The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  She was wrong. Ben wasn’t harmless. He was handsome and charismatic and dangerous to single ladies.

  Rachel shivered.

  Ben’s chin brushed her shoulder. “Are you ticklish?”

  “No.”

  “Cold?”

  “No.” His touch made her lonely, made her regret wearing her mother’s overalls and made her want to touch up her makeup. “Let it go, will you?”

  He was silent. For most of a minute. “Have you been inside Big E’s house lately?”

  She chuckled, only because she imagined the look on Ben’s face when he’d walked into his old home. “It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?” Not wanting to seem disloyal, she quickly added, “I mean, it’s quite an upgrade from what it was. Zoe was much more traditional in her design choices when she decorated the guest lodge.”

  “I haven’t seen the place.” And by the tone of his voice, he didn’t plan to.

  Another round of silence ensued. She hoped it lasted to the last Blackwell gate.

  “Are they happy together?” His question was spoken so low, she almost thought she’d imagined it. Until he added, “Rach?”

  “You mean Big E and Zoe? Sure, they’re happy. They’ve been married five years.” The words didn’t quite ring true. Zoe was too proud to say much, but Rachel had sensed a change in her friend the past year or so. Remodeling the house hadn’t been enough. Building the guest ranch hadn’t been enough.

  Ben sighed. His palms settled more comfortably over Rachel’s waist. “What did you have for dinner?”

  Did he think she was fat? He had his hands on her post-baby love-handles. She never should have eaten dinner.

  “You really want to know?”

  His stomach growled an answer. “Excuse me, but yes. It’s like food porn. Give.”

  She laughed. “It’s not exactly haute cuisine.” Nothing like he probably ate in New York. “Chicken casserole. Steamed veggies. Homemade biscuits.” Not exactly wise, given she wanted to lose that last ten pounds of baby weight. But there was nothing in the world like hot buttered biscuits to make your cares seem less important.

  Ben pounced. “Was it your mother’s chicken casserole? The one with the fried onions and cheese?”

  “Yes.”

  “She used to make that for the sports banquets.” Ben’s stomach rumbled once more. “Her chicken casserole was better than Ms. Gardner’s tamales. Better than Ms. Castillo’s chicken and dumplings. Better than Ms. Maeda’s stir-fry.”

  Rachel’s mother would be thrilled with the praise and... “Hold up.” This wasn’t about Rachel’s baby weight. “Are you trying to mooch food off me?”

  “Well, if you’re offering...” It seemed as if he leaned in closer. His breath was warm over her ear. “I will gladly accept your hospitality.”

  “Ben Blackwell.” He was trying to get under her skin before tomorrow, just as she’d been trying to do with him. And he was doing a better job of it than she was! “You are not coming to my house. My family loathes you for stealing our water. My grandmother is convinced you’re the reason my dad had a heart attack.”

  Ben had no comeback for that.

  She took his silence to mean remorse. Which was silly. Blackwells never had regrets.

  The bull finally grew tired and stopped following them. Or perhaps Ben’s talk about food had made the animal hungry. He began to graze.

  “I didn’t know about your dad.” Ben’s voice was deep and sincere. “I’m sorry. Is he going to recover?”

  “No. He died.” Rachel forced the words past a throat that wanted to close. “Nearly two years ago. I’ve been running things at the Double T ever since.”

  “I didn’t know,” Ben said again as they reached the gate leading to the main Blackwell property. The guesthouse roof and glowing windows stood out on the distant horizon. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing to me?” Rachel brought Utah to a stop. Ahead of her, the road was choked with weeds. “We hate each other.”

  He slid to the ground and moved to Utah’s head, rubbing behind the gelding’s forelock beneath the browband. It was the kind of gesture a cowboy would give to a beloved horse, and at odds with the out-of-place jogging clothes Ben wore.

  Utah leaned into his touch. Without realizing it, Rachel leaned forward as well.

  Ben stared up at her. “I don’t hate you, Thompson. You’re one of the few people in town who had the courage to tell me the truth on my wedding day.”

