Jon tipped his hat back. “Yep.”
“Nice try, but you’re missing the point.” Ben didn’t want to come inside, but he did anyway. Far enough in that he could see the kitchen, with its white marble counters, pink-trimmed cabinets and sparkly pink tile backsplash.
“He’s not forgiving us,” Ethan said, hanging his head.
“Not yet,” Jon said.
Not ever. That’s what Ben wanted to say.
But the words stuck in his throat as firmly as that red velvet wallpaper was stuck on the wall.
* * *
THE DOUBLE T was quiet when Rachel pulled up in front of the main house after she’d left her office.
The late afternoon heat lingered, but would soon give way to the evening mountain chill. Rachel took a moment to study the ranch house, seeing beyond the white clapboard that needed paint to how it must have looked in the 1920s when it was new. Dormered windows. Black shutters. Gray metal roof. Great-Grandpa Thompson had built the house for his bride.
When Rachel was growing up, at this time of day, there would’ve been ranch hands finishing up their chores, preparing to go home or to cook something in the bunkhouse. Today, only Henry, the ranch foreman, and Tony, a part-time ranch hand remained. And the yard was empty.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy said from the rear seat of the truck. How Rachel’s baby loved the sound of her own voice.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Rachel smiled as she walked carefully around to open the door. She was still wearing her suit and heels, not having time to stop at her little house on the other side of town and change. She had a number of chores to do here before Poppy’s bedtime. “We’re going to see your grandma and mine.” Her mother would feed Poppy and give her a bath while Rachel did some ranch paperwork. She freed Poppy from her car seat and grabbed her diaper bag.
“Na-na-na-nahhh.” Poppy clapped her little hands and then pointed to the house, a regal command that made Rachel laugh.
“You’re a princess, just like I was.” She’d had the best of both worlds—a cowgirl with Daddy’s credit card. Although nowadays, she wished she’d been raised differently. If Dad had demanded she work on the ranch, she’d be better equipped to run the Double T.
She drew her daughter closer, breathing in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. Poppy was so perfect, sometimes Rachel never wanted to let her go. Those blond curls. Those big brown eyes. Those chipmunk cheeks. If her marriage had to fail, at least Poppy was more than worth it.
And what was the silver lining to her legal practice failing?
There didn’t seem to be one. Divorces. Living trusts. She barely cleared enough to earn a living wage. Pride made her keep the office open.
And the Double T? Things were just as grim here. Water was going to make or break her family’s ranch. But this time, she was going to beat the Blackwells. She was sure of it.
Ben’s handsome face came to mind. He represented everything she resented about the Blackwells. Ben and his brothers were raised to be ranchers, but they didn’t care about their family heritage or tradition. They’d all moved on, coincidentally after stealing the Double T’s water all those years ago. Even Zoe, who was only technically a Blackwell, had little sympathy for the struggles of the Double T.
Rachel opened the white picket gate surrounding the ranch house and carried Poppy toward the front door. The heat and her load made Rachel sweat. She kissed the top of her daughter’s golden head. “I love you, sunshine.”
Poppy grinned up at her. “Ma-ma-ma-mahhh.”
This was real. This was good. Mommyhood. Caring for family. Going to bed every night knowing she was making a difference.
A sound had her looking back. A white-faced heifer poked its head around the barn.
“How did you get out?” Rachel asked, hurrying to get Poppy indoors where it was cooler. “Remind me to text Henry,” she said to Poppy, hoping that saying it out loud would jog her memory once she got inside. Her memory lately was spotty, and Henry was ancient. He didn’t work after dinner, which was fast approaching.
Win back the water rights.
Set the ranch to rights.
Get a signed custody agreement.
Learn how to be a better rancher.
Her list was daunting.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy breathed, pointing at various items, including the comfortable brown sofa and matching recliner. She loved her grandma.
The small living room was empty. As was the kitchen, which had been remodeled in the 1980s when Rachel’s parents married. Oak cabinets. White ceramic tile counters. Flowery linoleum nearly worn away in front of the sink. The room may have been dated, but it was filled with the warm smell of something good in the oven. Nowadays, Rachel appreciated someone else cooking for her.
