CHAPTER TEN
“FINALLY, THAT TROUBLEMAKER is where she belongs.” Rachel sat back in Utah’s saddle and heaved a sigh of relief.
Not that she had anything to be relieved about after what Ben had told her. He’d been right about the water company’s interest in her lawsuit—in her water. Why wouldn’t he be right about the legal precedent?
Which she hadn’t researched.
Oh, she’d thought about researching case law that had to do with water rights issues, but other things had seemed a higher priority—keeping the stock fed, balancing the ranch books, playing with Poppy and, occasionally, sleeping. And now, it seemed as if her case was nothing but a waste of time. She wouldn’t even score a moral victory if she beat Ben.
The heifer finished wading across Falcon Creek and scaled the steep bank on the other side with mountain-goat agility. They hadn’t needed to rope her, or more accurately, Rachel hadn’t had to embarrass herself in front of Ben by trying. The heifer had been defeated, but she didn’t act like it. She acted as if she was in control of her own destiny.
Rachel could take a lesson from her.
“When did this bank crumble?” Ben rode the perimeter of what had once been a tall riverbank but now resembled a sloping dirt-beach. “It looks like the trees died—” there were two uprooted elms that had fallen into the creek “—and their roots stopped holding the bank together.”
“I don’t know when this happened.” It hurt to admit, because it felt as if she’d failed. Her list of shortcomings related to her responsibilities was getting distressingly large. “Someone should have known. Henry or Tony or...” Me.
Rachel felt weary, as if the reins of her life were slipping through her fingers.
The wind gathered, puffed and swirled, the way it often did at full sunrise before it settled into a more predictable flow from the Rockies. Rachel’s hair whipped over her eyes. By contrast, apropos of her life lately, the wind only ruffled Ben’s short dark hair, teased the ends of the stallion’s long black tail and did absolutely nothing to the heifer across Falcon Creek.
Ben continued to ride along the bank, looking for she didn’t know what. “If you’re using the banks as a natural barrier, like we do, you’ll need to put up fencing here or she’ll come back.”
Sound advice. “I thought you were a lawyer, not a rancher.”
“Lawyers are always full of potential solutions.” Ben guided the beautiful black Thoroughbred toward her, competent despite the broken reins, in his element on horseback and on the range.
More than the wind tugged at her, more than jealousy at his skill at handling whatever was thrown at him or the frustration at the way life sometimes seemed to stack the deck against her. Rachel had to look away before his gaze caught hers and put a word to the emotion she was feeling. Because it swelled inside of her until she was certain it shone from her eyes. Rachel wanted someone beside her who was strong and competent and beautiful, like Ben. Except she didn’t just want someone like Ben.
I want Ben.
Her gut clenched in denial. Not Ben. Not a Blackwell.
The tug of longing persisted, despite it being a betrayal to the Double T, to her father and to the many Thompsons who’d come before her.
Ben came along beside her. He’d been the last to speak. Rachel needed to say something.
“In my experience—” she twisted her hair into a makeshift ponytail and tucked the long ends into her bra strap “—lawyers are always full of something.”
“Options, mostly,” he said calmly, not taking the bait.
She’d expected Ben to fire off a clever reply. She’d expected him to keep things light between them. But no. He was serious and compassionate. Did he know she was in above her head on just about everything? Did he know she needed someone like him in her corner?
Rachel had to look at him then. But she avoided his eyes. She looked at his perfect form in the saddle, at strong legs that shifted subtly to control his horse, at wide shoulders that seemed as if they could bear any load and finally, at his face.
Understanding shone in his blue eyes. “It’s hard, isn’t it? To be in charge? To have the authority to make decisions but to second guess your every move.”
Ben knew what Rachel was going through. Perhaps he always had.
A memory surfaced, long buried beneath resentment toward the man she credited with stealing her family’s water supply.
It’d been the first year she’d gone to the state debate championships. Rachel was the only student representing their county. Nana, Mom and Stephanie had been in Boise on a long-planned visit to family. No one had expected Rachel to final. But Dad said he could take her. Dad didn’t take vacations. Ever.
The morning of the competition, there’d been some kind of emergency on the ranch—heifers missing or bulls on the loose. Rachel couldn’t remember. She’d called Zoe in a panic and her friend had suggested Rachel call Ben. He was a few months older than the girls and had his driver’s license. Ben had agreed to drive Rachel because that’s the kind of guy he was. Zoe had stayed in town. She had a hair appointment she refused to miss because that’s the kind of girl she was.
“I suppose this is going to take all day,” Ben had said when they arrived at the university where the competition was to be held.
Rachel looked up from the notes she’d made on the topics that had been posted for the competition. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you always win.”
Rachel had smiled. She’d smiled from head to toe. She held Ben’s compliment to her chest as tightly as the binder with her many factual references. Under the umbrella of his praise, she’d practically floated into the auditorium.
Rachel lost in the semifinal round. She walked into the stage wings in shock. Even though she was only a sophomore, she’d never lost a debate at their school or in their district.
“It was only a matter of time before that small town girl got knocked out.” A young voice reached Rachel from the shadows backstage.
