“Did she mention sprucing up the house to put the ranch on the market?” Bowen asked just as their granddad appeared on the porch.
They all waved.
“Yeah.”
“So what was the text from hell?” Bodhi never let anything go, but Beck wasn’t sharing his trouble. If there was trouble. And definitely not to Bodhi, who had predicted problems today.
Never give a man ammunition to shoot when you’ve already shot yourself in the foot.
But what had he done?
Sure, it had been hella awkward with Jerry for a few moments today in the winner’s circle, but Ash had been far away. Yes, he should have attended the wedding. But he couldn’t afford missing any events. He’d dropped in points this year, but Bodhi and Bowen were on fire.
“Must be bad if you’re ignoring me.” Bodhi followed him as he unlocked his trailer doors.
“I’m not. Just got work to do and want to see Granddad.”
“And I’m supposed to just ignore the fact that Ash isn’t with you?”
“Yup.” He hopped in his trailer.
Bodhi stared up at him speculatively and then began humming under his breath, something he should obviously recognize since Bodhi smirked.
“Going to…”
“Leave it until Grey’s tonight.” Bowen slapped his work gloves against Bodhi’s face, interrupting the song as Granddad approached.
“Yes, Dad.” Bodhi grinned and then turned to Granddad for a full-on embrace—no one-armed side hug and back or shoulder slap for Bodhi.
Maybe that’s why women loved him.
Everyone did.
Loved and admired and indulged.
The social part, the celebrity part, had always been harder for Beck. He tried to emulate Bodhi. Fell short. But got back up and tried again. Ash always made social situations easy. She was so quick to smile and engage and encourage everyone. She oozed peace and concern. Entering that high school music room after seeing the most beautiful girl in the world through the window singing was still hands down the smartest thing he’d ever done.
He’d seen her and known she was the one. Part of his future. Half his life now. And nothing that had happened in the intervening years had sown one seed of doubt.
So why was he so unsettled? And why was something that had always been so easy suddenly so hard?
While they took care of their horses and put them in stalls, they chatted with Granddad about the ranch, the rodeo, the usual things. It was all so normal—no mention of the moms’ visit or possibly selling—but Beck felt darn near to crawling out of his skin with stress. He’d texted Ashni, wanting to meet up tonight—just them—a sacrilege since Sunday night was always dinner at the ranch, Ashni cooking Granddad’s favorite, chicken tikka masala, and then a beer at Grey’s with a round of pool. Maybe a bit of dancing and then home.
He’d asked if he could pick her up so they could take a drive or go out to dinner. No answer.
“Something smells good.” Bowen sniffed appreciatively as they all stepped into the mudroom and toed off their boots, lining them up like they always did.
“Your favorite, Granddad,” Beck burst out, recognizing the savory scent, and the relief that poured through him weakened his knees so that he stumbled over a splinter in the floor.
He hopped and pulled it out. Refinishing the floors was on the to-do list this week or next, although with the moms here that might be impossible. He tried to stroll into the kitchen slightly less eager than he’d been, but he needn’t have bothered. Ash wasn’t here.
“Where’s Ash?” he asked looking around.
“She and that cute little gal married to Kane Wilder and a couple of her sisters-in-law came over a few hours ago with bags of groceries. Ashni gave a master class in cooking her chicken tikka masala, veggie biryani, chana, and then Bodhi’s favorite saag. Oh, and they made a stack of chapatis as long as my arm. All the gals were rolling them out, messing them up and laughing and talking a mile every minute.”
Granddad lifted the lid on one pot, and the fragrance was mouthwatering.
“I sat right there and watched it all. Drank a beer, ate a couple of chapatis as their official taste tester. Had a good time. The house was alive.”
He looked at Beck. “Even though she’s busy this week, she didn’t want me to miss out on my favorite meal. Sweet girl. Keeper.”
Of course he was keeping her. “Busy?”
“How could you forget between winning and giving away the art horse and now?” Bodhi demanded.
“Huh?”
