ear was almost too much for him.

  Griff forced himself to test the lower two barbed-wire strands instead. “If we had cattle, they’d push their way through this portion without a problem.”

  Straightening, Val pushed the tendrils away from her eyes. Griff stood so close. He was incredibly confident in a quiet, dangerous way. Her self-esteem on the other hand, had been gained through sheer, hard work. Gesturing across the wide, grassy pasture, she said, “Gus wants to buy some heifers, breed them to a local bull and get some beef on the ground come spring of next year. That’s her plan.”

  “Does she have the money set aside to do it?”

  Nodding, Val said, “Gus sold her ranch over in Cheyenne to come here to help my mother after Buck died. Whatever profit she made is in her savings account. When I got home, Gus and I went over her plans to get the ranch back on its feet. I think you’d enjoy looking at her ideas.” She smiled into Griff’s narrowing green gaze. He was so close…oh, God, why did she want to take that one step and find herself pressed against his hard, lean body? Kiss him senseless? Never, in all of Val’s years, had she ever felt like this toward any man.

  Watching Val’s blue gaze soften for a moment, her lips slightly parted, Griff saw the signs. But was he reading her right? Did she want to be kissed by him? He knew enough about Val’s background to hold back. The breeze loosened those tendrils again. Without thinking, he lifted his gloved hand and gently tucked them behind her ear.

  Startled, Val took a step back, her ear tingling wildly in the wake of his unexpected move. Automatically, she touched her tingling ear, staring up at Griff. What had just happened? Suddenly, Val felt frightened. Taking another step back, she dropped her hand and said in an oddly husky voice, “Let’s mount back up. We’ve got a lot of fence line to cover today.”

  Griff followed her without saying anything. Inwardly, his feelings were churning. What the hell had he just done? It wasn’t like him to touch a woman without her consent. As he picked up Freckles’s reins and mounted, he glanced worriedly over at Val. Once more, her face was expressionless and she had retreated. And it was his fault. Damn. Griff felt guilty. What had prompted him to do that? What was going on between them? He clucked to Freckles and took the lead. Griff was sure Val didn’t want to ride beside him now. He’d just broken any trust he was building with her. Rubbing his chin, he scowled and focused on the fence line.

  Val breathed a sigh of relief as Griff took the lead. Grazing her ear once more with her gloved fingers, she wished she hadn’t reacted so powerfully to his unexpected touch. Val tried to shake off the surprise. Griff’s touch had felt good. Warmth pooled deep within her body. The sensation was delicious. And for the first time, Val felt like a woman.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GRIFF DREW IN a deep breath of appreciation as they rode around a lazy curve on the road. They had finished part of the fence check when Val suggested riding back to have lunch on the bank of Long Lake. He pulled his horse to a halt just to absorb the beauty of the sparkling cobalt-blue water. It was surrounded by thick stands of evergreens except at the end of it where there was a rocky, pebbled beach.

  “Have you seen Long Lake yet?” Val asked, bringing her horse to a stop close to his. She saw wonder in his expression as he admired the body of water.

  “No. Miss Gus talked about it, but I haven’t had time to see it. Nice-looking lake. The color reminds me of Lake Tahoe.”

  “When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time on our side of the lake.” She gestured toward the beach that was a good half mile away. “We’re at our property line. Long Lake is half ours and the other half belongs to the U.S. Forest Service. There’s two dirt roads into it. One is on the forest service side and then there is our private ranch road.”

  Griff spotted a red kayak and a small aluminum fishing boat out on its smooth surface. “Must be good fishing?” He turned in his saddle and absorbed her expression. If Val was still upset over his stupid gesture, her expression didn’t show it. Right now, she looked serene. Anxiety washed off Griff’s shoulders. He had to apologize at some point for what he’d done. A wrangler just didn’t touch his boss.

  “Yes, trout. Although, truth be known, this lake completely freezes over in the winter and the fish die from lack of oxygen. The forest service replaces the different species of trout every spring for the tourists and the locals who like to fish here.”

  “So, it’s not spring fed?” Griff asked, rising in his stirrups to get a better look at the lake. The noontime sky was reflected in the waters. He saw a great blue heron near the shore on its long stiltlike legs looking for a tasty meal of a frog or fish. A red-tailed hawk flew overhead in lazy circles near the pebble beach where he saw a boat ramp.

  “It is, but the ice grows so thick it can’t supply the fish the necessary oxygen they need in order to survive.”

  “That’s a shame,” Griff answered, settling down in the saddle. He saw the fence line was about twenty feet away from the lake’s bank. They had paralleled it for some distance. In front of him was an opened gate. He pointed to it. “Do you want your ranch gate left open?”

  “No,” Val said, dismounting. “This is an on
going problem. No ranch wants any of their gates left open because it allows their livestock to escape.” Leading Socks, she walked over to the gate and pushed it shut. The hinges squealed. Val locked the gate. “Locals and tourists who don’t want to stay on the Forest Service land open this gate, come through to fish on our land.”

  “Without your permission?”

  “Yep. It’s usually the locals. They know better, but they don’t want to have to fight through the forest and thick brush that surrounds that part of the lake. It’s much easier just to follow our road, open our gate and have lots of elbow room to fish in peace. As you can see, we’re bush-free on the banks. It’s a strong call to fishermen.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it isn’t. Gus has been on the phone with the Teton Forest Service supervisor, Charley. He’s sympathetic, but he can’t put a ranger out here to watch our gate. And we can’t afford to have a wrangler out here to watch it all the time, either.” Her mouth turned down. “Gus wants cattle again, but I worry they’ll wander through this opened gate onto forest service land only to get eaten by a grizzly.”

  Nodding, Griff eyed the gate. It was stout, made of lightweight steel and rust colored by time and weather. “That’s a pretty hefty chain and padlock on it. You’re telling me someone has a pair of bolt cutters, cuts through that chain and walks onto your private lake property?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Val shrugged. “It’s been an ongoing hassle. I think I’m going to have to speak to Charley in person about it. Phone calls from Gus haven’t done any good.”

  Griff recalled when he’d gone to see Charley about his brother’s bid to provide horses for rangers. The older ranger was gruff. And when he’d suggested throwing in an extra horse if Charley would consider choosing Slade’s bid, the man got furious with him. Only later did Griff find out from angry Slade that Charley had considered his visit a bribe. As a consequence, Slade had lost the contract he needed so desperately to keep up the monthly payment on his ranch. “It might be a good idea to approach him and see what resolution he might have up his sleeve.”