“It’s kind of pathetic how they let these little schools like Falcon Creek in.” Another young voice, impossible to place in the gloom. “We outclass them.”
Mortified, Rachel looked around. No one met her gaze. She didn’t know any of the students clustered about. But they knew her. They knew she’d lost. They’d known it was inevitable.
How had they known when Rachel hadn’t? She glanced down at her stylish blouse, blue jeans and city boots. How had they seen that she had limitations when Rachel had naively felt she had none?
A sob had climbed Rachel’s throat. She ran. Out the backstage exit. Down a long flight of stairs. Across a stretch of lawn between university buildings. She ran until she couldn’t hold the sob in her throat any longer. And then she collapsed on a bench near a small pond and let the crying come.
“Rachel.” A familiar voice. A sturdy body. Ben wrapped his arms around her. She’d buried her face in the crook of Ben’s neck, unable to stop the stream of tears.
He’d let her cry for what seemed like forever. He’d wiped her tears away with a fast-food napkin he’d had in his pocket. Only then had he said, “Don’t let anyone judge what you know is true, Thompson. You’re good at this. You’ll get them next time. You’ll win this thing.”
The demoralized dreamer in her memorized those words, vowing to make them a reality. The cynic in her noted that athletes like Ben had heard more locker room pep talks after a loss by age sixteen than she’d ever hear in a lifetime.
Those words, the cynic said, meant nothing.
Those words, the dreamer countered, meant everything.
He’d bundled up the demoralized dreamer and taken her home. He’d never said anything about her breakdown. Not to anyone at school. Not even to Zoe.
All those years later, Rachel felt a similar sob build in her throat. She held both Utah and the
sob in check as Ben came up beside her. “What am I going to do, Ben?”
Ben, not Blackwell.
If he realized the significance of her using his given name, he ignored it. “I think metal stakes and barbed wire will work.” Ben took her question out of context. “A one-day job for anybody around here.”
“No.” She could let it go at that. She could swallow that sob and ride home without saying more. He’d let her get away with silence. But Rachel had reached a dead end in terms of ideas. She needed advice. “What am I going to do about the water? About...the Double T?” Her throat was thick with doubt and that darn sob. “I was banking on the water to keep us afloat.” To put more cattle in their pastures. To pay off Mom’s credit card bill.
“Rachel, you shouldn’t ask me that.” Ben’s voice was as deep as the roots of their ranches, as soft as the river gurgling as it rounded the bend. The soothing quality of his voice made Rachel tremble. She clenched her fingers around the reins.
“I’m opposing counsel,” Ben continued matter-of-factly.
Opposing counsel. Her enemy.
There was no going back to the boy who’d comforted her. There was no moving beyond the court case that divided them. If Rachel ever discovered who’d sent her the Blackwell Ranch’s water information, she’d give them a piece of her angry mind.
“Forget the lawsuit for a minute and think about...” Rachel closed her eyes, willing herself to hold everything inside the way her father used to. Except she wasn’t her father and every day she felt more and more out of her element. “I’m not equipped to run the ranch. Things are slipping away from me. Ask me what shoes to wear with a midlength cocktail dress and I could tell you in my sleep.” She opened her eyes, finding Ben’s face with its chiseled planes that were as solid as the Rockies. By contrast, she felt as insubstantial as the collapsed riverbank. “But this... It’s been over a year since Dad died and all I do is play catch-up. I need to do better. The family needs me to do better.”
“You could sell.”
His words numbed her. The sob escaped. She wheeled Utah around and kicked the gelding into a gallop, needing to get away, needing to get home, to hold Poppy. Because holding her daughter was the only time lately when she felt hope.
Utah’s hooves thundered on the plain, eating up distance.
But getting away from Ben was impossible. His horse was magnificent, catching up to Rachel and Utah as if they’d been standing still.
Ben was magnificent, too, controlling the horse with his legs and one rein, as confident in the saddle when the chips were down as he was in the courtroom.
“Rachel,” he shouted. “Listen to me.”
She shook her head and leaned over Utah’s neck, letting the wind whisk away unwanted tears and tug her hair free of its makeshift ponytail. She should never have asked Ben for advice. She should never have voiced her insecurities. She was stronger when she held everything inside and pretended she had it all under control.
“Rachel.” Ben wasn’t one to waste words. He guided his horse closer to Utah, who was forced to adjust his stride and slow down to avoid a collision. “You asked me a question. Let me explain.”
For Utah’s sake, Rachel slowed the roan to a trot and then a walk, refusing to look at Ben. “Fine. Say your piece and then get off my land.”
“You have options.”
“I’m not selling.” Her shout was lost in the wind.
“If you’re going to run the Double T—” Ben’s voice cut with the sharp edge of truth “—you’re going to have to make hard choices. Not all of them are going to be agreeable to every Thompson, including you.”
“I’m not selling.” That was nonnegotiable. The only point she wouldn’t compromise on.
“Rachel, listen to me like I was your lawyer.” There was no give in his voice. He thought what he thought, and he thought she had to listen to him.