“She’s teaching an art class this week at Harry’s House,” both Granddad and Bodhi said at the same time.
“Storytelling through art,” Bowen added. “The kids have one wall in the teen room to create a mural.”
Awareness shot through Beck and he all but slapped his forehead. He knew that. She’d been working on plans for it for over a month now. She’d been so excited that he’d felt guilty that she hadn’t had the chance to teach before. And then the awkwardness between them, and the missed wedding, Jerry, a crap ride, his mom’s visit and bombshell.
“Slipped my mind,” he muttered when all three of them stared at him like he was slightly deranged. “Momentarily.”
So that was why he’d wanted the plush. To celebrate her opportunity and accomplishment. His subconscious had been trying to nudge the rest of him to wake up and pay attention.
“Let’s eat,” Bowen said.
“Then you can try to climb out of the doghouse,” Bodhi added.
“She seemed real happy,” Granddad said, oblivious to his tension. “She had this tattoo thing all over her hands. Not permanent, but it will last a few weeks. Said it was from the wedding party. Looked real pretty.”
“Mehndi,” Beck said, feeling hollow.
“That was it,” Granddad said. “Showed me some pictures. Real fancy getups the girls wear. So much gold they glitter like Christmas trees. Men too. Colors so bright they hurt your eyes. Beer?”
They washed their hands. Beck got the beer. Bowen set the table and Bodhi poured the water. It was all so familiar—the kitchen, the routine, the meal, and yet utterly foreign because Ash wasn’t here.
And all the light and warmth had been sucked from the room because she was gone. They dished up straight from the stove and sat down at the farmhouse table that had been built by Granddad’s daddy.
Beck sat down next to his grandfather. His chicken and biryani cooled while the conversation swirled around him, Bodhi holding court, Granddad catching them up on the ranch and the news of Marietta. He had no idea how his granddad had time to work since he seemed to be heading into town several times a week to meet his cronies at the Java Café, and then there were his poker nights. He even mentioned a history and biography book club at the library for seniors.
“You’re really drinking lattes?” he roused himself to demand.
“Some young trendy barista home from college made me something called a caramel macchiato. Couldn’t believe it, but she’s Daniel’s granddaughter so I couldn’t say no. Now it’s my go-to drink.”
All three of them stared at their granddad, who tore off another hunk of chapati and chewed it thoughtfully. “I think I finally found a vice,” he confessed.
Beck’s fork clattered on the table.
“You’re messing with us,” Bodhi declared.
“Thought we could go out for a coffee after chores one morning this week,” Granddad said, looking at all three of them. “You can treat,” he said pointing at Beck, “and explain what fool thing you did to upset Ashni.” His granddad had finally invited the elephant in the room into the conversation.
Beck winced, opened his mouth to defend himself, and at his granddad’s glare, closed it again.
“Bowen will think of a plan to fix it, and you—” he smiled at Bodhi “—can think of a way to entertain my three daughters and keep them out of my hair and in yours instead.”
“No thanks,” Bodhi said, pushing his chair
back to saunter to the stove to fix a plate of seconds. “I don’t even know why they’re coming. Especially during the rodeo. The moms are allergic to all things ranch, and my mama hasn’t seen me ride a bull or rope since my junior rodeo days. Said it made her feel faint and doubt my sanity.”
“Heck, me too.” Granddad laughed. “But I do like to watch you boys test fate and wrestle the beasts. Does the Ballantyne name proud.”
Bodhi sat back down again and dug into his food.
“I’ll miss all that.” Granddad’s deep rumble of a voice was almost an afterthought as he soaked up the last of his chicken masala with his last remaining chapati.
They’d already eaten through a third of the stack in one meal.
“We’re still competing in the rodeo, Granddad,” Bodhi said.
Silence met that statement.
“The moms are going to help with the Ballantyne Bash this year,” Beck said into the awkward silence.
“They’re probably a little nostalgic and wanting to have a last glimpse at their childhood home.”
