Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  Things like “I hear my grandmother told you about Merciless Mike’s gold.”

  Emily had years of experience with that tale. She could recite it over and over, if need be.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror, turning from side to side. Everyone said they had one good side, their prettiest side. Emily decided her good side was the left. There was a stubborn lock of hair over her right ear that kept frizzing.

  She had no more time to fiddle with it. Besides, if she put the flat iron on a higher setting, she might burn the hair off her head. That would be worse.

  Emily grabbed her purse and hurried down the stairs. “I’ll be home in time for dinner.” She ran out to her truck, where she’d left the keys in the ignition.

  This was her last day working in town. Surely, something would go her way today.

  She could tell Bo “I know where one of my grandfather’s tree photos is. We can take a ride if you like.”

  There was a photo in a tree bordering the pasture behind the barn. The one where the heifers were tucked far away from the bulls, in case any of them went into heat. It was near a stream and would be the perfect place for a romantic picnic.

  Emily came around a bend in the road and slammed on the brakes.

  A huge bull stood in the road staring at her, as if trying to decide if it should charge or not.

  Her heart raced.

  The bull was bigger than Buttercup, its horns a massive spread. Maybe five feet wide. He had scars across his powerful chest from pushing over barbed-wire fences.

  He slowly trotted down the ditch and into the trees. An I’m-not-worried-about-you trot.

  Emily was worried. More accurately, Emily was afraid. She could believe this was the bull that had done in Kyle.

  She picked up her cell phone and called Franny. The call went to voice mail. And again...

  Franny was horrible when it came to keeping her phone handy.

  It wasn’t until Emily was braking in front of the Lodgepole Inn that Franny picked up.

  Quickly, she told Franny about the bull. “Are the boys inside? I should have turned around.”

  “He’s going after the heifers.” Franny’s voice had a distant quality to it, the way it’d been in the months after Kyle died. “One of them could have gone into heat early.”

  “Get the shotgun.” They’d be eating grass-fed beef through Christmas. That bull was that big.

  “We’ve finally caught him.” It was like Franny wasn’t hearing Emily. “I’ll check the fence line and see where he’s knocked it down.”

  “Wait. What? Capture him?” Emily rammed the truck in Park. “No. Stay inside. Don’t you do anything without me.” She’d ask Laurel to cover for her at the trading post. Or Mitch’s daughter, Gabby. She didn’t expect much store traffic today.

  Just then, Bo stepped out on the porch of the inn, leaned on the railing and stared down at her. He flapped his hand in a weak wave.

  It was a sign!

  And look. Jonah was nowhere in sight.

  “Don’t do anything rash, Franny. We’ll talk strategy at dinner.” All thoughts fled of immediately returning to the ranch. After all, Franny knew what to do. It was like the time they’d seen a mountain lion near the ridge line. Everyone remained on the lookout and no kids or animals were allowed outside by themselves until he’d been killed.

  Without realizing Franny hadn’t answered, Emily tossed her hair over her shoulder and got out of the truck.

  * * *

  “WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED to have town-council meetings more than once a week.” Roy sat at the woodstove in the Bent Nickel in protest, refusing to come to the table.

  “I’m presenting ideas for the Merciless Mike Moody Festival,” Shane said, frustrated already. “You know, to revitalize the town to protect your way of life.”

  “You’ll probably want me to volunteer for something,” Roy griped.

  “Nope. This is all on me.” Already seated, Shane pulled out a chair at the table where they normally met and patted the cushion to entice Roy.

  With a put-upon sigh, Roy ambled over, shoving up the sleeves of his blue coveralls. He’d been sulky since his doctor had told him he’d had a panic attack the other day, not a heart attack.

  Mitch was already in his seat, bent over his cell phone. Ivy was bringing a plate of cookies.

  Luck was with Shane. Mack had just arrived. “What’s all the fuss?” she asked, a bit breathless.

  “Big plans,” Mitch said sarcastically. “Game-changing plans.”

