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“A zoo?” Had he heard Ethan right? “When did a zoo open in town? And who was the fool who thought that was a good idea in Falcon Creek?”
“It’s a petting zoo. It was Zoe’s idea. And the guests really like it.” Ethan’s gaze swept the photos on the mantel. “I hate to admit it, but there might be something to the guest ranch. It could help the place stay afloat. You know, diversify income. That’s why the water rights are so important.”
Ben studied his brother the way he scrutinized an opposing counsel’s witness, looking for sincerity and certainty. Finding both, he asked, “Do you know why Rachel brought this lawsuit now?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Someone gave her the history of water use here on the ranch.” Ben couldn’t imagine Big E going that soft. Unless she’d gotten her figures from someone at the water company, the only other people with knowledge of and access to the water bills were Zoe, Katie Montgomery and her father, Lochlan, the ranch’s foreman. Lochlan had been managing things on the Blackwell Ranch for years and was as loyal as they came. Same for his daughter. “Now that Big E is acting irrationally, my money’s on Zoe.”
“Regardless, you’ll handle it,” Ethan said stiffly.
Standing so near his twin, the loss of their close relationship was an ache in Ben’s chest.
“Jon wants to sell the ranch,” Ethan blurted. “Combined, we can get a majority stake in the ranch and could wrest control from Big E. Jon’s going to call a vote. I want to stay. I’m staking my livelihood here. My future.” The words stopped tumbling out of his mouth, slowed, were given weight. “For the future of my child, Ben.”
Ben drew back. He knew what Ethan was asking. He wanted Ben’s vote to keep the Blackwell Ranch within the family. “And if I lose the water rights? What then?”
“Don’t talk like that. Dad wouldn’t want us to walk away from our heritage.” Ethan placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Maybe roots and family aren’t important to you, but they’re important to me. Think about the memories we had growing up here. Riding the range. Camping under the stars. Running around a safe little town. When you have kids someday—”
“Big E ruined that for me.” Ben brushed Ethan’s hand away. “The ranch, the town, my life.”
“I notice you didn’t say anything about a broken heart,” Ethan said softly. “Let it go, Ben. Move on.”
Never look back, boy.
“It’s kind of hard to move on when you’ve returned to the very spot where you started.” Ben hated that he sounded pathetic.
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry that I waited until I knew for sure they’d eloped? Because I will.” Ethan didn’t sound resentful or pompous. He sounded earnest. “I’m sorry I made sure you couldn’t catch up to the woman who didn’t love you. I’m sorry that meant you heard about their elopement from someone else in front of an audience. And...” Ethan shuffled his booted feet. “And I’m sorry we haven’t been close since then.”
“I...” Ben swallowed. An apology. It was what Ben had waited for. And yet, he didn’t know what to do.
Outside the window, the tire swing spun in the breeze.
“Higher!” a six-year-old Ben had demanded of their grandfather.
Ethan sat inside the tire swing while Ben stood on top of it. With each push from Big E, the wind had whistled past Ben’s ears almost as fast as when he rode Cisco, Jon’s bay mare.
His parents were cutting birthday cake for Tyler and Chance on the picnic table. Tyler swiped a glob of frosting and flung it in Chance’s dark hair. They giggled even as they tussled, trying to reach more cake.
Laughter. Smiles. The feeling that all was right with the Blackwells’ world and that they were invincible. When was the last time Ben had felt that way? He couldn’t remember. His life was a series of court cases where Ben protected big utility companies from greater consumer liability. Gas leaks. Energy surges. Fires sparked by downed power lines.
And the subsequent loss of life. There was no joy in putting a dollar figure on death. No laughter when negotiating with an attorney sitting next to a grieving, tear-stained mother holding a baby who’d never know her dad.
“I apologized,” Ethan said to Ben now, the light dimming in his eyes. He turned to go.
“Wait.” Ben had no idea what to say. The very air between them felt taut with tension. “Thank you.”
Ethan gave a jerky nod. “Now that we’ve dealt with that... I need you on my team. The way we used to be.” His words were stilted, as if he hadn’t practiced what he’d say and didn’t know how to say it now. “I can buy you out later.” He grimaced. “Well, not for a couple years. Student loans and...” Ethan drew a deep breath. “Just...don’t make a decision on selling now. Stop and think about it, for my sake.” He walked out.
Ben sank into the leather cigar chair. Ethan was getting married. He was going to be a father. He had his life planned out. Hopefully he was headed for happiness. A part of Ben wanted to crow with ironic laughter. And yet...
In rolled jealousy like a toxic tide, eating his insides.
