Franny was no longer giddy at the prospect of seeing a wild thing. Wild things killed. She counted the cattle in front of them. “I only see about twenty head.”
“I see some faces in the tree line. We need to sweep through the woods.”
Franny’s lungs felt leaden. She needed to look for good things. Safe things. Blue sky. Wildflowers.
Clouds were thickening above them. In the pasture, cattle had trampled the wildflowers.
“We’ll stay within sight of the main herd,” Emily reassured her.
“We’ll be fine.” Franny gave a tight nod, listening to birdsong and the gentle lowing of cattle. The birds were her early warning system. When they went quiet...
Her gaze darted from one shadow in the trees to the next.
Their horses were used to working with cattle. Heads held high, a spring to their step, ears alert to sudden noise. They were ready.
Franny patted Danger’s dark neck. They entered the woods behind the herd, both vigilant. They rode twenty, forty, fifty yards into the trees, swinging around the backside of the cattle. Pulse pounding, Franny noticed her palms were slick with sweat. But why? The birds kept singing.
Because I’m soft.
By unspoken agreement, Emily trotted ahead while Franny continued to push deeper in the trees.
Young bulls and heifers raised their heads upon her and Danger’s approach, meandering around trees to rejoin the rest of the herd in the open pasture. Registered tags hung from their ears. The cattle they were rounding up were mostly two-and three-year-olds. They’d been dehorned, a sign they were domesticated stock.
A few months after Kyle died, she’d been out riding fence when a bull on federal land charged at her. Luckily, the beast had only glanced the post that separated them with his beefy shoulder, more intent on reaching across the barbed wire with his head and long horns. He’d disappeared into the trees, but Franny had been shaken and galloped back to the ranch.
Franny blew out a breath. That was in the past.
And then she realized the birds had stopped singing.
Something huffed to Franny’s left, deeper in the trees. A hoof pounded the ground.
Franny pulled Danger to a halt. They both turned to look.
A large bull with long horns stared at them from fifty feet away. He made the aging Buttercup look like one of the yearlings. His head was up. His dark eyes alert. His nostrils drinking in air.
Franny nearly cried out.
“No big deal,” Kyle had told Franny once as they’d rounded up strays in the high country and been faced by a similar, though smaller bull. “It’s all pretend. We pretend it’s no big deal and eventually he’ll pretend we aren’t worth his time.”
No big deal.
No big deal?
Franny was having trouble believing that right now. And breathing. She was having trouble breathing.
If Franny was worth his time, the bull would charge only a few feet. Just enough to let her know he considered this his turf. If he viewed Franny as a threat, he’d charge full speed and barrel down upon her and Danger, intent on defending his turf.
No big deal. Kyle’s words echoed in her head.
Was this the bull that had taken Kyle from her?
No big deal.
Unable to win the staring game, Franny looked away, urging Danger forward.
She tried to remain calm even with her warring emotions. Grief, fear, anger. Anger at Kyle for believing he was invincible.
No big deal.
She couldn’t look back. She didn’t dare.
But she could think.
There must be a fence down. There could be others from the feral herd in the trees, on their land, in their pasture. If she mended the fence quickly, they might collect some stragglers and sell them. Not the large, glaring bull because he was too experienced in maintaining his freedom, maybe even fighting for it. But perhaps others. Franny’s hopes began to rise.
Careful.
Hope was nearly as scary as that bull. She didn’t turn and look back at the beast. She couldn’t, afraid for her safety, afraid she’d scare the bull away. Afraid he’d take other ferals with him.
But she could listen.
Not with ears swiveled back like Danger. But she could listen for thundering hooves or birdsong.
She heard neither. She heard nothing beyond Danger’s muffled hooves on soft earth.
And Emily... She was nowhere to be seen.
Blood roared in her ears. Where was Emily?
Unable to take rein in her fear anymore, Franny let Danger break into a trot.
“Emily?” They were still in the trees and suddenly Franny needed to be in the open. “Emily!”
