Her Stubborn Cowboy

by Patricia Johns

  “I don’t,” she said with a short laugh. “You were so reserved.”

  And she would have noticed if he’d returned her crush. She’d watched for it, wondering if he liked her at all, but he hadn’t shown interest.

  “You were taken.”

  His words took her by surprise. Had there been more underneath that stern reserve, or was she misunderstanding the meaning behind those words?

  “So you—” she started.

  “It was a long time ago, and like you pointed out, I wasn’t much fun.” He gave a rueful smile.

  Mackenzie swallowed, his words still circling her mind. He’d felt something for her back then...and that knowledge warmed her. She’d been so certain that he hadn’t...but that didn’t explain why he’d tell Andy to dump her. Was it from juvenile jealousy, or had his attraction to her been only that—attraction and nothing that could last?

  “So what do you do when you aren’t working?” he asked, seeming to be done with discussing his own feelings.

  “I used to take vacations. Travel.”

  “Yeah?” Chet shot her a curious look. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been to France, Germany, Mexico, Alaska and Hawaii. I like planning trips. How about you?”

  “I went to Colorado once for a buddy’s wedding,” he said. Mack waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she smiled cautiously.

  “That’s it?”

  “I stay busy around here.”

  “And you never feel the urge to just get away?” she pressed.

  “Not really.”

  “We should take care of that,” she said with a quick laugh. And she wasn’t entirely joking, either. It dawned on her that she’d like to spend more time with Chet...maybe introduce him to something new, too. “Chet Granger, you are far too serious. Do you realize that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “It can’t be all work, Chet.”

  “It isn’t.” He glanced at her, and the intensity in his expression made her mind run in less appropriate directions. What would Chet be like when he was focused on something other than the ranch? What would Chet be like focused on her?

  “No?” She tried to will the color out of her cheeks.

  “I also read.”

  Mackenzie blinked, then sobered. “What kinds of books?”

  “Anything and everything,” he replied. “History, philosophy, biographies—”

  “And you’d rather read than get out there and see something different?” she pressed.

  Chet was silent for a moment. “Let’s put it this way,” he said quietly. “Standing on the ground of a different country doesn’t do as much for me as sending down my roots right here.”

  “Oh.” Mack felt the weight in his words, and her joking seemed out of place now. “I think Granny was that way, too.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t travel,” he said. “You just need some reliable ranch hands, is all.”

  They were nearing her barn, and Chet looked at her again, those gray eyes lingering on her face for a moment before he turned away.

  She’d lived for her vacations these past several years, and she’d made enough that she’d been able to go somewhere fantastic every summer. The getting away had been the point—getting away from work, her parents and the humdrum of Billings. Would she feel the same way about this ranch after a few months, that desperate need to escape it all? Or was there something to those roots that Chet talked about? She had to admit that it was appealing.

  Mackenzie pulled on the barn door and it slid open on its rail. Butter Cream waited patiently until Chet put the tiny kid down and then trotted into her stall, where her little brown doeling waited, curled into a ball in a bed of hay. Mack closed up the stall, and they walked back outside.

  “So how are things with Andy?” she asked.

  Chet shrugged. “Andy’s the same as always.”

  Mack wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, and she eyed him inquiringly. “I wonder why he came here.” Chet stayed silent, his gaze traveling along the fence line, but he didn’t move away from her, so she continued. “I mean, his life is in Billings, isn’t it? You’d think he’d have had a few friends he could have crashed with. Plus, doesn’t he make a pretty good living at that car dealership? I’m sure he could have afforded a week or two in a hotel.”

  Chet glanced toward her, that stony reserve slowly cracking as their eyes locked. “I’ve always fixed things for Andy. Maybe he came here for me to fix it.”

  “But why you?” she persisted. “Why does it always fall to you to put things back together?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment, then shrugged. “If someone breaks down on the side of the road, you’ve got to stop and help for the simple reason that you’re the one who’s there. If a neighbor’s tractor gets stuck in mud, you’re obliged to head on over and lend a hand for the simple reason that you live close by. Both our parents are gone, and while we’ve got aunts and uncles, it’s not the same. Not really. Call it obligation or responsibility, but I’m the one who’s left.”

  A cow lowed from the field, and another answered. A warm breeze whisked across the open land, flattening her shirt against her side. She was rolling his words around in her mind when he added, “You’re going to need some salt licks.” His tone was unchanged, and she squinted at him, slightly confused.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need salt licks. There are only a few left in the storeroom. I’m going to town. Do you want to come along and see the ranch-supply store? It’s your go-to for pretty much anything you’re going to need from this point on.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Thanks. That would be great.”

  Granny had taken her to the supply store a couple of times that she could remember, but she’d need to be reacquainted with the place, obviously.

  “Okay, then.” He resettled his hat on his head. “I’ll come by and pick you up in about an hour. I have a few things to finish up first.”

  “Sure.”

  He nodded a goodbye, then headed out across that stretch of grass again toward his own barn. He moved with ease, his shoulders swaying as he walked. It was as though none of this could change him, and he remained as constant as the rough prairie grass. As exasperating as he was, it was comforting in a way, but one worry nagged the back of her mind. Why was Chet doing all of this for her? She didn’t want to be the obligation next door—the stuck tractor, the broken-down vehicle that he was duty bound to help.

