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Melanie rubbed her ear before taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Please don’t hold that against her. She’s still hurting over her dad’s death and doesn’t trust men very much.”
“But why would she blame me?” Scott spoke gently, trying to be sensitive to their loss. Trying to understand.
“It was an accident. Ben Stimpson warned Aaron to move our sheep, but Aaron wouldn’t listen.”
“Ben Stimpson, the previous ranger?”
Melanie nodded. “I didn’t know until after the accident that Aaron was grazing illegally on the forest. He moved one of our bands of sheep onto the grazing allotment twenty days early and Stimpson told him to move them or he’d have them moved for us. Stimpson said he’d sell them to pay the fine.”
Scott would have done the same, after one fair warning with enough time to move the sheep. “So what happened?”
She shrugged one slim shoulder. “Aaron wasn’t in any shape to move the flock. He… He’d been ill and went out during a thunderstorm.”
From Melanie’s hesitation, Scott couldn’t help wondering if Aaron McAllister had been drunk that night.
“I begged him to wait until the next day when some of our men could have helped, but we couldn’t afford to pay another fine. He was angry and wouldn’t listen to reason. Our herder found him the next morning. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.” Emotion thickened her words and she turned away, brushing at her eyes.
Scott longed to comfort her, but realized now wasn’t the time. Compassion settled in his chest. She’d obviously loved her husband and he couldn’t help wishing someone felt that way about him.
He shifted his weight and leaned against a fence post. “So now Anne blames the forest ranger—any forest ranger—for her dad’s death.”
Melanie’s mouth tightened, her eyes filled with sadness. “Yes. He died from a broken neck. His horse had a broken leg and had to be put down. We figure the animal stumbled or lightning spooked it. We’ll never know for sure.” She sighed heavily. “If Aaron had waited until morning, we would have had to pay a hefty fine…but he’d still be alive.”
“And what about Ben Stimpson?” He hated to push her, but longed to know exactly what the other ranger had done to spook her.
Her spine stiffened. “What about him?”
“Did he fine you for the sheep, even though your husband died trying to move them?”
Angry tears filled her eyes. “He was going to, but that’s when several men wearing ski masks paid him a visit in the middle of the night and threatened him. He and his family left town the next day.”
Something cold clutched at Scott’s heart. He figured Stimpson deserved to be chased out of town, but the thought of masked men coming to his house in the middle of the night and terrorizing Shelley didn’t sit well with him. “Who were the men?”
“I don’t know their identities, but as far as I’m concerned, they were my guardian angels.”
Her voice cracked and so did his heart. Scott sensed that she’d reached deep inside herself to tell him these things. Private feelings she probably hadn’t shared with many people. He wasn’t about to take her admissions lightly.
“I’m sorry, Melanie.” What else could he say? It wasn’t anyone’s fault Aaron died; it just happened. But that didn’t make Scott feel any better about the way Stimpson had treated the McAllisters.
“Anne’s just a child. One day, she’ll understand about her father,” Melanie explained.
Scott had doubts. “Traumatic events can scar children so they never forget. Shelley hasn’t said so, but I sense that she blames me for my divorce from her mom.”
He regretted his failings and wished more than anything that Shelley would forgive him.
Melanie gave a hoarse laugh. “It seems that you’re bearing the brunt of everyone’s blame these days.”
“I guess so.” He chuckled, the sound low and rumbly. Inside, he ached with regret.
“I didn’t mean to unload on you,” she confessed. “You’re the last person I should confide in.”
And yet, she had. Somehow it made him feel close to her, and he’d sworn never to get close to another woman again. Especially not a widowed rancher whose young daughter hated him.
Remembering his job and his purpose here in Snyderville, he stepped back. He must keep his relationship with Melanie McAllister completely professional. He had no room for friendship or romance in his life right now. He had to remember that.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” Anne eyed the strange girl as she stepped into the shadows of the lambing shed.
The black-and-white dog followed Shelley inside, and Anne pointed at the door while speaking in a stern tone. “Get out, Bob. You know you’re not supposed to be in the lambing sheds.”
Used to responding promptly to orders, Bob obeyed without even a whine.
