Claiming Her Cowboy

by Tina Radcliffe

  “How did three orphans manage that?”

  Lucy’s head jerked back at his question and she inhaled sharply. Slowing the Ute to a stop, she shifted into Neutral to look at him. “Excuse me?”

  He raised a palm. “Don’t read something into my words I didn’t intend. My questions are simply part of my due diligence.”

  Silence reigned for moments, as she stared straight out the windshield of the Ute. When she turned to him once again, her eyes were shuttered.

  “In addition to scholarships, we sold snake oil on Saturdays to fund our education.”

  Jack met her gaze. She didn’t give him time to respond.

  “As I stated, we were in the foster care system for several years. A cousin of our mother tracked us down and adopted all of us. I was ten, Travis was eight, Emma five. At the time, we were living in separate homes with monthly visitation.”

  “Separated from your siblings? That had to be tough.”

  “I’m not looking for pity.”

  “I wasn’t offering pity.”

  She nodded and said nothing for several moments.

  “You inherited the ranch?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. Our property is bordered by that hewn wood fence,” Lucy said as she pointed to a fence in the distance.

  Fingers tight on the wheel, she turned the Ute left and drove down a shady, tree-lined street. The redbuds and maples were thick with green foliage. The aroma of freshly mown grass rode on the slight breeze.

  “These are the boys’ homes.” Lucy pointed to the redbrick, two-story, Colonial-style houses, each spaced two lots apart, occupying the right side of the street. The left side was fenced, and horses grazed in the pasture.

  A group of helmeted cyclists rode by, all young girls with arms extended to offer enthusiastic waves. “Hi, Miss Lucy!” they called in unison.

  Lucy raised a hand out the vehicle in greeting.

  “Why aren’t they in school?”

  “It’s summer, Mr.— Uh, Jack.”

  He turned to look at the pasture on the right. “Cattle? That seems ambitious.”

  “That’s us, and why not? Travis has graduated from the OSU Master Cattleman Program. He’s worked several area ranches over the years.”

  “He’s an impressive guy.”

  “There’s not a person on the ranch who isn’t impressive. We function with a staff of qualified professionals and volunteers. We need and value everyone. I hope you’ll note that when you review our funding.”

  Jack stared out the window as they passed horses nibbling on grass and clover, their tails swishing at flies in the summer heat. The ranch was beautiful, he’d give her that. A part of him longed to walk through the fields spread before him, like he had as a child, when he hadn’t had any cares. He and Daniel would lie on their backs in his aunt’s pasture, finding shapes in the fluffy clouds that slowly moved across the endless blue Oklahoma summer sky.

  A drop of sweat rolled down the back of his shirt, bringing him back to reality. Jack shifted uncomfortably. “I’d forgotten about how hot it is here in July.”

  Lucy shrugged. “You’ll get used to the weather. The nice thing about the Oklahoma humidity is that it makes everything grow. You should see our vegetable garden.”

  He turned to her and raised a brow. “Vegetable garden, as well?”

  “Yes. I hope you’re sensing a pattern.” Lucy offered a proud smile. “We want to be as self-sustaining as possible. Growing things also gives our children an appreciation for everything the Lord provides. We don’t ever want to take that for granted. The more we do for ourselves, the better stewards we can be of the financial blessings we receive.”

  Jack said nothing to the obvious jibe.

  “Look over there. Through the trees,” Lucy said. “Girls’ ranch. You’ll actually get a close-up of everything after you receive your chore assignment.”

  “Chore assignment?”

  “Everyone at the ranch has chores.”

  Jack wrapped his mind around that bit of information and stared out the window. A moment later, Lucy hit the brakes hard. He lurched forward, thrusting a hand to the dashboard in protection as the vehicle suddenly came to a complete halt.

  “Sorry,” Lucy said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Is this how you usually drive?”

  “No. Look to your right.”

  Jack glanced out in the field. “More cows.”

  “Our missing goat is out there, too.”

  “What’s that?” Jack pointed to a black hen that strutted along the right side of the road, her black tail feathers raised regally.

  “Mrs. Carmody got out, too!”

  “You lose animals often here at the ranch?”

  “They must have heard you were coming. However, to be fair, Beau and Mrs. Carmody escape every chance they can.”

  “You name all your chickens?”

  “We do. Come on, let’s go get her.”

  Jack blinked. “What?”

  “You walk toward her and I’ll circle around behind.”

  “What about the goat?”

  “He’ll be easy. I told you he’s got vision and hearing issues. As for Mrs. C., she’s an old hen and doesn’t move very fast. She’ll be easy, too.”

  “How’d she get out anyhow?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s catch her and then I’ll be sure to ask.”

  Jack frowned at the response and stepped from the Ute.

  “You walk toward her and I’ll circle behind.”

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “No. I’m not sure of anything,” she said with a grin. “If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.”

  Jack moved toward the chicken.

  “Flap your arms,” Lucy said.

  “Flap my arms?”

  “Why?”

  “Let her know you’re friendly.” She cocked her head. “You don’t have any medical conditions that preclude you from flapping, do you?”