  “Thank you for your support, future cousin-in-law,” Shane said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Here’s what I think it will take. We’ll rent a cast of actors to reenact the robbing of the stage, the fight with Old Jeb and the chase by the posse. We’ll need all shops open along the main drag in town, plus, another restaurant or two to handle the influx of tourists.”

  “Another restaurant?” Ivy shook her head, her brown hair uncharacteristically loose.

  “What are these new stores going to sell?” Mack frowned fiercely, no doubt, at the idea of competition.

  “Are you planning to do this before the end of the year?” Mitch asked.

  “Yes,” Shane said with certainty. Because he needed to make an impact before January rolled around again.

  Roy shook his head. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Of course. Isn’t that why I’m here?” Smiling in the face of people who could care less about Merciless Mike or Shane.

  Roy stifled a belch. “I think we should fire you.”

  Stunned, Shane fell back in his chair. “You can’t fire an honorary council member.” Could they? The roiling in his gut said yes.

  “None of us like your ideas,” Roy continued.

  “At least, I have ideas.” That came out more defensively than was wise.

  “And your ideas stress Ivy out,” Roy explained. “Not to mention Mack.”

  Shane rolled his eyes. And he wasn’t an eye-roller. “I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

  “I think we should fire you, too.” Ivy was well-versed in giving the stink-eye. She hit Shane with one now. “Last night, you told the doctor you wouldn’t hire her. We need an advocate who is seriously committed to making this town safe. That’s not you.”

  “Whatever you heard was out of context, Ivy, I assure you. She didn’t want the job, anyway.” Shane turned to Mack. “I suppose you want me off the council, too.”

  Mack narrowed her eyes. “Were you serious about other stores opening here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fired.” Mack slapped her palms on the table. “Meeting adjourned.”

  “Hang on. We haven’t heard from the mayor.” Shane gave Mitch a stern stare. “Are you going to make it a quorum and fire me?”

  Mitch took them in, one by one. And then his steady gaze settled on Shane. “I abstain since I’ve got a conflict of interest. I’m going to marry your cousin.”

  Oh, brother. Shane stood. “All right. Fire me. But mark my words, you’ll regret it.” He stomped out the door.

  Fired. Again!

  Shane battled the warring emotions inside him. Gut-eating shame. Breath-stealing betrayal. He’d thought Mitch was his friend. He’d thought the two of them wanted the same things. He’d thought playing nice with the council was the way to get things done.

  I thought wrong on all counts.

  “Hey, Shane!” Emily waved from the trading post as he walked toward the inn. “Do you have a minute?”

  He had the rest of the day. The rest of the year. The rest of his life.

  Emily met him on the trading-post porch. “Have you heard from Franny this afternoon?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.” She hesitated, polishing a silver trophy. She started to speak. Stopped. And then said, “I haven’t, eithe
r.”

  Fear rapidly settled in his gut. “Should we worry?” Had Franny decided to go after the gold?

  “No.” But Emily sure looked worried. “Yes. I saw a bull on the drive into town and I think Franny wanted to capture it. Alone.”

  Now Shane had something to do.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A STAIR CREAKED, which wasn’t unusual in the old farmhouse.

  Franny was making lasagna and removing noodles from the pot. As soon as her lasagna was assembled, she was heading out in the ATV to find where the bull had knocked down a fence before he paid the heifers a visit and then disappeared into the mountains again.

  Three ferals. Bradley Holliday would be beside himself.

  Granny Gertie sat in her chair by the fire, snoring lightly. The boys were supposed to be upstairs getting their schoolwork done.

  A stair creaked again.

  Unable to see the foyer, Franny paused, a wide floppy noodle hanging from her fork. “Where are you going?” Because at least one of her boys was trying to go somewhere.

  Little-boy groans filled the air.

  “I told you Mom has eyes in the back of her head,” Charlie said.

  All three boys traipsed through the living room and filed into the kitchen, waking Gertie.

  “There will be no hunting for gold,” Franny said firmly. She hadn’t told them Emily had spotted the feral bull on the driveway. “It’s a myth.”

