“All of them did well, but Shane did better than any of them.” Grace fairly glowed with pride. “He worked for Bud all through high school. His brothers went into rodeo, but Bud talked Shane into getting an education, and he went to the University of Wyoming and majored in agriculture. That man knows ranching from experience and from book learning.” She reached over and patted Lindsey’s leg, as if to drive home her point. “We’re lucky to have him, and don’t you forget it.”
“And the little boy?”
Grace sighed. “Shane got his girlfriend pregnant in high school.” She lifted a hand in a “halt” gesture. “Now, don’t say that shows he was bad. Most kids experiment with sex in high school these days. He just got caught.”
“Who was the mother?”
“Tara O’Dell. Prettiest girl in Wynott.” Grace sighed. “A lot of folks say she did it on purpose, but I don’t think so. She was one of those queen bee girls. Head cheerleader, homecoming queen, and mean as a snake. You know the type.”
Funny, Shane didn’t seem like the type to attract a woman like that. A foster kid? Working on somebody else’s ranch after school while everybody else was out having fun? That would never suit a queen bee.
“So did he marry her?”
“He would have, but Tara took the baby and left town.”
“Most guys would be relieved.”
“Not Shane. He loved that little boy before he was even born. He and Bud had long talks about being a dad. But she took off and married some other man, so he didn’t know her last name anymore. He spent every break from school traveling around, town to town, looking for Cody.”
Popping the last bite of her cookie into her mouth, Lindsey turned and squirted Windex on a soft cloth so Grace wouldn’t see her eyes tearing up. The thought of Shane as a boy of eighteen searching for his lost son did something to her heart.
“So is Cody just back for the summer?” Lindsey didn’t know why that thought made her heart sink. Maybe it was the thought of that adorable child being turned over to the kind of mother who would hide him from a father who loved him. Or maybe it was just the way Shane loved the boy. Lindsey hated to think the child might be taken away.
“It’s forever, far as we can tell. She turned up in some fancy car and dropped the boy off.”
“You mean she just left him?”
“That’s right.” Grace scowled, something so rare it was a little scary. “Cody was asleep when she dropped him off. He woke up in a strange house, with a father he’d never met and his mother gone for good.”
Lindsey’s mind filled with images of Shane with Cody—squatting down to talk to him man-to-man, standing at the funeral with his hands on the boy’s thin shoulders, and watching him ride, his eyes alight with pride. Even as her heart squeezed into a fistful of pain for a little lost boy, it swelled at thought of the father he’d found.
“I guess he’s not such a bad guy.”
Grace laughed. “Not so bad at all.”
“And Bud trusted him?”
“Loved him like a son. Still does.”
“Grandma.” Lindsey bit her lower lip, considering how to say what had to be said. It seemed best to be direct. “Granddad’s gone. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” Grace’s fingers spasmed suddenly and the horse she was cleaning leaped into the air. Fortunately, it landed in her lap. She grasped at it quickly, as if trying to cover her nervousness. “Of course I do. But to me, you know, it seems as if he never left. As if he never—you know.”
She picked up the horse with shaking hands and resumed her work, avoiding Lindsey’s concerned gaze.
Finally, Lindsey sighed and resumed her own work, cleaning the delicate limbs and the glass mane and tail of another fragile figurine. She didn’t know if she had more problems now or fewer. She understood Shane could probably be trusted with the ranch’s finances, but she was also starting to realize he was right about Grace’s mental fragility. And the fact that Bud had loved Shane “like a son” might mean he’d expected a lot more out of the will than he’d gotten, which would explain his hostility to Lindsey.
Well, his initial hostility. You couldn’t call a man hostile when he kissed you silly.
“Let Shane help you, dear.” Grace seemed suddenly sharper, her voice stronger. “He knows this place as well as Bud did. If you have doubts, talk them over with him. He’ll give you good advice, and he’ll teach you how to do everything that needs doing, from mending fences to handling the bulls.”