The urge to flee made her hands tremble once more. This conversation was a mistake, one in a long string she’d made. “You’re not—”
“You asked me for advice.” Ben reached over and gave Utah’s reins a slow, steady pull. “Whoa.” It was a long reach. In the saddle, he was a good foot taller than she was.
Both horses stopped and swiveled their ears back, perhaps wondering what they were doing standing still in the middle of the high plains with no cows in sight.
Ben released the reins and settled his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. It was tempting to lean into his touch, to rely on Ben’s strength. But there was another sob, waiting like a big dry pill stuck in her throat. And there was her pride, forcing her shoulders to rise and straighten.
Ben sighed and let his hand drop to his thigh. “The good news is you have options. Several options. Let’s start with the worst case, at least emotionally, which is selling.”
Selling would gut her and Nana Nancy. Her sister Stephanie and Mom wouldn’t care.
“Everyone would get a big enough nest egg that they could start somewhere new if they wanted.” He didn’t try to persuade—she would’ve slugged him if he tried to wheedle her to sell. “You could open a practice in a bigger city. Your mom could get a place in town. Your grandmother could move to a retirement home. You know—” his tone lightened, softened “—the larger retirement communities have their own beauty salons, coffee shops and movie theaters.”
“Nana would hate it.” But Rachel wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Nana would hate the fact that no Thompson was on the Double T, but she’d enjoy a movie theater and people to talk to. And the frailer her grandmother became, the more appealing a retirement home appeared. It would be a safer environment and give Nana more immediate medical care.
“All right, then.” Ben didn’t seem put out by her rejection. “Let’s consider option two. You could lease your land to someone.”
Rachel gave him a sideways glare. “Not the Blackwells.” Was he trying to push her in that direction? She reached for her reins.
He leaned down and covered her hand with his. His warmth seeped into her cold fingers. “Okay, not the Blackwells. Although, as your lawyer—”
“Which you most definitely are not.” She shoved his hand away.
“—I’d advise you to consider leasing to those owning surrounding land, as they’d be the most likely parties interested.”
The wind settled into a mild breeze. Rachel hated that Ben’s ideas made sense almost as much as she hated the Double T being surrounded by Blackwell land. “Moving along...” She forced herself to meet his gaze, which was as blue as the brightening sky.
“Option three.” Ben’s lips might have twitched upward. “You could marry a rancher.”
Rachel nearly fell out of her saddle. “You did not just say that as if it was a serious option.”
“I did.” And Ben didn’t look a bit remorseful. “A week ago, I would have said Jonathon was the best candidate, but he’s engaged. Have you met Lydia? I’m having dinner with them tonight.”
Rachel knew better than to grind her teeth, but her jaw was clenched when she said, “And the advantage to marrying another rancher would be...”
“Pooling resources, including water.” Ben gestured to the river at their backs. “Especially water.”
“The nearest unmarried rancher is Hugh Bellacobble. He’s ninety.” If he was still alive, that is. Rachel was slightly appalled that she couldn’t remember. Mommy brain was wreaking havoc with her ability to retain facts.
“If Hugh has no other heirs, he might be open to a young woman’s charms.” Ben was definitely grinning now. At Rachel’s glare, he held up his hands in surrender. “And of course, there’s option four—legal courses of action to protect your river water rights before the water company comes gunning for you. Contact your congressman. Contact the state water board. Work the backside of the situation.”
She didn’t have time to work the backside of
any situation. “Alone? No one’s going to listen to me.”
“Not alone.” His gentle voice soothed.
Did he know her aversion to handling everything alone? Did he realize how intimate his offer sounded? How tempting it was for this little lady to set her cares on his sturdy shoulders?
“You should combine forces with landowners who might be in the same predicament as you.” He tapped his swelling chest and shattered the image that he was offering anything other than a business deal.
“Join up with you?” A shout of laughter shot out of her throat, clearing it of pitiful sobs. “That’d be like the Hatfields joining up with the McCoys.”
He crooked a brow. “You seem to forget we were friends once.”
“Once.” And once, they’d stood in a shadowy hallway and she’d seriously considered what it would be like to kiss him. Had that been last night? It seemed like a lifetime ago. “I need to get back.”
Because Poppy liked to get up at 4:00 a.m., which made it easy to come out to the ranch before sunrise and get the day started. Poppy had likely worn Rachel’s mother out by now. Both Mom and Poppy would be ready for a nap, and Nana Nancy would need her morning medication.
“You asked me for my opinion,” Ben said with more patience than Rachel might have, had their situations been reversed. “A rancher would deliberate on the options their lawyer presented.”
“I don’t like any of your options, Blackwell. I—”
Before she knew what was happening, he leaned across the distance between the two horses, slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her mouth up to meet his.
Rachel sucked in air and the taste of Ben, of coffee and warmth.
She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him when she’d asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance in the seventh grade. And then last night... She’d thought about Ben as she contemplated the crack in her bedroom ceiling, sometime between worrying about refilling Nana’s medication and getting Poppy to the doctor for her booster shots and wondering about ranch gates that miraculously opened. With a kiss under her belt, she’d be able to at least put thoughts of Ben out of her head.
The Rancher's Redemption Page 13
