Their Other Mother

by Janis Reams Hudson

  She was good at her job, and loved the independence that working on the Internet allowed her. Give her a modem and she could work anywhere. Even, she thought, looking out at the endless expanse of rolling land dotted with sagebrush, the wilds of Wyoming.

  She remembered with humor her own naivete about the size of the ranch when she’d first learned that Cathy was marrying a rancher and moving to Wyoming. “Big” was how Cathy had described it.

  Knowing nothing about ranches and caring even less, Belinda had figured maybe a square mile. Or, just to be generous—not to mention ridiculous—maybe, if the ranch were in the shape of a square, it might be two miles by two miles. Four square miles. Which sounded outrageous. No ranch would be that big.

  Then she’d paid her first visit, about six months after Cathy and Ace were married. Shock was the only word to describe what she’d felt upon learning that the Flying Ace Ranch actually encompassed roughly thirty thousand deeded acres, more than forty-six square miles. And that wasn’t counting the grazing land up in the mountains, leased from the U.S. Forest Service.

  Forty-six square miles. Unbelievable that any one man—or family, in this case—could own that much land.

  Who else would want it? Then she’d seen it—sagebrush as far as the eye could see—and she thought, Why shouldn’t one family own it all?

  But it grew on you, so to speak, that sagebrush. Seeped into a person’s senses with its pungent smell, its soft gray-green color, its strength and persistence even in the face of drought, and stayed there. Thriving, it seemed.

  There was more than sagebrush here, though, she’d learned during her subsequent visits. There was grass out there on that deceptively flat-looking range, sparse, but good feed for cattle. There were ravines and gullies, dry most of the time, but sometimes funneling a wall of water down on the unwary during heavy rain. There were ice-cold streams of snowmelt tumbling down out of the Wyoming Mountains to the west, joining up with those that ran from the Wind River Range to the northeast, all of them, sooner or later, emptying into the Green River.

  There were thick stands of cottonwoods and willows along the streams where, in the early spring, moose went to calve. Small herds of antelope mixed themselves in with the cattle now and then, and elk tore down the fences every chance they got.

  At first Belinda had been baffled by Cathy’s casual acceptance of the isolation. After all, it was two miles of dirt road just to get from the house to the ranch gate, then another thirteen to the nearest pavement. From there it was thirty-two miles of two-lane blacktop to town.

  Town. Big whoopee. The town of Hope Springs—the only town in Wyatt County—boasted a scant twenty-two hundred citizens. The entire county wasn’t much more than that, either. Imagine, an entire county with only thirty-five hundred people, while the cattle, she was told, usually numbered around forty thousand.

  There’d been more than thirty-five hundred people in her high school, Belinda thought.

  But each time she had come to visit over the years, she had grown to appreciate this least-populated area of the country. After the smog and clog of Denver, it was a nice change. The air here was so clean it practically crackled, and it was quiet, if you didn’t count the cattle, the coyotes, the crickets and frogs.

  Then there was the sky, so vivid and blue that it hurt the eyes. That wide Wyoming sky that went on forever and ever, until, in the west, it gave way to rocky, jagged mountaintops.

  She sat looking out at that sky, at the Jagged, snow-covered peaks, the rugged rangeland, at the three young boys tumbling over each other, giggling, chasing the dog then running from him, and set her work aside. This was too good a day to miss.

  Behind her, around her, she felt the house, tall and sturdy, with fresh white paint and deep-green shutters. Built by King Wilder, left to his children, who would undoubtedly leave it to their children.

  The rest of the ranch—the land, barns, sheds, stables, indoor arena, the maze of corrals, crops, equipment, even the occasional oil or gas well dotting the range in the distance—all of it stood silent testament to a family’s persistence through the generations.

  But in addition to the Flying Ace and all it entailed, King Wilder had passed to his children his black hair and blue eyes and a love of the land—of this land—and of ranching. They were all here, Ace, Jack, Trey. Rachel might be away at college, but she would be coming back and opening her veterinary practice in Hope Springs. She would probably live here on the ranch. It was her home.

  Belinda considered the house where she had grown up to be her home. Her parents had made it that way. But the house had been built for them; there was no history there. That was the difference.

  History. Tradition. There was a lot of tradition in ranching. It was something Belinda rarely thought about, being usually caught up in the new, the latest technology. But here on the Flying Ace she could feel the tradition. She pictured in her mind the family cemetery up on the hill to the west, where Cathy was buried alongside her children’s Wilder ancestors. And somewhere Ace was out there, probably on horseback, herding cattle the way his great-grandfather had. Then there were his sons, who would most likely do the same one day soon. The carrying on, the handing down. If it had seemed stifling to her, now there was also an odd comfort to it that she’d never thought of before.

  The day sped by faster than she would have expected. She’d set her work aside and rolled on the grass with the boys, followed them to the chicken house and helped them gather eggs, and fed them lunch. While they were down for a nap, she remembered the laundry and went to the basement and threw the load into the dryer, then back up to her room to put in some serious time on the computer while the boys slept.