All three Ballantyne cousins paused mid bite following their granddad’s statement. A large chunk of flavorful chicken freshly balanced on Bodhi’s fork splatted back on his plate.
Granddad took another hearty bite of chicken and chewed thoughtfully. “Feeling the same way myself.”
Beck forced himself to swallow. “Granddad, what’s got you feeling nostalgic?” he asked cautiously. He wasn’t actually falling in with the moms’ plans, was he? An old folks’ home? Assisted living? A condo? He doubted his granddad had even seen a condo.
“Well, you know—” he looked at them each in the eyes “—I’m not getting any younger.”
With his wiry build, booming voice, full head of thick, salt-and-pepper hair that grew back from his strong, square, high forehead, and his dark brows that framed piecing blue eyes shining with command and life, Ben Ballantyne looked full of life and vigor.
“You all got your lives and dreams. My girls are all settled in Denver. None of you seem intent on settling down anytime soon. The legacy a ranch offers can be a gift or a burden. For me it’s been both. Thought I’d try something new while I still can,” he announced. “I’m thinking about selling the ranch.”
Chapter Three
“He’s messing with us.” Beck leaned against the battered bar of Marietta’s iconic Grey’s Saloon and took the bottle of beer Bowen handed him. He’d been hit from all sides and was ready to swing—metaphorically—at anything.
“Definitely having a go with us,” Bodhi said, but his voice that always rang with certainty had hollowed out.
Bowen palmed his beer with both hands as if in prayer. He looked down at the bottle. Usually, Granddad came out with them to Grey’s for their Sunday night ritual their first night back.
Tonight, after his announcement, he’d waved them off, settled into his recliner, and put on a baseball game.
“I’m not sure,” Bowen finally said.
“Maybe he needs the money. I mean, if he wanted to do something else with his life—” Beck spoke the words slowly because they felt like a foreign language in his mouth “—he’d need cash. He’s land rich, not cash rich. It’s his ranch to sell. The moms don’t want it.”
“Any of us would help him,” Bodhi said. “We’ve all got plenty saved.”
“But he wouldn’t let us,” Bowen said.
“You think the moms finally wore him down?” Beck asked.
His voice was so loaded with bitterness, it was shocking it didn’t take a physical presence and sit down next to him.
“Can’t imagine him caving to their constant demands. I never will,” Bodhi vowed. “My mom is still yakking about me bringing home some smart, sweet girl and starting to churn out the kids. As if. Hand to God, that will never, ever happen.” Bodhi held his right hand high and then, as if to punctuate his promise, he did a little trick with his thumb that Beck had never been able to master and flipped off his bottle cap, caught it, and spun it into the trash can right near the elbow of Jason Grey, the owner of the family-run bar.
He tipped his beer in Jason’s irritated direction and drank deep. Grey’s Saloon was an institution in Marietta. It had been the first building in town, a saloon that still had the balcony where, in the 1800s, the soiled doves had walked and watched and tempted the copper miners and cowboys and gamblers to spend their hard-earned cash. The Greys had always owned the saloon, only now it was one of the more respectable bars in town.
“Never say never,” Bowen softly said, still not looking up from his beer.
“Never! Ever! Marriage is a beast that will claw out your innards,” Bodhi called out. “Right, Jason?”
Jason, whose wife had left him and his daughters years ago and never come back, turned away, disgruntled as ever, and continued to make the Grey’s Saloon signature pink cocktail for a boisterous table filled with young and attractive—in a high-maintenance style—women, who clearly seemed to be celebrating something. Likely bridal, judging from the askew veil one of them wore.
“That’s a little harsh,” Beck objected almost automatically, defending Ashni, girlfriends, and relationships everywhere.
“Right,” Bodhi tipped his beer in his direction. “Don’t see a ring on your finger.”
Beck recoiled. What was wrong with everyone today?