“Hey! Where is everybody?” Rachel dropped her diaper bag near the front door.
“Back here,” Mom called.
With Poppy on her hip, Rachel went in search of the family.
Mom was pinning quilt pieces on the bed in the master bedroom, bright red-and-green material that formed pinwheel blocks. Fanny, Mom’s white toy poodle, leaped off her dog bed and began yapping at Rachel and Poppy. She was hard of hearing and had to make up for the pair sneaking up on her with faux indignation.
Mom shushed Fanny and muted the TV. “We’ve been crafting to avoid the heat.” She stood on the other side of the bed wearing a blue-flowered blouse and black capris. Her highlighted blond hair was cut in a front-slanted, fashionable bob and her makeup was flawless. Lisa had married a rancher but had never quite embraced the wardrobe.
Rachel suspected her own makeup had melted off sometime after lunch when emotions had run higher than the heat. She’d prepped Nelly O’Ryan for a court appearance tomorrow, while Nelly’s toddler, Alex, and Poppy had played with plastic blocks on the floor. Nelly was seeing her soon-to-be ex-husband for the first time in a month and was scared to death that Darnell would take out his frustrations on her afterward.
There had been tears, not all of them Nelly’s.
When Rachel was younger, she’d been unflappable. Crying in public? That wasn’t her thing. Now that she had Poppy, her hands shook when she got nervous and she cried at every Hallmark commercial.
“Good thing you’re here,” Mom said in the overly bright voice she’d been using since Dad died. “We’re arguing over which is better—the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, or the movie with Kiera Knightley.” The movie was playing on the television. “You can be the deciding vote.”
“You should pick Colin Firth and the BBC if you want a Christmas gift this year.” Nana Nancy was knitting in a chair in the corner. Rachel’s grandmother was short, short-haired, short-tempered and, like her knitting needles, slender and pointed.
“There can be no penalties for voting.” The cheer in Mom’s voice was tested. “I’m sure Rachel knows that the movie version empowers Elizabeth.”
“I’m as neutral as Switzerland.” Rachel looked for a place to set Poppy down where she’d be no trouble.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh.” Poppy bounced impatiently, extending her arms to her grandmother. Rachel set her down and she crawled over to Lisa’s feet, using her grandmother’s capris to bring herself to a wobbly stand.
Fanny circled, wagging her pom-pom tail as she sniffed Poppy for stray crumbs.
“Poppy only goes to you first because you feed her.” Nana didn’t like coming in second to anyone. “See?” She caught Rachel’s eye. “Your mother just slipped Poppy a Cheerio and yet she didn’t want me to bribe you for your vote on Pride and Prejudice.”
“Babies get low blood sugar if they don’t eat regularly.” Mom had the cereal stored in covered containers in the living room, kitchen and bedroom, reminiscent of the way Dad used to keep kibble around to train their ranch dogs.
Rachel loved her mother and grandmother, but neither w
oman asked how Rachel’s day went or about her meeting with Ben. Didn’t they care about the Double T? Didn’t they care that generations of Thompsons were weighing heavily on Rachel’s shoulders? Didn’t they respect her for taking on the reins of the ranch? She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but how could she not? Their fate was in her hands. “I go to court tomorrow against the Blackwells. They won’t win this time.”
“Water,” Mom grumbled. “That’s what broke your father’s heart. We should—”
“Don’t start about selling the Double T.” Nana clicked her knitting needles angrily, looping purple yarn faster than a drummer hitting a cadence for a marching band. “This land has been in our family for seven generations.”
“And it’ll be in it for seven more,” Rachel promised, mentally crossing her fingers and knocking on wood.
Mom lifted her gaze heavenward. “At least, tell me you got Ted to sign the custody agreement.”
Rachel’s smile fell. “He wants another stipulation.”
“What is it this time?” Nana put down her knitting needles. “Does he want you to be his designated driver on Saturday nights?”