  All in all, a full day, she thought, as she put two chuck roasts into the oven for supper.

  If she watched the clock a little too often and wondered when the men would be back, it was only because she wanted to time the meal to be ready on time. That was all.

  Terrific. Now he had her lying to herself.

  She had to get out of here. As much as she loved her nephews, she had to get off this ranch and away from Ace Wilder.

  “So what’s the word, Jack?”

  Jack took his time savoring his first bite of roast beef. Although Ace directed the question at him, older brother’s eyes were locked on to Belinda like a hawk on prey.

  So that’s the way the wind was blowing, Jack thought with a small smile. Yes, sir, it was going to get real interesting around this place, it surely was.

  When Jack merely stared at his plate and didn’t answer, Ace realized he himself was staring at Belinda, watching her avoid meeting his gaze. Realizing it, he looked over at Jack. “Well?”

  “The word,” Jack said, “is fair. Still some snow in the pass. We could move the herd up there now if we had to. Snow’s melted back to the tree line in the valley, and the grass up there looks good. But it’d be better if we waited another week or ten days.”

  “All right.” Ace looked down at his plate. The roast was so tender it fell apart at a touch of his fork. “We’ll start gathering the herd the end of next week. You get that fence fixed?” he asked Trey.

  “Nah,” Trey said lazily, leaning back in his chair. “I thought it looked good down. We’ve got too many cattle, anyway.”

  Jason, the only one of the boys listening, giggled.

  “All right,” Ace conceded. “Stupid question.” He turned to his sons. “What did you boys do today? Grant, you’re supposed to eat the carrots, not throw them at Clay.”

  Belinda watched as Ace listened to his sons regaling him with their day. He was a good father, she admitted, the way he showed genuine interest in each of them, paid attention to what they said, asked them questions and got them to eat cooked carrots.

  She wasn’t surprised, of course. She’d seen him with his sons from the day each of them had been born. She’d known him for ten years, had seen him as a good father, a loving husband, a smart, dedicated rancher.

  So wh
y did she suddenly feel as if she didn’t know him at all? Why did the sight of him fresh from the shower as he’d come to the table have her wanting to take a towel to his hair to finish drying it for him? Why couldn’t she meet his gaze when he looked at her?

  Why the hell was he looking at her, anyway?

  This wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

  After supper the other men left for the night, and Ace spent time with the boys while she cleaned up the kitchen. It wasn’t until after bath time and their last half hour of television that Ace put them to bed, grabbed himself a beer from the refrigerator and made his way to his office.

  That’s when she braced herself and cornered him. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  Ace looked up from the pile of mail on his desk to find her standing in the doorway of his office. Dammit, he’d come in here to get away from her.

  To hide, you coward.

  All right, to hide.

  “What about?” he asked, cursing the hoarseness in his voice. Hoarseness brought on by the sudden kick to his libido.

  “I’d like to know what you’re doing about finding a housekeeper.”

  “Tired of the job already?”

  Ignoring his question, she crossed to the chair before his desk and sat down. “Do you have an ad in the paper?”

  “In the county paper, yeah. I’ve had one in for two weeks.”

  “Any response?”

  “Nothing that worked out.”

  “You have a copy of this ad?”

  “Sure.” He picked up the Wyatt County Gazette from the corner of his desk and handed it to her. It was folded open to the classifieds.

  Belinda read the ad and shook her head. “Obviously this isn’t working.”

  “You can do better?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.” Definitely, since advertising was her specialty. “Tell me what kind of person you’re looking for. I’ll see what I can do with it.”

  Ace leaned back in his chair. “I want a woman—”

  “Do you, now?”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  He ground his teeth together. “I want a woman—”

  “Why a woman? Why not a man? Maybe an older man, grandfather type.”

  Ace shook his head. “We’ve got plenty of men around here already, and Stoney’s almost as much of a grandfather to the boys as your dad is. They need the care of a woman. Someone to balance things out for them, teach them the softer side of life, if you will.”

  “A man can’t do that?”

  “You want me to hire a man?”

  “I’m just asking. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “My boys need to hear a softer voice, feel a softer touch, a smooth hand now and then,” he said, looking down at his hands. “Instead of one rough with calluses. They won’t have any trouble learning the harder side of life out here. But they need to know about the softer side, too. I want a woman to teach them that.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re after a mother for them, not a housekeeper.”

  “They have a mother,” he said tightly.

  Belinda glanced down at her lap and picked at the ragged edge of her thumbnail. “Had, Ace. Had.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “Right. But if I ever decide to find them a new one, I won’t be doing it through an ad in the paper. What I need right now is a housekeeper.”

  “I have an idea I’d like you to consider.”

  Leery, he dropped his hand to the desk. “What?”

  “While you look for this housekeeper, why don’t I take the boys back to Colorado with me? That would free up some of your time and—”

  “No.”

  “—you wouldn’t have to worry about them.”