Ben was thirty-two. Jobless. Wifeless. Childless. Back where he started. Back where everything went bad.
Never look back.
He wanted to side with Jon and sell the ranch. He wanted to put the ranch and the past behind him just like he was putting Transk, Ipsum & Levi in his rearview mirror.
They gave you the boot, boy.
Enough!
Ben moved the leather cigar chair to the left of the fireplace out of the way, pried the floorboard free and stared at the safe. Someone besides Big E had to have the combination. Katie or Lochlan were the most likely candidates.
His stomach growled. It was past dinnertime. He replaced the floorboard and went to the kitchen.
Ben surveyed the contents of the pantry and then the fridge. There wasn’t much to eat, not a fresh vegetable in the house. Canned green beans. Canned pork and beans. Canned chili beans. Even though there were low-salt and no-salt versions, everything was processed.
In New York, he’d have ordered something delivered. Beef stir-fry with quinoa sounded good. Sushi. Chicken chop salad.
You’ve gotten weak, boy.
No. The fact was he’d never learned to cook like an adult.
Big E’s idea of providing for five boys was to tell them to make something for themselves. He’d assigned them days of the week to cook dinner. Ben and his brothers had spent many nights in the kitchen baking frozen pizza and boiling hot dogs. Some of the Blackwell brothers had progressed to a cookbook. One winter, one of Big E’s wives had taught Jon the rudiments of the spice rack. Ben had survived college on dorm food, fruit, fast food and peanut butter sandwiches. Without takeout or delivery, he’d be resorting to the same.
Ben stared at the sparkly pink backsplash, the pink trimmed cabinets with glass knobs, the pink-feathered crystal chandelier.
Who’s gotten weak, old man?
He’d skip dinner. He’d go for a run.
Ben grabbed his suitcase and headed upstairs toward the bedroom he’d shared with Ethan growing up. He stopped in the doorway, nearly dropping his suitcase for the second time that day.
Zoe hadn’t contained her redecorating to the common areas.
Instead of bunk beds and two old oak dressers, there was a queen-size bed buried beneath a mountain of frilly pink pillows. The walls had gold-striped wallpaper. The curtains were sparkly silver and draped into a pool on the floor.
How much did this cost?
For the first time in five years, Ben almost felt sorry for his grandfather.
Ben slung his bag on the end of the bed and withdrew his running clothes. The sun was dropping low on the horizon. The wind would be picking up on the high plains, whipping down through the mountains. He dressed for chill temperatures.
A few minutes later, he ran down the steps and cut across the series of pastures that separated the ranch buildings from the river. This wasn’t a run in Central Park on smooth pavement. This was uneven ground, dotted with cow pies and prairie dog potholes. There were dips and rises blanketed with brown grass. The wind filled his ears and his lungs. It whipped through his hair.
Betrayals didn’t matter. Water rights didn’t matter. Past mistakes didn’t matter.
He climbed a metal gate and dropped into the north pasture. This was June and there wouldn’t be any cattle here. By now, they’d have been moved up the slopes across the river where the grass was greener.
Ben could see Falcon Creek in the distance and how it had carved its way through the land. The banks were at least fifteen feet high and lined with a few lush elms. The tributary may have been called Falcon Creek, but during the winter and spring, it ran high and fast, like a river. And during the spring and summer, rain in the mountains could turn it into a raging torrent, sometimes with little warning. This time of year, the water was low and slow, dancing around rocks exposed to air.
Ben kept his gaze from drifting south toward the remnants of the old bridge where his parents had died in one of those flash floods. He concentrated on losing himself in the run.
He had a good stride going. Steady.
His heartbeat was strong. Steady.
He felt his equilibrium return. Steady.
But then he heard something rumble. Fast. Uneven. Angry. Like gathering thunder.
The sky was the gentle pink-orange of approaching sunset. Not a cloud was visible. But the sound was growing louder.
Ben glanced over his shoulder and swore.
An Aberdeen Angus bull was barreling down on him, hide as black as night, eyes filled with a deadly rage.
The beast was sixty feet away and closing fast. The riverbank was thirty feet ahead. It seemed like a mile.
Ben picked up the pace. Strike that. He sprinted for all he was worth. Nothing was steady anymore. Not his stride. Not his heartbeat. Not his chances of seeing another sunrise.
His only hope was to scramble up the nearest tree before that bull tossed him onto the rocky creek bed.
* * *
RACHEL’S ROAN GELDING, Utah, was ungainly but trustworthy. Nothing spooked him. Not her mother’s yappy poodle. Not Poppy pulling on his mane.