  “Chet!” she called, and he turned back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you doing all this because you feel obliged?”

  “Nope,” he replied, and a grin split his face. “I’m doing it ’cause you’re pretty.”

  And with that, he turned and continued his walk away from her. Mack felt the blush rise in her cheeks and she smiled in spite of herself. Chet had some charm of his own, hidden away under that gruff, obstinate exterior.

  She had an hour. And she also had chickens to check on. Work around here never seemed to stop.

  * * *

  CHET HEADED ACROSS the scrub grass toward his home.

  What a stupid line, he chastised himself. Because she’s pretty? Of course she’s pretty. She knows that. And it doesn’t matter—it shouldn’t matter.

  He’d be a much wiser man if he could just resist the urge to answer a few of those questions she cast his way. He was an honest man, but there wouldn’t be any harm in just shutting his mouth every so often. He’d been able to do it back when they were all teenagers, so why the sudden urge to start saying what he was thinking?

  He resisted the urge to look back. He wasn’t supposed to be flirting. This wasn’t the plan. Neither was falling for her all over again.

  His herds were already grazing for the summer, and the calves had nearly doubled in size since they were born in the spring. They were out of harm’s way, and most were grazing alongside their mothers at this point. The crops were in, they weren’t set to
rotate grazing fields for another few weeks, and now he was changing his focus to getting things organized for the inevitable winter. No matter how bright and cheery a summer day, he was always aware just how fleeting the season was.

  Before he left for town, he needed to take another look at the finances to prepare for a meeting with the bank, so he made his way to the house, kicking his boots against the steps to loosen any dirt as he reached the back door.

  Inside, there was no sign of Andy, except for a few dirty dishes in the sink. Chet let out a sigh of relief. As much as he wanted to patch things up with his only brother, they irritated each other. They’d always been opposites, but over the past decade, he’d gotten used to his own space. He liked rattling around in this old house, and his brother’s shoes in the middle of the doorway or toiletries piled on the bathroom counter were a grating reminder that he wasn’t alone.

  Chet pulled down the ledger and flipped it open, but his mind wasn’t on profits and losses for the past few years or projected earnings for this calendar year. He needed to think about getting a loan large enough to rival the amount the developers were willing to pay his brother, but that kind of money wouldn’t be easy to come by, and the very thought of owing that much filled his gut with cement.

  And still, he’d invited Mack along for the ride.

  What had he been thinking? Only that he wanted to be alone with her for a little while. He liked being in the truck with her when he could smell that soft floral scent of the perfume she sometimes wore. While he didn’t want an audience for this meeting with the loan officer, or for the fallout of the meeting, he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have near him.

  Which was dangerous, because he was pretty confident that she didn’t feel the same way.

  If Andy sold their pasture, Chet was the one with the most at stake. He needed a plan B, some sort of safety net if his brother did this. There wasn’t any pasture for sale for about three hundred miles. If he was forced to buy pasture out that far, his cattle drives would be marathons. Or he could do the unthinkable and sell his land, too. He could buy farther out—maybe in a different county—and start fresh.

  The thought was a painful one because this land held him by the heartstrings, and it was right next to the Vaughn ranch... Why was it that Mackenzie’s face kept rising up in his mind at the thought of selling? It felt like abandoning her, even though they were nothing more than neighbors. But she needed him and his expertise more than she knew right now. Other guys weren’t quite as principled as he was, and they might take advantage. She’d be easy pickings for a bitter ranch hand—cattle rustling could make a significant dent in a ranch’s profit. With him next door, she’d be protected. She didn’t know that, of course, but it was true.

  Chet stood to lose a lot if he sold, but he stood to lose something different if Mackenzie didn’t end up keeping the ranch. He’d been in love with her ten years ago, and now he realized those feelings had never really gone away. They’d come back in a flood when he’d clapped eyes on her again. How dumb that was, he wasn’t sure. So if either of them sold, he would lose those moments standing at the fence, watching her sweet-talk a goat or giving her a hand with some chore. He would lose the possibility of her tramping out to his barn in search of Butter Cream or the opportunity to sit alone with her in the cab of a pickup truck, bumping down the gravel road that led toward the barn. He would lose all those unknown possibilities that lay in the days ahead—potential moments when she might finally see what she’d never seen in him before.

  Chet rubbed his hands over his face. He had to get his head back in the game. His heart couldn’t lead this, and he knew that. He glanced at the clock. He had forty minutes now. He sucked in a deep breath and turned his attention to the ledgers in front of him.

  One step at a time. He needed this loan.

  Chapter Five

  When Mackenzie hopped up into the cab of Chet’s pickup, he noticed that she’d changed her clothes. She now wore a clean pair of jeans and a pale pink blouse that brought out the blush in her cheeks. Her hair hung loosely down her back in a sun-streaked blond cascade, and as she slid into the seat next to him, he could smell the fresh scent of a citrusy perfume.