Setting the newly cleaned horse back in place, Lindsey stood and stretched. She felt stiff as an eighty-year-old woman herself. The sun was low in the sky, and she was starting to regret the number of cookies she’d eaten. She also regretted the number of times she’d been rude to Shane Lockhart. She’d lost count of both rudeness and cookies, but she could feel them both, sodden and heavy in the pit of her stomach.
She had a lot of fences to mend, the kind you couldn’t fix with pliers and barbed wire. It was going to take some bitter pills of swallowed pride and a major attitude adjustment to get the job done.
Chapter 22
Lindsey’s first fence-mending opportunity came that night, at dinner. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to speak. She’d quietly eaten her pot roast and occasionally stared at Lockhart, intending to start some kind of conversation.
But a conversation about what? Bud and Grace had always insisted that everyone at the ranch should eat at one table. There were only two young men working for the ranch right now, high school boys with peach fuzz on their cheeks who blushed every time they looked at Lindsey. She didn’t feel right talking about her personal business in front of them.
She felt like blushing too, every time she looked at Shane. She’d been fine during the daytime, but for some reason, she started thinking about that kiss and all it could lead to as soon as the sun went down. Cody was eating with his friend Josh at Phoenix House that night, and without the little boy to ease the tension between them, she didn’t know what to say. She’d made up her mind to show him she’d changed her mind about him, but she needed some kind of opening.
If he had any idea what she was thinking, he sure didn’t show it. He seemed totally intent on his food and barely looked up from his plate.
The young cowboys left for the bunkhouse as soon as their plates were clean. Shane stood to follow them, and Lindsey still couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She figured she’d lost her chance, but then he paused on the doorstep.
“Company’s coming.”
Grace rose and joined him. “Do you know him?”
“Never saw him before in my life.”
Lindsey followed Grace to the door and stood on her tiptoes to peer over Shane’s shoulder. “I don’t see anyone.”
He tugged her roughly in front of him so she could see the darkening drive. His breath, sweet from a dessert of Grace’s homemade cherry pie, tickled her ear, and the pressure of his hands framing her hips made her want him with a sudden, fierce need that almost hurt.
Was he only trying to help her see? Or did he mean to communicate something intimate, almost affectionate? Most of the time, he didn’t seem to even like her, yet there was a rough familiarity in his touch that thrilled her.
His grip on her hips tightened when a pale figure emerged from the darkness. It took Lindsey a while to make sense of the shape, but she finally realized it wasn’t a human visitor but a horse. His head was bowed, his steps slow, as if the Lazy Q Ranch was the end of a long journey. As he neared, Lindsey realized he had no halter, no saddle, nothing at all. His mane was matted, his tail sparse, and his coat bore long, cruel scars.
“Maybe he’s one of Jem Smith’s leavings,” Shane said.
Grace shook her head. “Nope. He had them pastured out by the road the other day, and this one wasn’t there. Some others didn’t look so good though.” She frowned. “I’m going to pay Jem a visit real soon.”
“A stranger, then. Where are we going to put him?”
> “He can double up with Zucchini for now.”
Lindsey had wondered how her grandmother had collected so many horses, but she’d never imagined a scene like this. The horse strolled up the walk to the house and stood by the porch steps, a guest waiting politely for admittance.
“I’ll take care of him.” Shane released Lindsey, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. “You ladies go on and talk.”
Lindsey did her best not to watch the cowboy go, but she couldn’t help noticing the way his T-shirt stretched over his shoulders, worn where it crossed the muscles he’d grown pulling calves and mending fence. Approaching the horse, he rested a hand on the animal’s withers. It flinched, but he spoke softly, and it allowed him to gently steer it toward the barn, stumbling once or twice, as if too exhausted to pick up its hooves.
Shane waited patiently while the animal rested, head low, sides heaving. Even in the dying light, it showed the marks of a whip, liberally applied.
“There’s nothing you can do about those scars,” Lindsey mused. “They’ll never go away.”