Anne frowned when the girl didn’t turn and follow the dog out. “Who are you?”
“I’m Shelley. Your mom told me to come and help you feed the baby lambs.”
Anne stared at the girl’s long, bare legs, white sandals and blue-painted toenails. Maybe Mom would let her buy some blue nail polish the next time they went shopping in Evanston. All she had was pink and red. “You can’t feed lambs dressed like that.”
“Why not?” Shelley stepped backward into a pile of manure. Crinkling her nose with repugnance, she wiped her sandal off on a clean bed of straw before moving to stand over by the wall.
Anne shook her head in disgust, figuring she didn’t need to point out the obvious. “Where’d you come from?”
“My dad and I brought your mom a plate of chocolate chip cookies.”
That sounded nice. Cookies were okay with Anne. “Do you have sheep?”
Shelley shook her head. “No, but I have a cat named Wilson.”
Strange name for a cat. “Who’s your dad?”
“Scott Ennison.”
Anne scowled. She should have known. “You shouldn’t be back here.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause we’re enemies.”
Shelley’s eyes widened. “We are?”
“Yes. You’re Forest Service and I’m a rancher. Don’t you know anything?”
“I’m not Forest Service. I’m just a kid.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Anne scoffed. “Your dad’s the ranger.”
“So? Can’t we still be friends?”
Anne glared at her. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
Anne searched her mind for a valid reason that didn’t sound childish. She tried to remember why her dad hated forest rangers so much, but he’d never really told her his reasons. Just that they forced him to graze his sheep where he didn’t want to graze them. Anne had hated it when Dad drank from his bottle because he got even angrier at the ranger. One time she had even climbed up the cupboard and hidden Dad’s bottle so he wouldn’t drink anymore. When he found it missing, he’d blamed Mom and slapped her across the face. Mom must have known it had been Anne who had taken the bottle, but she never said a word. Mom’s face and lips had been swollen for a week, making Anne feel guilty. Even now, she missed Daddy more than she could say. If he’d just come back home, she’d promise never to hide his bottle again.
When she realized that Shelley was still waiting for an answer, Anne shoved away the painful memories and faced her nemesis. “Your dad bosses my mom around.”
“You’re a liar. My dad’s nice. He helps ranchers.”
Anne pursed her lips when she saw the ugly glare on the other girl’s face. She didn’t want to fight with this stranger. Mom would find out and then she’d be in big trouble. “We’ll see.”
Shelley shrugged, then bent over to pet the fluffy wool of a two-month-old lamb. The little animal hurried by to get at the stalls where Anne was setting up the feeder. Eight pens divided the shed. Anne set out bottles with rubber nipples on a feeding rack, then opened the gate and brought in seven little lambs one at a time. The babies nuzzled up to suckle. One zipped past Shelley, its tail wagging like a whirling dervish as it latched on to a bottle with ferocity. Shelley gave a startled yelp.
“You don’t need to be afraid of them. They’re just hungry,” Anne said. “Haven’t you ever petted a lamb before?”
“No. They’re so soft.” Shelley’s eyes gleamed with happiness as she rubbed a lamb’s velvety ears.
“What are you, a city kid or something?”
Shelley shrugged, looking out of place in her girly skirt. Anne couldn’t help envying the other girl’s creamy complexion and blond hair. She figured Craig Eardley would pay more attention to her if she had Shelley’s blue eyes. Instead, Anne had bright red hair she kept pulled back in a ponytail, green eyes and freckles all over her face, even on her forehead. She could kick the ball off the blacktop at school and run fast, but the boys never chased her during kissing tag. She figured they’d chase after Shelley, though.
“What are their names?” Shelley asked.
“You can’t name them,” Anne scolded. “Why not?”
“Because we sell and eat them. Sheep are a cash crop. Don’t you know anything?”
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Mom told Anne not to name the lambs so she wouldn’t be sad if one of them died or if they sold them, but Anne did it anyway. Just a few of her favorite lambs.
“You eat them?” Shelley’s blue eyes widened with horror.
Anne laughed. “Nah, not really. Mom says we don’t eat our sheep. We just raise them for wool.”