“It’s nothing.” Rachel bent to pin a fan of the pinwheel together, unable to look at her family.
“From the expression on your face—” Nana thrust a finger in Rachel’s direction “—your nothing means something awful.”
“It’s not.” It shouldn’t be. “Ted wants me to agree to stay here to raise Poppy.”
“As if you’d leave us.” Mom picked up Poppy and gave her another Cheerio from her stash. “We wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
“We sure couldn’t get Stephanie to run the ranch.” Nana harrumphed. “Your little sister is more interested in the color of her nails than in the color of a healthy heifer’s tongue.”
Rachel grimaced. She wasn’t sure she could confidently state the correct color of a healthy heifer’s tongue, either. And she resisted looking at her nails. She hadn’t had a manicure in who knows how long. Or a pedicure. Or gone shopping for clothes for herself. Or had highlights put in her hair. She missed the days when she could pamper herself, like Stephanie, who had two beautiful girls and a handsome architect husband in nearby Livingston.
Poppy giggled and patted her palms on Mom’s cheeks. “Ga-ga-ga-gahhh.”
Guilt wrapped around Rachel’s chest and squeezed. With such an adorable daughter and a loving family, Rachel shouldn’t resent Ted’s restriction.
The sound of wood cracking and snapping could be heard outside. She hurried to the window and peered out on the backyard. “Shoot. It’s that heifer.” She’d forgotten to text Henry. The cow had pushed her way through the pickets to the vegetable garden. “I’ll get her.” And now she could add fixing the garden fence to her long list of to-dos.
Rachel rushed to the mudroom, slipped out of her heels and into Mom’s pink and gold-trimmed cowboy boots. She grabbed Dad’s lariat from a hook on the wall and then ran out into the heat wearing her best suit and pearls. “Git! Git!”
The heifer looked up. The green feathery tops of Nana’s carrots dangled out of one side of the cow’s mouth. She didn’t budge, most likely because she didn’t consider Rachel a threat.
The cow lowered her head and resumed her grazing.
“Hey! Hey!” Rachel slapped the stiff rope against her boots and then ran down the porch steps, charging the heifer. “Get out of there. Git-git-git!” She sounded like Poppy, except not as happy. She swung the loop of rope at the heifer’s front flank.
Startled, the heifer rolled her eyes and backed up a few steps, reevaluating Rachel much the same way Ben had earlier.
“That’s right. Git!” Rachel swung the lariat in front of the cow’s face. “Back up. Get out.”
That worked. The heifer made a sound like someone had sat down hard on a whoopee cushion. She wheeled and trotted out through what was left of the fence posts, kicking up dirt clods at Rachel. Slimy mud spattered her good jacket and skirt.
A guttural wail filled the air.
That wail... It was hers.
Rachel had three court suits that fit her mommy hips.
Well...now only two.
Her mother tapped on the bedroom window glass, her face hovering above Nana’s. “Are you all right?”
Rachel nodded, even though she wasn’t. She marched across the ravaged carrots and torn-up grass, scrunching her eyes against the threat of tears, because ranchers didn’t cry. Not over ruined wool and silk.
The heifer headed behind the barn.
Rachel took off after her, rounding the corner only to find the escapee ambling down the weed-choked road that separated the Double T from the Blackwell Ranch, tail swinging happily as if she was high on carrots.
The gate was open, which gave rise to many questions. Why was it ajar? Who’d been careless enough to leave it open? How had the heifer escaped the large pasture? Was another gate open? A fence down? Were other livestock roaming about? The herd was supposed to be summering across the river in higher, greener pastures.
Rachel latched the listing gate, closing off the road and shutting the heifer in. Someone would have to saddle a horse and ride the property line to find how and why the heifer was free.
Personally, she’d like that someone to be Henry. She hadn’t expected to do anything but paperwork today and hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Although her clothes were already ruined, she reminded herself.