“Scars aren’t always a bad thing,” Grace said as they returned to the table. “Sometimes they help you understand the pain of others.” She plucked a match from a box in the center and lit two tapers that stood sentry at each end of the long table. The room came alive with shimmering shadows that shifted with the wavering flames. “Bud and I used to sit like this in the evenings, by candlelight.”
Lindsey rested her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in one hand. “That must have been nice.”
Grace seemed a little anxious, and her slim hands picked at the tablecloth as she stared into the distance. “Sometimes I worry I might forget. People do, you know.” Her eyes took on a faraway haze, and Lindsey’s heart ached for her. “Bud was so romantic. He swept me off my feet most every night.” Suddenly the sparkle returned to her eyes. “Cowboys are like that. I think it’s from working around animals. So much breeding, you know.”
Lindsey fidgeted. Even as a child, she’d sensed that Grace and Bud had been crazy in love.
So why had Bud strayed? And when? Lindsey wanted to believe it was before he met Grace, but William Ward wasn’t much older than her own mother. Whatever had happened, it had happened during their marriage.
She couldn’t bear to think of it. “Tell me about the horse.”
“Just a visiting stranger,” Grace said. “Something seems to call them here.”
“You must have the equine equivalent of a hobo’s mark on your barn door.”
Grace laughed, delighted at the Depression-era reference, but the truth was probably far more sordid. The new arrival had probably been trailered up to the foot of the driveway, then sent on his way with one last lash of the whip.
It touched Lindsey that even with all he’d suffered, the new arrival headed toward a house, toward people who might abuse him as badly as the last. He probably hoped for no more than some food now and then, and not too much beating.
“Whoever he is, he deserves a good retirement,” Grace said. “We’ll make sure he lives out his last years in equine paradise.”
Lindsey’s eyes smarted. If she had to sell the ranch, what would happen to the horses?
Nothing good, that was for sure. Nobody wanted old, useless animals that ate their way through ranch budgets without earning their keep. Would more continue to come, counting on a warm reception, only to be turned away?
Lindsey stared out into the darkness and was startled to meet the hollow gaze of her own reflection. It was hard to face even a shadow of herself knowing she might be the one to end the Lazy Q’s legacy of kindness.
Maybe she could somehow come to terms with William Ward. Maybe they should meet. Maybe, if he knew she wanted to do something truly good with the ranch, he’d withdraw his threat of a lawsuit.
Yeah, right, and that poor, old horse would grow wings and fly. She remembered the way the anti-Bud’s fingers had clutched at the Pendleton buckle. He wouldn’t care what she did with the ranch. He just wanted money.
She cocked her head, struck with a sudden shock of inspiration.
The Pendleton buckle was just one of a half-dozen gold buckles Bud had one over the years, along with fancy saddles, trophies, and other prizes. The cabinet outside his office was filled with memorabilia he’d collected over the years, both from the movies and from his previous career in rodeo. There was a gun safe in Bud’s office that held his collection of old shooting irons from the days of the Wild West, and prop guns from the movies. Plus, the attic was piled with costumes from movies, boxes of screenplays, and old posters.
What were things like that worth? Quite a lot, she thought. They were old, they were rare, and they held memories many people treasured—and collected.
She didn’t want to part with any of it, and certainly Grace wouldn’t want to. But maybe she should send some to be appraised. Grace never went up in the attic, and Lindsey doubted she even thought about all those treasures.
Excitement ticked away in her heart, faster and faster. As the moon rose in the darkening sky, she dared to hope Grace and her horses would be able to watch the sun rise over the Lazy Q every morning for the rest of their lives—however long that might be.
Chapter 23
The Wyoming summer was hot and dry—perfect weather for horseback riding, but not so good for rummaging through dusty boxes in a hot, stuffy attic. Lindsey had to get the job done though. William Ward had given her three months to come up with the sum he’d demanded, and it would take time to have things cleaned, appraised, and sold.
Meanwhile, Grace seemed unusually quiet. Lindsey was worried her grandmother had figured out what she was up to, but maybe she was simply mourning her husband. She didn’t seem to notice how dusty and sweaty Lindsey was when she popped down to the kitchen for an iced tea.