  “No. But I try not to look like a fool on principle.”

  Lucy began to laugh.

  He paused for a moment at the sound of her laughter bubbling over. Then, despite his better judgment, Jack tucked his hands under and moved his arms up and down.

  The chicken wasn’t impressed. She slowly scratched at the ground and then began to run toward him on wobbly claws. “Why is she charging me?” Jack yelled.

  “This is Mrs. Carmody and she doesn’t follow the fowl rules.”

  Jack’s eyes rounded when the bird attempted liftoff, her black wings flapping furiously. Could chickens fly?

  This one managed a small liftoff before landing on her backside. Regrouping, the beady-eyed bird targeted him, one step at a time. Suddenly she picked up speed.

  “Old and not very fast, huh? That bird is going to attack!”

  Jack turned and ran, straight into a pile of something soft and wet. “Oomph!” His feet slid out from under him, and he landed on his back in the sweet grass.

  “Good thing that grass hasn’t been mowed yet,” Lucy observed.

  He opened his eyes. Mrs. Carmody was tucked neatly against Lucy, who stroked her feathers with her other hand. The chicken squawked and fussed for a moment, but Lucy held firm.

  He had to give the ranch director credit; she’d grabbed the bird and was now doing an admirable job of trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah, good thing,” he returned as a black feather danced through the air and landed on him.

  “Why did she run at me?” Jack asked.

  “She was running to you. Big difference. I think she mistook you for Travis. You’re both about the same size and coloring. Travis always brings Mrs. Carmody treats.”

  “So you’re saying that I ran for nothing.”

  She glanced away, lips twitc
hing. “Um, yes.”

  “And the flapping?”

  “To get you into the moment.”

  Lucy held out a hand, and he grasped her palm, heaving himself to a standing position. Their eyes met and he froze for a moment, lost in her gaze. Then he glanced down at his once spotless shoes, lifting one and then the other to inspect the soles. A pungent odor drifted to his nose and he cringed. “Manure? Is that what I slipped on?”

  She nodded and sniffed the air. “Horse, I’d say. Fresh.”

  “Do you know how much these shoes cost?” Jack rubbed his feet back and forth on the long blades of grass.

  “My guess is enough to feed one of our kids for a year.”

  Jack only grumbled in response, and then he stopped what he was doing and stared at Lucy.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Could you have caught Mrs. Carmody on your own?”

  “Probably.” She said the word slowly.

  “That’s what I thought. So you were having fun with the city guy.”

  “I’d like to think of it as breaking the ice. You and I have a whole summer to work together. We need to get along. Besides, if it’s any consolation, you passed chicken flapping with an A plus.”

  Jack couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, and when he stopped, his gaze met Lucy’s.

  Her lips parted sweetly, and he realized they had at least reached détente. In that moment he became aware that his obligation to remain objective while he investigated the ranch for the Brisbane Foundation would be compromised every time Lucy smiled at him.

  “What about your goat?” he asked.

  “You hold Mrs. Carmody and I’ll go grab Beau.”

  He stepped back and held up his hands. “Ah, no thank you. Why don’t I get the goat?”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “I’m okay with pretty much anything if it means not holding a chicken.”

  This time Lucy laughed as well, and her eyes were bright with amusement. “You know that chickens are on your chore list, right?”

  “Not seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “So, how do I get Beau?”

  “He’s docile. Gently grasp the rope around his neck and lead him to the Ute.”

  “What about the cows?”

  “Nary a bull in sight. You’ll be fine.”

  Jack started across the field. He grimaced and shook his head as he skirted around a cow patty. Day one on Big Heart Ranch, and already he’d gotten up close and personal with a chicken and was about to bring home a lost goat.

  Yeah, it was going to be an interesting summer.

  Chapter Three

  Jack checked his watch as he tugged his shirttail free from his jeans. He’d made it through day one and would be off duty soon. All he had to do was get his final chore assignment of the day completed. Then he’d be on his way to T-town, a little shopping and a nice steak. Free until the alarm sounded tomorrow at 5:00 a.m.

  He pulled the paper Lucy had given him from his pocket and checked the dates. No chicken assignment until after the trail ride and camping trip were complete. If things went in his favor, Mrs. Carmody would release all the birds before then. He’d even pay the bird to stage a coop-break.

  For a moment, he simply smiled, thinking about the whole chicken incident. Lately, women had been getting one over on him left and right. Feathered females included.

  At least the goat had cooperated.

  He shook his head and turned the paper in his hand over. Stables, straight ahead. Or equestrian center, as Lucy Maxwell called the building. He’d been assigned his own horse. That thought alone made him smile.

  It had been a long time since he’d been responsible for a horse. Twenty-five years ago, Aunt Meredith’s horses had been his saving grace. His aunt worked him so hard the summer Daniel died that he didn’t have time to blame himself for his little brother’s death. He’d mucked stalls, fed and exercised a stable full of horses from sunrise until bedtime. Then he fell into a hard sleep, too exhausted for the nightmares.