  “Not only no, but hell, no. My boys stay here, with me.”

  “It was just a thought.” And a desperate one, she acknowledged.

  “Only one full day and you’re ready to hightail it back to the big city, huh?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then why did you bring it up? You knew what I’d say.”

  “I just thought it might make things easier on you.”

  “Bull.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Make things easier on me, my foot. There’s not an altruistic, or even cooperative, bone in your body and we both know it. You just want out of here.”

  Her eyes narrowed to steel-gray slits. “I’ll stick, cowboy, but you better find somebody, and fast. You’re fresh out of Aunt Marys who’ll come in and save your butt this time around.”

  “What the hell do you expect me to do? Hang the boys from a hook on the wall because I can’t find anybody to hire?”

  Belinda closed her eyes and took in a deep breath for patience. Then she took a second. And a third. “Look. I love those boys, every single one of them. I wouldn’t for my life wish any of them hadn’t been born. But dammit, Ace, what were you trying to do, populate the world? Prove what a stud you are? Why did you need three children? Weren’t two enough? Especially after the warnings with the second? The third time around killed my sister. Since the only person around here responsible for that is you, you better start figuring a way out of this latest mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  If she had picked up his letter opener and stabbed him in the heart, it might have hurt less. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I? My sister is dead, and those three little boys are without a mother. I hold you personally responsible. Now do something about it, damn you.”

  “You listen to me—”

  “No.” Belinda held up a hand to cut him off. “I’ve already said more than I should. If you say what you’re thinking, I’m liable to say something back that will make it impossible for the two of us to share the same house. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you cart those boys off to some day care somewhere just so you and I don’t have to look at each other.”

  “If I was willing to cart them off to some day care somewhere, we wou/dn’t be looking at each other. But don’t you ever—” he jabbed a finger in her face “—bring up my marriage to your sister again. What passed between us was private and none of your damn business. I don’t care how much she may have told you about us, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, so just shut up.”

  “You want me to shut up? I’ll shut up. But you get somebody out here, and you get them out here fast. And in the meantime,” she added hotly, “keep your damn hands to yourself. Don’t touch me again like you did last night when I was asleep.”

  When Ace heard her feet pounding up the stairs, he looked down at his hands and saw them shaking.

  Damn her. Damn them both.

  Damn all three of them. Belinda, him, and Cathy.

  He set his beer aside and went in search of something stronger.

  Chapter Four

  Neither Ace nor Belinda slept that night.

  Ace was too full of fury. Of self-blame and painful memories.

  Those same feelings kept Belinda awake, also. Some of her fury was self-directed; she shouldn’t have said anything to Ace about Cathy and babies. There was no point in it. Yes, she blamed him, felt him responsible for Cathy’s death, but whatever he’d done, she knew he hadn’t done it to kill his wife.

  God, why was life so damn complicated and confusing? And painful?

  The men’s work kept them around the headquarters the next day. After the boys were up and had eaten, Ace took them with him to the equipment shed so they could “help” him work on one of the rigs. He needed them with him, after last night’s dredging up of the past. Needed to feel close to them. Needed to hold Grant, especially, to make sure his youngest son knew how much he was loved and wanted.

  The rest of the men loved having the boys around. They were constantly stopping work to wander over and offer advice to Ace, slip candy to the boys. Tell tall tales.

  After lunch Ace told the boys they would have to stay a
t the house with Belinda for the rest of the day. To give Belinda credit, she did not take it personally when they complained. Instead, she apparently recognized that they were still wound up from their morning with the men and suggested they go outside and play catch.

  “I’ll come out there with you as soon as I get the kitchen cleaned up,” she promised.

  As Ace started to follow the boys and the other men out the door, Belinda’s voice stopped him.

  “Ace, about last night.”

  “Don’t.”

  “You were right,” she said. “Whatever happened between you and Cathy is none of my business. But she was my sister, Ace, and I loved her.”

  “I know that.” He paused, swallowed. “I loved her, too, Belinda.” They stared at each other for a long moment, each feeling the loss of the woman who was no longer there. Each wondering where to go from here. “I loved her, too,” he said again.

  With Belinda’s apology of sorts, Ace held hopes that the rest of the day would go as well as those two incidents.

  It didn’t.

  He rode out to check on the herd in the south range and found a calf stuck in a bog along the creek. By the time he’d roped the calf and pulled him out, he and the animal both were covered in thick mud up to their necks.

  By the time he made it back to the barn, the mud had dried all over him. Trey, who’d been washing his rig, decided to help him out by hosing him down.

  Then a stallion in the stallion barn decided to kick his stall door into splinters, and that had to be replaced right then. Afterward, the neighbor to the north called to report that a herd of elk had just taken down another section of Flying Ace fence. Terrific, Ace thought.

  At least supper went off without a hitch. Afterward, Ace made it through bath time and TV with the boys. Thank God for the boys. They kept him grounded, even when the little devils were driving him insane. How were parents supposed to answer all those questions, meet all those youthful expectations?