  “Mom.” Davey held up the gold coin, laying to rest the idea she’d put forth about myths and Merciless Mike. “I know we can find more gold. Charlie and I have seen those old photos plenty of times in the woods.”

  Franny tamped down a shiver of fear. “And what’s my rule about the woods?” The one she’d made after Kyle died.

  “We can’t go in the woods.” Adam hugged her leg. “Are you going to make cookies? I’ll help.”

  “He just wants to eat the chocolate chips,” Charlie said, ratting out his brother.

  “Same as you.” Adam jutted his lower lip.

  “We don’t want cookies.” Davey was uncharacteristically adamant. “We want gold.”

  “You’ll have to share that gold coin because no matter what Granny Gertie says, there’s no more gold.” Franny let her irritation seep into her words. “Now, if you’ve finished your schoolwork you can play video games, but only for an hour.”

  Charlie and Adam ran to the television. Davey frowned, but followed his brothers. The video games were enough of a distraction that the boys were guaranteed not to think about treasure hunts until after dinner. And then it’d be too dark to sneak out.

  “Can I help?” Gertie turned around her walker and sat on the seat.

  “No,” Franny said automatically, still nursing hurt over Gertie’s duplicity.

  “I was wrong.” Gertie’s voice was thick with regret. “I should have told all three of you—you, Kyle and Emily. And afterward... I should have admitted I was the reason Kyle went up the mountain. But I... I was ashamed.” Her voice cracked.

  Franny’s heart clenched, not because of her grief, but for Gertie, who’d born her guilt for more than two years.

  “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness... But I’m going to try and make it up to you every day until I die.”

  Franny couldn’t get the words out to absolve Gertie. But she could tell Gertie without words that fences were being mended. She gave her a fierce hug. It lasted long enough for the two women to spill tears.

  “Go on.” Gertie blew her nose in her handkerchief. “I can finish the lasagna and make cookies. I’m sure there’s something that needs doing outside.”

  “Always.” Franny gave her another, drier hug. “But promise me there’ll be no tales of gold while I’m gone.” That was the last thing she needed.

  “Pfft. Video games and cookies. Those boys find that more fun than gold.”

  Franny hurried toward the door but detoured to her bedroom on the second floor. She removed the shotgun from the gun case, made sure both barrels were loaded and made it out of the house undetected.

  She loaded the carriage of the ATV with fence-repair supplies and equipment, and then headed down the drive. She reached the highway without finding any fence down in the northern pasture. The fencing on the southern side was trickier to see since it was twenty or more feet back in the trees.

  Franny drove slowly back up the drive, peering into the trees. She was going to have to search the rest of the ranch yard to find the breach.

  She slowed as she rounded a hairpin turn.

  That’s when the bull struck.

  He leaped out of the overgrown brush in the ditch and T-boned the ATV, knocking it over. Luckily, he hit the back end. Luckily, Franny jumped clear. But she did so without finesse.

  Her hat flew off and she skidded and tumbled a few feet on the road. Gravel bit into her skin and jabbed through denim.

  The bull trotted away and half turned, staring her down as she got to her feet. He was a king among bulls. Truly humongous. His cold eyes said he’d fought his way to the top of the herd by trampling anything that got in his path. Like Kyle.

  The fight seeped out of her.

  He was a king, and she was...

  No big deal. No big deal. No big deal.

  That kind of thinking had gotten Kyle killed.

  Franny’s life flashed before her eyes, just not how she’d expected. The false freedom she’d felt as a kid, riding her family’s spread on Sunny, her bright palomino. Her ranch made safe because Dad kept only tame stock and invested time and money in quality cutting horses.

  Dad’s insistence that she learn how to take care of tasks on a ranch and herself.

  Kyle’s insistence that he take care of her. That he shield her from the danger of the Bucking Bull. The regular spots where the fencing went down. The regular presence of straggler bulls in spring. At least stragglers had been regular until Kyle died and Zeke came on board and the fences became harder to breach. Until the bull in front of her matured and the fire had limited his range or his harem.