Danger lurched away from a bush, as skittish as Franny, who nearly fell out of the saddle.
“Emily?”
“Here.” Her sister-in-law emerged safe and sound from the trees behind several head of cattle.
Franny paused in the open field, turning Danger to face the woods when everything inside of her was urging her to race back to the ranch, to unlock the cabinet with Kyle’s gun and return here with it fully loaded. She’d show that filet mignon just what a big deal was. Except...
That bull was exactly what Bradley Holliday was looking for.
That bull could save the ranch.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE WAS ONE thing Shane missed about the large metropolitan area of Las Vegas.
Privacy.
“Congratulations,” Ivy said when Shane entered the Bent Nickel Diner with his two nephews. She set the coffeepot to brew. “I hear Sophie’s twins were accepted into prekindergarten. They start today.”
Alex and Andy gasped. And then turned as one and ran to the back of the diner, where the teacher who ran independent studies in Second Chance held court.
Shane paused near the front door, having come in for a town-council meeting. “Is there such a thing as prekindergarten in the public-school independent-study program?” The boys were in his care while Sophie was on her honeymoon. She’d said nothing about this. “And does it involve much homework?” He’d promised the boys he’d take them to visit their ponies this week.
“In my day, you brought the teacher an apple and she excused you from homework.” Roy, the town handyman, scratched his thinning white hair and shook his head. “You came empty-handed.”
Ivy and Shane exchanged glances and shrugs. Roy had the power to stall a conversation with his observations and recollections.
“Well, when Nick was pre-K—” Ivy headed for the kitchen, tucking her brown hair behind her ears “—he had worksheets with pattern identification, number-and-letter practice and simple algebra.”
“Algebra? That does it.” Shane sat down at the counter, nodding to Mitch, the mayor, who sat with his daughter in a nearby booth. “I’m canceling my sister’s honeymoon.”
The diner was beginning to fill up. Shane knew everyone there apart from a man, a seasoned cowboy, who was his father’s age and sitting alone in a nearby booth, and the two ladies in the next booth over. He’d made it his business to meet everyone in town. The man wore a neat long-sleeved plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, and a frown that discouraged conversation. The women were middle-aged, their haircuts and clothing prim and uninspired. He peered out the window and found what he was looking for. A beat-up truck with an Idaho plate, most likely belonging to the cowboy, and a blue sedan with Montana plates. Both parties were most likely just passing through.
“Uncle Shane.” Andy ran up to him with a black crayon, a worksheet and a tear in his eye. “I got in trouble at school.”
“How could that be? You’ve been in pre-K less than five minutes.”
Pouting, Andy climbed in his lap and whispered, “I copied off Alex’s paper.”
“Now that you’re in school,” Shan
e whispered back, “you probably shouldn’t do that anymore.” Andy was smart—smart enough to let his brother do the work if he could get away with it.
“But we’re twins.” Andy curled over the counter in his precry position. “We do everything the same.”
“Eli.” Ivy caught the teacher’s attention and pointed to Andy.
“On it,” Eli said, leaning down to speak to Alex.
“Hey, hey.” Frowning at Ivy, Shane rotated his nephew sideways in his lap for some privacy. “Being a twin is awesome. You have a built-in best friend for life.” Shane was a twin himself. “But when you get to school you can’t do everything together anymore.”
“Nothing but recess.” Roy sat next to Shane. “Recess is a team sport.”
“Recess isn’t...” Shane sighed. Arguments with Roy were often a lost cause. “Never mind.”
In his lap, Andy was as bent as a fisherman’s pole when he’d hooked a big one. Shane rubbed his back, rocked him from side to side and ordered him a hot chocolate.
Alex appeared next to them, brown cowlick at attention. He hugged his brother. “Come back to school, Andy. I fixed it for you.”
Andy slid out of his lap with a sniff, gathered his crayon and paper, and followed his brother.