Rachel turned toward a small house behind the barn. It was the original one-room homestead. It had no front yard. No fenced backyard. No driveway. But a well-used green Ford pickup was parked near the front door.
“Come in,” Henry called after she’d knocked.
The tiny house had somber walls and exposed beams. A twin bed was in one corner next to a tall pine dresser. The doors to the closet and bathroom were ajar. The kitchen had a collection of empty soda cans on the brown Formica countertop. A burgundy recliner and television filled out the space, the latter perched on an old kitchen table with spindly wooden legs.
Henry sat in his recliner, an empty microwave container of macaroni and cheese in his lap. His scuffed boots were discarded near the door, as if he’d needed to take off his shoes first thing to pamper his aching feet. He muted the television. “What can I do for you, little lady?”
Is it too much to ask that he call me Rachel?
Probably, since he’d seen her as a toddler running through the front yard sprinkler naked.
Hoping to garner some respect, Rachel tugged down her blouse and buttoned her jacket. Her efforts to look like a presentable boss—one worthy of a title better than little lady—resulted in a fair amount of dung sprinkled on the floor. “There’s a heifer loose. I shut her in the road leading to the river, but there’s a break in the fence somewhere.”
“I’ll get to lookin’ tomorrow.” Henry was seventy-five if he was a day. He’d been with the ranch since he was in his twenties. Nothing upset him. Not loose heifers or flooded pastures. “Thanks for letting me know. If she continues to be a problem, we’ll have to make steak out of her.”
Rachel had never been good at eating animals she’d had a face-to-face with. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Let’s make sure none of the rest of the herd is loose.”
“Little lady.” Henry slid his glasses off his nose and stared at Rachel. “After your father died, we made an agreement. Unless there’s an emergency, I don’t put in more than my eight hours, or I retire.”
The last thing Rachel needed was to upset Henry enough that he’d retire. But still, she worried. They had so few cattle left. “What about Tony?”
“He left early to have a root canal in Bozeman.” Henry’s gaze drifted back to the television. “He won’t be in tomorrow by the way.”
Shoot. She’d forgotten. But still... “This needs to be done tonight.”
“Ain’t no hurry, little lady. We don’t live in a time of cattle rustlers.” Henry cast a disparaging glance at Rachel’s pearls and then at her mother’s pink-and-gold trimmed boots. “The Blackwells raise Black Angus. They aren’t going to confuse white-faced cows on their land with their own.” He unmuted the television. “You can’t run a ranch in heels and pearls. Now, you worry about taking care of that baby of yours and I’ll worry about the ranch.”
Rachel left, feeling as if she’d been given a glass of water, a pat on the head and then shooed toward her bedroom.
Little lady.
Rachel’s anger increased with every step she took. Dad wouldn’t have waited until morning. There was nothing for it. This little lady was going to have to ride out to the fence line herself.
Now all she needed was something to wear.
CHAPTER THREE
BEN SPENT THE rest of the afternoon and early evening at the kitchen table of his childhood home researching water rights and occasionally staring up at the pink-feathered chandelier above him.
He’d seen a lot of high-end apartments decorated by celebrated designers in New York, but he’d never seen the likes of that chandelier. Big E had to be going blind. There was no way his grandfather could sit underneath pink feathers and drink his morning coffee every day.
Watch out, boy. Men bend over backward for love.
His grandfather had told Ben that years ago. And now? Big E was like a pretzel.
When Ben had proposed to Zoe, he’d been naive. He’d thought his high school sweetheart wanted the same things he did—the finer things city life had to offer. He’d thought his grandfather wanted what was best for Ben when he’d made sure Zoe didn’t need to worry about spending on the wedding.
“Your grandfather took me shopping in Bozeman,” Zoe had said on the phone one night when Ben was in New York.
“Why?” Ben’s attention was still half focused on the wording in the legal brief he was crafting.
“Because he wants me—and you—to have the very best,” she’d replied in a stately voice.
Later, when Ben had asked his grandfather about his generosity, he’d scoffed and said it was nothing.
The Rancher's Redemption Page 3