“If my mom wanted me to marry, she shouldn’t have ridden my ass so hard growing up with her litany of ‘where you going, what are you doing, who are you with, when will you be home?’” Bodhi did an uncanny imitation of his mother. “Up in my business every second. Trying to dig into my head like it was a cheeseball at a Christmas party. Always going on about my feelings. Making me take drug tests for no reason except her own paranoia. I’m an athlete, not a stoner. If I tried to close my bedroom door, she freaked out probably thinking I was going to be like my father and off myself. So no. Never, ever giving any woman a chance to run me to the ground and stand on my back with a stiletto digging into my spine.”
Wanna bet? was on the tip of Beck’s tongue—a reflex. And from the glint in Bowen’s eyes, he was thinking the same thing. Bets and challenges and one-upping each other. It was their thing. But tonight he kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t feeling any of their usual camaraderie.
The day had utterly sucked. Jerry’s stunt. Blowing a lead. His mom’s call. Ashni texting that she was going to stay in town. Not taking his calls. Then his granddad’s casual announcement that he was thinking of selling the ranch. His world just felt imploded.
Marietta was his happy place. Their happy place. What were they going to do if it was gone?
Uncharacteristically, Bodhi swore and took another deep swallow of his beer.
We’re all off. Trying not to show it.
Two booths, crammed with women dressed for a serious night out, all watched them avidly.
Bit like being on stage. Or in a zoo. Beck was uncomfortable. He’d had his fair share of female attention over the years. But it was Bodhi who was movie-star handsome, like Brad Pitt when he’d first jumped into films. Bodhi had some sort of magic magnetic charisma that radiated off him. When he entered a room, women noticed. And they didn’t look or walk away.
Beck had always lived a little vicariously through the attention Bodhi received and effortlessly wielded.
Bowen had the silent brooding down that women always wanted to peel back. Beck had never understood how Bowen could pick up a woman without saying much.
Tonight, though, it seemed like none of them wanted female attention. They needed to figure out a way to save their granddad from their moms’ endless scheming. Beck just couldn’t believe that the man who had practically raised them every summer and holiday to be stewards of the land would walk away from his home, his history, his legacy.
And he had to make things right with Ash.
Without thinking, he pulled out his phone.
Nothing.
“Take a night off,” Bodhi growled. “For once in your li
fe. She’s given you a gift. Unwrap it.” Bodhi indicated the display of bridesmaids. “Slip your leash.”
Beck ignored him.
“Pick one. I’ll help.” Bodhi smiled and made eye contact with each woman before draining his beer.
“Hell no,” Beck said and turned to Bowen. “Going out tonight was a bad idea.”
“Gives us a place to talk if someone can keep his jeans zipped for twenty minutes,” Bowen said. “We need a plan.”
“I was just trying to help Beck up his game.” Bodhi plunked his empty on the counter and indicated to the scowling Jason that they wanted another round, although Bowen had yet to open his first beer.
“Let me get this straight, you both are going with the theory that the old man’s pulling our chain?” Bodhi demanded. “That this is some kind of game to him?”
“It’s possible,” Bowen mused.
Beck’s tension cranked because Bowen was the most levelheaded, analytical person he knew. If he was worried, it was time to worry.
“So, if it’s a game…” Bodhi swung around to face the room and his arms stretched like wings along the bar. His lazy sprawl was definitely noted. The women in the two booths all turned as one and stared. Several preened.
Beck nearly swore. The last thing they needed tonight of all nights when Beck felt like he was crawling out of his skin was Bodhi hip-deep in flirt.
“Let’s play a little game with him.” Bodhi took the three beers Jason had plunked down loudly, popped off the tops, and handed them out. “Drink up,” he advised, his eyes—so like their grandfather’s piercing blue with a darker navy ring around the iris that was startling and a little unnerving—glinted with purpose. “I’ve thought of a fun game we could play.”
Bowen finally took a swig of his beer. “We need a plan, not a game.”
“We’re Ballantynes. We make a game of everything. Hell—” Bodhi took another deep pull “—Granddad taught us how to compete practically out of our mothers’ wombs.”
The Cowboy Says I Do Page 4