  There was no denying the thrum of excitement that accompanied Jack as he entered the equestrian building. Except for the soft whinny of horses, it was quiet.

  Jack smiled. He’d forgotten how good quiet was. The lights were on as he took his time walking down the center of the stables, his left hand reaching out to touch the gates of each stall he passed, like he was a kid again. He let the smells of horse sweat and hay nudge his memories while he searched for the sorrel mare he was about to groom.

  Spotless. The boys’ ranch stables were spotless, no strong urine odors to indicate the stalls were anything but clean. A chalkboard on the outside of the very last stall on the left had “Grace” printed in white chalk in a childish scrawl. He looked around and found the tack room, situated next to an office, whose door was shut, lights off. The sign on the door read Tripp Walker, Manager.

  The familiar scent of new leather drifted to Jack’s nostrils as he entered the tack room and grabbed supplies. He juggled a currycomb and soft brush in the air and caught them easily. His steps were light as he opened the latch to Grace’s stall.

  Jack Harris, in a barn. No one would believe it if they could see him now. He didn’t believe it himself.

  The mare shifted and raised her tail. Jack sidestepped, though not fast enough to avoid stepping in steaming and aromatic horse patties. He grimaced and held his breath. Twice in one day.

  His life as an attorney was filled with horse patties, but today was a record.

  Nope, no one would ever believe this, either.

  “Grace,” he told the mare. “I thought we were going to be friends. This is no way to treat a guy on our first date.”

  The horse merely nickered in response.

  Jack grabbed a pitchfork and buried the foul evidence in fresh wood chips that he moved to the corner of the stall, before pulling the currycomb and a brush from his back pocket. He ran his open palm slowly along the coarse coat of reddish-gold of the animal’s flank to prepare her for the session, and then gently began to comb the horse.

  “There you go, Grace. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he soothed. “When we’re done, I have a nice carrot for you.” With two fingers, he massaged the animal’s wide forehead until she relaxed.

  Jack stuck his nose right into her neck and rubbed the mare’s ears as he inhaled. Yeah, this was the real perfume of summer. The sweet, subtle sweat of horse hair. Pleasant memories of days with Aunt Meri tumbled through his mind.

  Jack continued to brush the mare, one hand on the brush, the other on the animal’s silky-soft back. The tension he didn’t realize he held evaporated into the small space.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” a small voice whispered.

  Jack paused, and Grace’s ears perked at the voice. A quick glance around the stall revealed nothing and no one. Jack continued brushing.

  “Circles. You gotta do it in circles.”

  He opened the metal gate and took a quick peek down the main walkway and then into the stalls on either side of Grace’s. Both stalls had horses, but they appeared to be the nontalking variety. “Where are you?” Jack asked.

  “Up here.”

  Jack frowned before glancing straight up. To the right was a hay storage shelf where a little boy, no more than five or six, smiled down at him with a toothy grin. His upper front teeth were absent.

  “Are you supposed to be up there?” Jack asked.

  The urchin with a dirty face and hair the color of straw shrugged. “No one cares.”

  “I bet Miss Lucy cares,” Jack said.

  The kid wore jeans and battered red sneakers, the laces untied. Scooting to the edge, he dangled his legs. The movement knocked bits of straw into the air. Hay and dust danced on their way to the ground. Some landed on Jack and Grace.

  “Kid, you’r
e messing up my work here.”

  “Sorry.” Which came out as thorry due to the missing teeth.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dub Lewis.”

  “Your name is Dub?”

  “Uh-huh. What’s your name?”

  “Jackson Harris.”

  Dub screwed up his face and giggled. “What kind of name is that?”

  Jack smiled. No filter. His brother had been the same way. Said whatever came to mind, whenever it came to mind.

  He chuckled. “Touché, kid.”

  “You want me to show you how to do that?” Dub asked.

  “Do what?” Jack looked up again, and then down at his hand paused on the horse’s flank. “This? I’ve been grooming horses since I was your age.”

  That might be a slight exaggeration, but it silenced the kid, who was obviously five going on thirty.

  Jack pulled out the soft brush and began to clean the area the currycomb had covered.

  Silence reigned until Jack began to pick Grace’s hooves.

  “Are you supposed to be here?” Dub asked.

  “Yes.” Jack cocked his head. “I think the real question is, are you supposed to be here?”

  “I gots permission.”

  “So you said.”

  “Grace is my horse. Leo said. And he’s going to teach me to ride Grace.”

  “Who’s Leo?”

  “Leo. You know. Leo.”

  “Actually, I don’t know. But I can ask Miss Lucy about it if you want me to.”

  Again with the shrug of the bony shoulders. Jack stared at the kid for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around a child. Normally, he avoided them. Too much responsibility and too many memories.

  Jack moved on to the next hoof, battling an urge to check and see if the kid was giving him an approving scrutiny. Hoof picking, Harris. He reminded himself. You’ve got this covered.

  “Aren’t you going to the meeting?” Dub asked.

  “Meeting?”

  “Uh-huh. Right before dinner.”