  The daddy of all bulls shifted forward and back, growing weary of her standing in place.

  The ATV was still idling, the engine noise as annoying to the bull as the hornets’ nest she’d disturbed last July had been to her.

  Franny was bent down, frozen in fear. But her revelations changed all that. She stood, determined to make it out of this encounter alive.

  Stick to the facts. That was Shane’s voice.

  Fact. Big Daddy Buttercup didn’t like her moving. He aligned himself to her and pawed the gravel. He was a dangerously magnificent beast, who made no bones about wanting to kill her.

  The smiling faces of her sons flickered in her mind’s eye. Then Kyle’s comforting smile. Gertie’s lopsided expression of love. Emily’s scowl right before she launched a lariat. Shane’s gentle touch in her hair.

  If Franny wanted to see any of them again, she had to find cover. Or take aim.

  The ATV was immediately to her left. The shotgun on the ground six feet to her right.

  It’d take both barrels to bring him down. If she was lucky.

  It’d take more than barbed wire to hold him. If she was lucky enough to fence him in.

  Franny couldn’t afford to be lucky. She had to be smart.

  She gripped the cargo cage and the footrest and gave the ATV a big heave. The daily grind of tossing hay bales combined with the adrenaline rush of fear had her shoving the ATV upright.

  Big Daddy Buttercup bore down on her barricade. He rammed the front end with no finesse, pushing Franny and her machine backward in a screech of metal. One of his horns tangled in the handlebars as he reached for her. Time slowed. His breath was hot and angry. His eyes wild, but oddly familiar. The eyes of a bull in the chute, trapped, but waiting for his chance, knowing it would come.


  He huffed and retreated, dragging the ATV back a few feet—dragging her back across the gravel on her knees. When that didn’t free him, he bucked. Spun, breaking his horn free. He trotted back to the bend in the road and glared at her.

  Heart pounding, Franny hid behind the ATV. She tugged her cell phone out of her pocket but was struck with a dilemma: whom to call.

  Emily was a twenty-minute drive away. No one at the house could help her. She didn’t have Shane’s number.

  She tried not to recall Kyle’s broken body, his trampled face. But she couldn’t unsee, just as she couldn’t survive this onslaught for twenty minutes.

  Big Daddy Buttercup stomped his feet and gave her a coldhearted stare, most likely calculating the situation and the odds.

  Her ears buzzed. Or maybe the ATV idle increased. Or...

  That was a car engine.

  Franny’s hopes lifted.

  Someone was coming up the drive.

  Big Daddy Buttercup lifted his head and sniffed the air, then turned to face this new threat.

  A big black SUV came into view and accelerated up the hill.

  “Shane!” She hadn’t realized she’d shouted his name until the bull swung his head around to look at her.

  Shane blew his horn.

  Big Daddy Buttercup may have realized the odds had shifted in her favor. He trotted off into the trees.

  Franny collapsed behind the ATV, holding onto one handlebar and the cargo cage. Her body ached and stung. She was shaking, but alive. Alive.

  “Franny.” Shane hopped out of his vehicle. “Are you okay?” He was by her side in what seemed like an instant, hauling her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her.

  What had they fought about yesterday?

  She couldn’t remember, not when he was raining kisses on her face and confessing how scared he’d been.

  “How did you know?” Franny asked, immediately feeling silly, because he had no way of knowing she was in trouble. “Why did you come?”

  “Emily mentioned something to me about a bull and I just knew you wouldn’t wait for reinforcements to get out here.”

  He didn’t let go for her to answer, and in that moment, Franny realized she loved him. Not only did he know what she’d do, but he’d also known what she needed. He didn’t lecture. He held on. Not protectively, as Kyle had done, but with equality. It didn’t matter that he had lots of money and she had next to none. It didn’t matter that she had a lifetime of knowledge in ranching and he had next to none. His embrace wasn’t there to lock her behind doors and cattle guards. His embrace was supportive, helping her to stand on her own two feet, ready to shore her up if need be. And she loved him for it.