  The way he said it...as if her shouting at him in the church aisle all those years ago was a kind thing... The way his blue eyes looked at her...as if she was the one person in town he could trust...

  Don’t let him get in your head.

  And stop thinking about kissing him.

  Heart pounding, Rachel sat back in the saddle. “This isn’t a Kumbaya moment, Blackwell. My best friend dumped you.” Rachel had to remember where her loyalties lay.

  Ben didn’t so much as flinch. “How long before the wedding did you know?”

  Rachel had wondered if he’d ever ask her this question. “Too long,” she admitted. She’d tried to talk Zoe out of her infatuation with Big E, but the old man had dazzled Zoe with expensive gifts and undivided attention. “They love each other, really.” Weird as it was, it had turned out all right in the end.

  It took him a moment, but Ben nodded. “Do you have any idea where they are?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Big E likes to go camping off the grid. And in return for Zoe’s patience, he takes her on a shopping spree.” Rachel was amazed Zoe had any tolerance for her husband’s whims, which were so different from her own. But Rachel supposed shopping without worrying what things cost was a good incentive.

  Ben chewed on Rachel’s answer, testing its validity, as any good lawyer would. “They left eight or nine weeks ago.”

  “They were gone for three months last spring.” After Rachel had told Zoe she was pregnant, news her friend hadn’t exactly been pleased to hear. “Don’t worry.”

  “Thanks for the insight.” And then Ben smiled, his gaze never leaving Rachel’s face as he backed away from Utah. “Good luck in court tomorrow, Thompson.”

  “Ah, come on, Blackwell. You don’t mean that.”

  He laughed and shook his head, handsome and charming and confident. “I don’t mean that.”

  Rachel gave Utah full rein and headed for home.

  But she could feel Ben’s eyes on her as she rode off, and she could feel his hands on her waist for a lot longer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “ARE THOSE PANTYHOSE?”

  Ben stopped foraging in the guest lodge’s refrigerator and bumped the door closed with his hip, having found a cold beer and a container with Mrs. Gardner’s leftover tamales. He placed his food on the black marble-topped island and stared at Katie Montgomery, smiling at her verbal jab.

  From what Ethan had told Ben, Katie was Big E’s young, right hand “man” lately, more so than her father, Lochlan, the ranch foreman. Ben supposed it was because Lochlan was Big E’s age and slowing down.

  Katie entered the kitchen. She had fiery red hair, which contrasted against her white T-shirt and nearly threadbare pale blue jeans.

  Rachel had been right. The finishes in the guesthouse were much more traditional—white Shaker cupboards, whitewashed wood tile flooring. The light fixtures had no feathers and there was no pink anywhere. In fact, there was nothing overtly feminine in the kitchen.

  Nothing as overt as the feminine curve of Rachel’s hips. He’d originally asked for a leg up to unnerve Rachel, to shake her confidence before court tomorrow. It was low, but he was playing catch-up in this case.

  Surprisingly, once he was riding behind her, the case had been the furthest thing from his mind. His hands had rested on her waist with surprising ease. He’d enjoyed teasing her a
nd had been disappointed when he was denied her mother’s leftovers, only to be saddened to hear of her father’s passing. It was tough to lose a parent.

  Seeing Rachel at the end of the road to the river had brought back too many memories, including the day he’d learned his parents had died. He’d saddled his horse, taken a bedroll and tried to head for the hills, but the bridge was out. So he’d come to the end of the road and cried. He was twelve and he wasn’t supposed to cry anymore, but there had been no one there to witness his sobs, except his horse, Rodrigo.

  And then he’d felt a warm body at his side. It’d been Rachel. She didn’t say anything. She took his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, until Jon rode up and told Ben he had to come home.

  “Oh, sorry, they’re not pantyhose.” Katie came to stand beside Ben, still staring at his legs.

  Like Ben, Katie had grown up on the Blackwell Ranch. She was five years younger than Ben and as close to a sister as he could have. Reality was, they were related, since her older sister had married Ben’s younger brother Chance, although she’d died a couple of years ago, leaving Chance a single dad.