The old cowboy he didn’t know made a scoffing noise and drank deeply from his coffee cup.
Roy pointed to him with his thumb. “Ignore Rich. Widower. He’s a glass-half-empty man.”
Good advice. Shane got up and poured himself a cup of coffee from the community pot, leaving a few bucks in the jar.
The door opened and the three Clark boys raced inside, backpacks bouncing off their shoulders. They were followed by their mother, Franny Clark. To Shane, Franny was like the mountains—cool and beautiful, tough yet engaging to look at. Her gaze stuck on Shane a few moments too long before she joined the lone cowboy in the booth.
That was the thing between Shane and Franny. They looked at each other. But Shane was determined looks were the limit of their relationship. Things were complicated enough in town for Shane without adding a romance to the mix. Besides, he was a temporary resident and she had deep roots.
“Thanks for coming into town to meet me, Dad.” Franny waved off Ivy’s offer to make her breakfast.
“You’re late, Francis,” her father said, without any of the fondness Shane had expected.
Roy sighed, as if he’d heard this exchange before and didn’t approve. “We’ll have our town-council meeting as soon as Mack gets here.”
For once, Shane didn’t mind Mackenzie being late for a meeting. He wanted to hear more between Franny and her father. After all, he’d promised to watch out for her while Zeke was gone.
“I need to bring in some stock.” Franny cut right to the chase. “I was wondering if you and some of your hands could help out. I’m short-staffed until Zeke gets back.”
Her father studied her, poker-faced. “Stock or ferals?”
Franny didn’t squirm so much as sink down in her seat. “Dad.”
Shane willed her to stand up for herself. She crossed her arms instead.
Rich shook his head. “I taught you to run a ranch, to build a breeding program, not to cut corners like the Clarks.”
Oh, I bet Christmas is a barrel of laughs with this guy.
“I’m not breeding bulls for the quality of their filet mignon, Dad.” There was a hint of spirit in Franny’s statement, but it was diluted by her gaze constantly drifting toward her boys. She should have had eyes on her opponent.
“The quality of your filet mignon was obvious the last time you invited your mother and me to dinner.” Her father stood. “I told you when you bought that place with Kyle and decided to sell that feral bull’s seed... You’re on your own.” He walked out.
Franny stared at the empty seat across from her. The urge to comfort her was strong.
True, Shane had promised Zeke he’d watch out for Franny, but he wasn’t wading into family waters without being asked.
Mackenzie scurried in, long brown braid swinging. “Sorry I’m late. Can we sit by the door? I couldn’t find anyone to watch the store.” She plopped down in the front booth.
Roy, Mitch and Shane went over to sit with her. Ivy served the two women from Montana their breakfasts and then joined them.
Head high, expression grim, Franny left, conveniently timing her exit to coincide with her father driving away in his truck. Against his better judgment, Shane made a mental note to ask about the man later. For now, he had a responsibility to the town.
“What’s on the agenda?” Shane asked since the town council didn’t operate according to Robert’s Rules of Order. There was no paper trail. No motions made or seconded. No minutes recorded. And no set meeting dates. This session had been called half an hour ago.
“We received a preliminary ruling on historic buildings in town.” Mitch shuffled papers. As a former lawyer, he was good with official documents.
“And?” Shane supported Mitch’s preservation effort. It would help him honor his grandfather’s wishes by blocking the dissenting eight. But Mitch’s delivery needed work.
“I don’t want anyone to get upset.” Mitch tried to soften the blow, but as usual he went about it all wrong, leading with the bad news. “They’ve ruled Ivy’s diner and Mack’s store-slash-garage don’t qualify for historic protections.”
“Really?” Ivy glanced around the diner with a frown. “Everyone has always been fond of the Bent Nickel.”
“It’s not a popularity contest.” Shane tried to keep the snark out of his voice, but based on Mitch’s frown, he hadn’t succeeded. “Let me rephrase. We’re talking about import in history, not emotional connection.”