“Join me?” she asked Grace.
“No, thank you, dear.” The old woman headed for Bud’s old office, a Louis L’Amour paperback clutched in one hand. “I need a little time alone with Bud.”
Lindsey was getting used to the way Grace talked about her late husband. As she sifted through the mementos in the attic, he’d come to life for her too, in photographs and rodeo programs, costumes and movie posters. She was tempted over and over to carry some item down to Grace and ask for the story that went with a particular piece, but she had to work in secret. Grace would never allow her to sell her memories unless she knew the truth, and the truth would reveal the secret flaw in her grandmother’s picture-perfect marriage.
Alone, Lindsey sat on the front steps as she had when she was a child. Resting her elbows on the top step, she leaned back, looking up at a sky that went on forever, blue without boundaries. Flat-bottomed clouds billowed up, puffed like fresh popcorn, riding a cold front headed for Montana. The clouds were golden now, but as the sun sank behind the mountains, they’d take on a carnival of colors—pink, purple, and gold.
Closing her eyes, she savored the lingering warmth of the sun. Dry blades of grass whispered the secrets of the wind, and the birds’ daily concert grew choppy and tentative as sparrows and finches winged their way home. The laughter of a child rose over it all, free and infectious.
Cody. Rising impulsively, she picked her way through the screen of cottonwood trees that divided Lockhart’s cabin from the big house.
“Hey, Lindsey! Look!”
Scooping up a tiny brown bundle from the ground, the boy rushed toward her, but his headlong progress was interrupted by a snaking tree root, and he flew into the air, flinging the bundle toward Lindsey before he caught himself and laughed.
Lindsey bobbled the little ball of fur, batting it around a bit before it came to rest in her hands and looked up at her with bright, dancing eyes. The creature let out a happy yip.
“A puppy! Cody, is he yours?”
The boy nodded so hard she worried his head might fall off. “His name is Storm Tempest Rainbow Lockhart.”
“That’s all?” Lindsey tease
d. “Not Storm Tempest Rainbow the Third?”
Cody giggled. “No. He’s not dignified. He’s just a puppy.”
Releasing the puppy and watching it tumble across the ground to Cody, Lindsey thought of Pickles, the old horse the boy had been riding the last time she saw him, and wondered about the child’s definition of animal dignity. Evidently, a horse had it even if it was elderly, paunchy, knock-kneed, and swaybacked.
Then again, Pickles had spent a lifetime as a working ranch horse. He was probably a gold mine of homespun knowledge, if only he knew how to talk, and wasn’t dignity a function of age and wisdom?
Too bad Lindsey couldn’t talk to the horses and let them tell her how to run the ranch. Instead, she’d have to talk to the man who’d just stepped out onto the porch. That wasn’t going to be easy, because just looking at him made her heart pound and her mouth go dry.
She’d seen plenty of so-called cowboys in Charleston when the country music wave had inspired a cowboy craze. Southern-fried rednecks sported Wranglers and cowboy hats, and citified stockbrokers wore pointy-toed boots and prize buckles, but they always looked wrong somehow, as if their clothes didn’t quite fit. Shane Lockhart, on the other hand, looked as if he’d been born in a cowboy hat and boots.
Although that surely would have been hard on his mother.
Wincing at the thought, she called out a cheery hello, but he apparently had nothing to say to her. She might have detected a slight nod, but there was no smile, no wave. Just a hard look from those dark eyes. Obviously, he was still hard on women.
She resisted the urge to stick her nose in the air and out-snooty his snootiness. She’d vowed to mend fences, and it was time to start—not with pliers and wire-pullers, but with a bright smile and a generous dose of flattery. That had always been the key to Rodger’s heart. Maybe it would work with Shane.
“I was wondering if we could talk about the ranch a little.” She did her best to look dim-witted and pretty. “I got to thinking about what you said about selling the cattle, and I think maybe you’re right.” She sighed heavily. “You know so much more about this than I do. I really need help.”
How to Wrangle a Cowboy Page 14