  “For your information,” Ben said, pushing thoughts of Rachel to the back of his mind, “these are running tights.”

  Katie grinned. “You know, I’ve only seen women wear things like that in—”

  “Livingston? At the community center? For Zumba class?” At her amused nod, Ben added, “Just so you know, on the East Coast, men wearing tights is a thing.”

  “Interesting.” Katie filled a tray with small containers of sugary toppings, chocolate chips and a variety of syrups. She removed a tub of vanilla ice cream from the large freezer. She was either very hungry, or the ranch guests were having sundaes.

  Ben was more interested in dinner than dessert. He glanced around the lavish kitchen. “Where’s the microwave?”

  Katie showed him a cubby on the side of the gigantic island. Before he realized it, she’d dished out a plate of tamales, set the microwave to work and returned the leftovers to the fridge.

  Ben thanked her. “Hey, what’s a bull doing in the north pasture?”

  “Chasing after runners in red tights?” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Honestly, he’s a slippery fella and I wasn’t able to move him by myself. It’s been a challenge fulfilling our commitments to the guests and the ranch with limited staff.”

  “Isn’t he needed for breeding season with the herd? Never mind.” Ben shook his head. He didn’t need to worry about ranch business. “I have to open the safe in Big E’s study. Can you do the honors?”

  Katie leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever you want probably isn’t there. Big E is more careful with his money and paperwork nowadays.”

  “His secrets, you mean. Regardless, there’s a document he kept in there that I need.” To reassure himself that the corners he’d cut five years ago weren’t going to be the downfall of the Blackwell water supply.

  Voices carried from the common room.

  “The safe will have to wait until tomorrow.” The front doors opened wide and Katie gestured toward the folks congregating behind her. “I’ve got to take care of the guests.”

  Ben frowned. “I want it tonight. Tell me the combination.”

  The noise level swelled. “I don’t remember what it is.” Katie put an ice cream scoop on the tray.

  “I’ll ask your dad then.”

  Katie leveled a hard gaze at him. “It’s too late.”

  Ben drank some beer and considered her words. “I just heard about Dave Thompson’s passing. Lochlan isn’t—?”

  “He’s very much alive.” Katie turned back to the tray, her spine rigid. “He’s off the clock is all.”

  Her father must have aged quite a bit in the time that Ben had been away from the ranch. Maybe there’d been medical issues, too. “The Ziglers are having an ice cream social tonight,” Katie continued. “I’m the only one working. I’ll be here for another two hours, unless you want to make sure they have enough nuts and sprinkles for their sundaes. And then I’ve got to make the rounds, put the mares and the foals in the barn and lock things up. I’ve had to prioritize my time since Big E left.”

  The tug to help was strong, but Ben was used to hardening his heart where the ranch was concerned. “I can wait until morning.” The microwave beeped. Ben removed his dinner and sat on a barstool. “But only if you can open the safe by seven. I have to be at the county courthouse by nine thirty tomorrow.”

  “Normally, I’d say that’s no problem.” Katie hefted the tray to her shoulder and then picked up the tub of ice cream. “But things have been crazy lately and my schedule is never what it’s supposed to be.”

  “Seven, Katie,” Ben said firmly.

  “I’ll try,” she said, looking more worn out than her blue jeans.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Ben made it to the county courthouse with a few minutes to spare.

  He’d waited too long for Katie, who’d been a no-show. When he finally got her phone number from Ethan, who was living in town with his fiancée, Grace, Katie had texted back that she’d overslept and couldn’t stop by because she was prepping breakfast for the guests.

  During the thirty-minute drive, Ben had told himself not to worry. Worst case, Rachel might be given more of the ranch’s river water. She couldn’t have the yellowed piece of paper documenting the land trade. She was an honest lawyer, the kind of lawyer he’d once thought he’d be. Working with clear-cut goals for honorable clients. People with vulnerabilities that needed defending, not corporations set on limiting liability for their own mistakes. The image of a baby being held by her mother resurfaced, along with a previous courtroom experience.