Ivy shrugged, unconvinced.
“I guess I should cancel plans for all that souvenir merchandise I ordered depicting my business,” Mack griped. She should have been a Monroe. She had drive.
“Did they give a reason for rejecting Ivy and Mack?” Roy asked before Shane could nail down Mitch on how many buildings were still under consideration.
“They didn’t reject me.” Mack was petite, but she had a big sense of humor, earning her a smile from Shane. “Let’s not make this personal, Roy.”
“Mack and Ivy’s structures have been altered too much.” Mitch set down his papers, looking demoralized. “The Lodgepole Inn made it to the next round of consideration.” Mitch tried not to look happy, but how could he not when his home was still in the running? “The trading post, mercantile and blacksmith shop made the cut, too. Plus the church, the old schoolhouse and—”
“What about my place?” Roy twitched. “Other than electricity and plumbing, my cabin is just the way it was a hundred years ago.”
“Your cabin made the cut,” Mitch reassured him.
“Winner!” Roy pumped his scarecrow arms in the air.
The schoolkids all laughed.
“Why do I sense a but coming?” Shane asked.
“Because there is one.” Mitch nodded, still looking grim. “This isn’t the final decision. Most other places that have achieved historical significance aren’t towns where people still live and work. Also, those towns have proven to have been important in the history of the state. Mining towns, mostly. I’ve never heard of anyone mining gold or silver in this valley.”
“Second Chance was important to the state,” Roy said defensively.
Shane angled in his chair to face him. “How so?”
“We’re the birthplace of Harlan Monroe.”
That earned the old man head shakes from the rest of the town council.
Shane tried to think like a history-loving bureaucrat. “So, we need to prove something important happened here. What about that Merciless Mike Moody legend Egbert is so enthralled with? He had a reputation for robbing stagecoaches and his loot was never found.” Personally, Shane bel
ieved his grandfather had found the stolen gold and used it for a stake in an oil field in Texas.
No one said anything, which was the problem Shane ran into when someone knew something. But as part of their low-cost lease deals with Harlan, they’d all signed one-year nondisclosure agreements with his estate.
“Aren’t you always talking about details and logistics?” Mack watched a car pass by on the highway. “Wouldn’t we need to find Merciless Mike’s hideout?”
“Well...” Mitch sounded stilted and lawyerly. “He stabbed Old Jeb Clark in the smithy. And that building made the historical-committee cut.”
“If we go that route, I could sell popguns and rubber knives.” Mack was always ready for a new economic opportunity.
“Please don’t.” Ivy rolled her eyes. “The last thing my boys need are more weapons. I vote no on Merciless Mike.”
“I was thinking about selling to tourists.” Mack’s grin contradicted her words. “I vote maybe.”
“Every time you put something new in your store window, you know my boys are after me for it.” Ivy no longer cared about votes or Merciless Mike. “They hounded me for a new sled this year when you got them in.”
“There’s always next year, too,” Mack murmured with a calculating smile.
“The Farmers’ Almanac says we’ll get more snow next year.” Roy looked pleased with himself to be able to share this information. “Growing boys can always use a new sled.”
“Stay on point.” Shane washed a hand over his face. “We can’t just cross our fingers and hope for historical significance.” If there was anything he hated, it was meetings that went around in circles. “We have to load the deck. Add some razzle-dazzle. Make it sexy.” Get something moving so Shane could feel like he was making a difference here. “Who wants to help me organize a fair celebrating Second Chance’s Old West days?”
In business school, they’d taught Shane to pause after presenting a big idea and read the room. Shane paused, looking at each council member in turn. The read was grim.
“There’s not much in Second Chance to dazzle with,” Mitch deadpanned.
“This isn’t Las Vegas.” Roy had taken offense. He straightened more rigidly than a five-star general. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking Ivy and Mack to wear skimpy bathing suits and fancy headdresses for those festivals you’re always proposing.”
Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance Page 4