“Oh, okay.” Shelley smiled with relief, bending over to snuggle one sweet, fuzzy lamb.
Anne didn’t want to like this girl, but she couldn’t help it. Shelley didn’t know much, but she seemed to love the lambs as much as Anne did. Obviously, Shelley needed someone to teach her what to do on a sheep ranch.
“Where’re their mothers?” Shelley asked.
“They don’t have moms. These are dogie lambs. They’re orphans.”
“Doggie lambs?”
“No, you’re saying it wrong. They’re not doggie lambs, like Bob is a dog. You say it like dough. Dough-gie lambs.”
Shelley repeated the word perfectly.
“Yeah, that’s what orphans are called.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.” Shelley hugged the lamb again as it tugged on the bottle.
Anne waved a hand in the air. “They’re okay. We take good care of them. They’re already nibbling hay and alfalfa pellets. Soon, we’ll be taking them out to graze in the paddock.”
The hungry lamb jerked, knocking Shelley back into the straw. The girl laughed. “What happened to their moms?”
“Some died, but sometimes the ewe has twins or triplets and she can only take care of one or two of her babies when she goes up to the summer pasture to graze. So we bring the smaller baby here to tend.”
“Then not all the moms died?”
“Of course not, silly.” Anne snickered. “You really don’t know much.”
“Then I guess I’m a dogie lamb, too.”
Anne raised her brow. “What do you mean?”
“My mom isn’t dead, but she doesn’t want me. My dad doesn’t think I know, but I do.”
Shelley sounded like she was about to cry. Anne felt like crying, too, but refused to let it show. Even when Dad had been alive, she’d had an empty feeling inside all the time. Like he didn’t really love or want her. Like he preferred his bottle to her and Mom. But she’d always had Mom to love her. How horrible not to be wanted by your own mother. “What mom doesn’t want her kid?”
Shelley scuffed a sandaled foot against the rough lumber of the feeding stall. “Mine doesn’t. She got married to Malcolm Henley the third, and he doesn’t like kids, so I have to live with Dad. I heard them arguing about it late one night when I was supposed to be asleep.” A glimmer of a smile touched her lips. “Dad can’t cook much, but at least he wants me. He got this new transfer to Snyderville and I had to leave all my old friends behind.”
Anne thought this over for a moment, biting her lower lip. Shelley didn’t have any friends, just like her. During recess, the kids at school called her the town drunk’s daughter and she’d learned to play by herself. “Then that makes you half a dogie because you still have your dad. I guess I’m a half dogie, too. My daddy died, but I still have Mom and she loves me lots.”
Tears glistened in Shelley’s eyes. “My dad loves me, too. I’m sorry we’re both half dogies.”
“Me, too.”
And right then, Anne knew it wasn’t Shelley’s fault that her father was the forest ranger. They had a lot in common. It got so lonely here at the ranch with no one but Mom and an occasional work hand to talk to. The herders were always nice to her, but Mom never left her alone with them and they really didn’t have anything in common with her. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little bit nice to Shelley Ennison.
“Come on. I’ll show you how to feed the lambs. But next time you visit, you should wear blue jeans and boots.”
“I don’t have any boots.”
Anne shrugged. “Then just wear tennis shoes.”
She led Shelley into the next pen. Shelley held the bucket of milk while Anne used a funnel to fill seven bottles. Shelley seemed eager to help and Anne appreciated the company and the help with her chores. But she sure wished Shelley’s dad was a rancher instead of a ranger.
Chapter Four
“What happened?” Melanie ran across the gravel driveway toward the barn.
Anne and Shelley hobbled toward her. Shelley howled in pain, her bare legs streaming blood.
“Shelley! Are you okay?” Scott raced ahead, his face creased with concern.
“Shelley tripped and fell on a bale of barbed wire. It cut her legs up real bad.” Anne had one of Shelley’s arms draped across her shoulders as she helped the other girl limp to the house.
Without a word, Scott scooped Shelley into his strong arms, murmuring soothing words of comfort. Blood smeared his Forest Service shirt and name badge, but he couldn’t care less.
Melanie moved into action, scurrying to the back door of the house. “I’ve got a first aid kit. Bring her inside.”