  “Mr. Blackwell, maybe you should remember which party you represent in this hearing.” Judge Scarpetti’s rebuke a few weeks back hadn’t gone unnoticed by the powers that be at Transk, Ipsum & Levi. Their lawyers weren’t supposed to have hearts or show sympathy to plaintiffs.

  Ben shook off the memory and walked the narrow marble hallways of the county court, dodging cowboys who paced nervously in their best boots and blue jeans, and lawyers in dark suits with bolo ties. He spotted Rachel in a gray jacket and matching skirt outside the door to Courtroom Three.

  “Good morning.” Ben had consumed a strong cup of coffee on the drive over, but to unnerve Rachel, he plucked her coffee cup from her hand and took a sip. He nearly spat it right back out. “This isn’t coffee.”

  “It’s an organic protein drink.” Rachel smirked.

  Her blond hair was in a tight bun and she wore black-rimmed glasses, undoubtedly trying to make herself look more deserving of a judge’s respect. It might have worked if she hadn’t had a series of wrinkles on her collar and a wisp of blond hair hanging over her shoulder.

  “I see you’re going with the Clark Kent persona this morning.” At his questioning look, Rachel added, “A suit. No tights.”

  “Not even a superhero could drink this stuff.” He thrust the cup back at her, swallowing a bitter aftertaste. “Out of curiosity, what are you going to do with the water if you win?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going to plant hay and alfalfa in the pasture near the river and irrigate it.” She dug a tissue from her purse and wiped the lip of her mug where his lips had touched it. “More feed equals more fat cattle.”

  “Smart.” Existing pipes. Land sloping toward the river for good drainage. Even as he analyzed her intentions, Ben’s gaze roamed the hallway, looking for someone who would help him create a seed of doubt in Rachel’s mind. Someone who looked busy and bored and...kind of like Ben—out of place, not your typical Montana lawyer. “Did you consider mediation with the Blackwells before filing?”

  Bingo. A middle-aged man with a gray receding hairline wearing an expensive suit was c
hecking something on his phone. He looked like he could be a Montana water company lawyer.

  “Mediation?” Rachel’s slender brows drew low. “Big E would never bargain with me.”

  “That’s too bad.” Ben edged closer to her and lowered his voice. “Big E would’ve haggled with you to fly under the radar of the water company. The Falcon County Water Company would like nothing more than to take water away from both our ranches. They’re here to watch.” He nodded toward Mr. Middle-Age Phone Checker.

  Sometimes he wondered if he was going to hell for all the truth-stretching he did in a routine workday.

  “Nice try.” Rachel turned her back on him to face the courtroom doors, not buying Ben’s ploy. “That’s not a water company lawyer. Besides, the water company doesn’t need our water.”

  She was as naive as she was beautiful.

  And thoughts like that would lose him this case.

  Ben shrugged and checked the time on his watch. “If you say so.”

  The bailiff came out of the courtroom. He was a reedy, older man with thinning white hair and thinning patience, if his skeletal smile was any indication. “You here for the case of Double T versus the Blackwell Ranch?” At their nods, he indicated they should come in.

  “Good luck, Thompson,” Ben said to Rachel.

  She glared at him. “You don’t mean that, Blackwell.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Ben agreed, grinning. He opened the door but went through first. Rachel needed to understand who was top dog around here.

  The courtroom hadn’t been redecorated in decades—dark wood paneling, dark wood theater-type seating, dim lighting. The judge’s bench was nearly six feet tall and stained a deep brown. The top edge was worn where lawyers usually approached for a private word, as if they’d clung to the edge of the bench in desperation.

  And look. It was Ben’s lucky day. The middle-aged man with the cell phone had come in and taken a seat in the back. Ben caught Rachel’s eye and directed her attention to the man.

  She frowned, but it wasn’t a frown of disagreement. There was doubt in her eyes now.