  “I just gave Chocolate Truffle her bottle,” Mackenzie said. “But I’m kind of afraid to leave the property. Do you know what I mean?”

  Chet chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. Nothing will fall apart.”

  It was a good sign in his books. She was starting to sense the magnitude of her responsibility. She’d also have to learn how to cut loose from time to time, though, or the stress would do her in.

  “Not that I could even stop it,” she replied with a wry smile.

  “You’re getting better at this.” He shrugged. “Chasing down goats is part of the job.”

  “Speaking of goats,” she said, “why does Butter Cream love you so much?”

  “I’m good-looking.” He grinned, then laughed. “Joking. I bottle-fed her as a kid.”

  “You did?”

  “Goats are very loving, and they don’t forget their mamas. A lot like cows.”

  “So Butter Cream sees you as her mama.” She gave him a small smile. “Well, as much of a mama as a six-foot-five rancher can be.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” It didn’t matter how manly you were or how many bales you could toss into the back of a truck; if you held a bottle in those callused hands, you were the mother. “Helen didn’t have the heart to put Butter Cream down when she was born, and she asked me to help her do it. Butter Cream was an underweight newborn kid that neither of us expected to survive. Her mother had triplets and abandoned her. She was as weak as a kitten, but I didn’t have the heart to do it, either. So I bottle-fed her, against my better judgment, and she started to put on weight. So my job was cut out for me.”

  “So why didn’t you keep her?” she asked.

  “She was Helen’s.”

  “And Granny didn’t offer to give her to you?”

  “Okay, maybe she did. But I didn’t need a goat.”

  And that was the truth of it. He knew back then what trouble goats could be, and he ran a ranch, not a hobby farm. He raised cattle for beef, and he didn’t want the trouble of goats...but that didn’t mean he didn’t stop and visit Butter Cream and give her a scratch over the fence. He wasn’t made of stone.

  Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “You’re still a stubborn one, Chet Granger.”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d described him that way, and maybe he was. But a stubborn streak served him well when it came to making a living off the land. Weather didn’t always cooperate. Droughts drove up the cost of feeding two hundred and fifty head of cattle. Even dealing with Andy took a fair amount of fortitude. If he weren’t the stubborn son of a gun that he was, he wouldn’t still be ranching this land. And maybe it would be enough to keep him ranching this land if he just held on long enough.

  The trip into Hope took only about fifteen minutes when hitting the gas, and the wheels sent a billow of dust out behind as they approached the highway. He liked this drive. It was straight and there was little traffic along the two-lane highway, oncoming traffic separated by a faded yellow dash.

  He slowed once for a tractor, easing around the big green vehicle and giving a wave to the farmer—a man he’d known most of his life. Then he stepped on the gas once more. He did notice that the old farmer looked twice to see who was riding along with Chet. That would likely be the start of some hefty rumors. But then, being seen in town together would do more of the same. In a place the size of Hope, gossip fueled the community.

  Hope was the kind of place that dropped like a splatter in the middle of Montana farmland. It had a couple of schools, a supermarket, a drugstore, an ice-cream parlor and a diner. The various shops catered to the rural clientele, offering everything from saddles to engine parts. Someone had tried to start up some uppity coffee joint a few years back, and it had tanked within six months. Hope took a certain amount of pri
de in remaining unchanged.

  Chet pulled into Hope Ranch and Feed, which was located at the side of the highway just before town. The red-painted sign was cracked and peeling, and there were a few pickups in the parking lot. This store might not look like much—its forty-year-old display window showing an arrangement of horse-grooming products—but it was a necessity to pretty much everyone within fifty miles, and curb appeal wasn’t needed to bring in the customers. A wide array of cattle ear tags, animal medicine, work wear and feed was draw enough for local ranchers. Anything a ranch might need could be bought right here—and if it couldn’t be purchased off a shelf, it could be ordered.

  “This is it,” Chet said as he put the truck into Park.

  Mack didn’t move, and he caught the furrow in her brow as she looked out the window. Sometimes he forgot that she was new to this. Ten years had elapsed since her summers spent in Hope, and while he’d grown up on the land, she hadn’t.

  “You okay?” he asked, softening his voice.

  “Fine.”

  “You’re not getting out,” he observed, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. He had to hurry if he wanted to make his appointment at the credit union on time, and that was something he didn’t want her to know about. When that finger of desperation wriggled up in his stomach, he didn’t like an audience—especially not Mackenzie. It didn’t fit in with the way he wanted her to see him.

  She swung her gaze toward him and sighed heavily. “Will I ever actually belong here?”

  It was a prudent question. The newest rancher around these parts had bought the land fifteen years ago, and he was still called “the new guy” and people continued to joke around about his not knowing his boot from his backside. Chet didn’t want to lie to her, and he certainly wanted her to stick it out. How could he explain this?

  “Depends on what you mean by belong,” he said after a moment of thought. “It’s like in a family—you get a role and you keep it. Around here, you’ll probably always be the new one—that is, until someone else buys land and takes over that status. If you take over the newbie status, you’ll be doing Chris Hoffman a favor. He came about fifteen years ago.”