Not even the sight of Ben Blackwell being chased by a charging bull.
Rachel was spooked, though. Her hands trembled and air stuck in her throat. Life on the range wasn’t like living in the suburbs. She’d witnessed ranch hands gored by bulls during branding, struck by hooves while training horses, lose fingers to hay balers. Lacerations. Broken bones. Internal injuries. People got hurt on a ranch. People died.
She might not like Ben, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to be trampled.
On the road separating the two properties, Rachel urged Utah into a fast trot toward the gate that opened onto Blackwell land. She freed a length of rope from her saddle as smoothly as if she was reaching for her cell phone. She loosened the noose.
Like I’m gonna rope that bull?
She wasn’t that good with a lasso. A shiver of fear ran through Rachel, originating in concern for Ben. And then another shiver startled her, one brought on by the image of her roping the bull and watching helplessly as he bolted for the river. She’d be pulled off Utah’s back, dragged into the pasture and serve as the bull’s doormat, one that read Little Ladies Not Welcome Here.
Little ladies weren’t cowboys. Little ladies didn’t run ranches or track down escaped heifers or save grown men. Rachel breathed raggedly as Utah carried her closer.
Dad wouldn’t cower in fear.
The Double T had survived generations because of strong Thompson leadership. It was why she’d come after the garden trampling, suit ruining heifer, because she was running things now and she couldn’t rely on anyone else. Although, to be honest, this little lady had eaten dinner before embarking on her heifer search. Consequently, the cow had a big head start and was nowhere to be found.
Rachel squared her shoulders. Not that the heifer mattered right now. This rancher had other priorities.
Ben reached the trees before the bull and swung up into the branches like a monkey. He looked more like a rodeo clown in red running tights beneath black shorts and a neon yellow nylon jacket. No wonder the bull was chasing him.
The bull charged the tree, bumping the trunk without reaching Ben or knocking him down. He continued to patrol, clearly hoping to catch any straggling rodeo clowns.
Erosion and the river created a natural “fence.” The pasture was about fifteen feet above the river and a narrow, rocky bank. Tree roots prevented the pasture from eroding any farther.
Spotting Utah and Rachel, the bull took a run at the gate.
“Whoa.” Rachel pulled up ten feet away and stood in her stirrups, twirling the rope above her head. This was her chance. Rope the bull and hold him long enough for Ben to escape.
She should have felt confident. The animal was a big fella and there weren’t any horns to get hung up on. In short, he’d be hard to miss.
Instead of feeling like an experienced cowboy, she felt like a first-timer, afraid to let go for fear of what she’d have to do next.
The bull rammed the metal gate with his beefy shoulder, testing the barrier to see if it would give. It didn’t. Thank heavens Big E kept the ranch in tip-top shape. Utah pawed the ground, refusing to back down.
Heartened, Rachel spun the rope higher. Now was the time to prove she was a rancher, not the rancher’s princess daughter.
“Do not taunt that bull, Rachel.”
“The superhero in red tights is giving me advice?” Rachel threw the rope.
It landed cockeyed on the bull’s forehead and over one ear, which seemed to annoy the beast. He shook his head and pranced on the other side of the gate, snorting. The rope fell to the ground.
Rachel sat back in the saddle and coiled the rope for another try. “My mother would say you’re in a pickle, Blackwell.” Her mother would tell Rachel to get her sweet patooty out of there and get help.
Rachel might have done that a year ago, before Dad died, but now things had changed. She’d changed.
“It’s June,” Ben griped from his position in the tree. “This pasture should be empty. The cattle should be over on higher ground across the river.”
Hearing Ben’s voice, the bull turned and charged the trees. He wasn’t the brightest steak-on-a-hoof. He slammed into the wrong tree.
“Quit taunting the bull.” Rachel’s heart was having palpitations to rival the ones that killed her father. “A true cowboy would’ve asked where the livestock was before he took off in his pretty running clothes.”
“I’m not a cowboy anymore. I’m a lawyer.” Ben clung to the tree trunk and shouted at the bull, “A lawyer!”
“Calm down, Blackwell. You’ll be reduced to bits of superhero tights if that bull has its way with you.” If she rescued him, maybe he’d be so shaken up he wouldn’t show up in court tomorrow.
A girl could dream.
But this girl had a former cowboy to save first. How was she going to get him to safety?
Roping the bull was too much of a crapshoot (she wasn’t that great of a roper). Riding into the pasture to Ben’s rescue was too risky (for her and Utah). She tugged her cell phone out of a pocket, but there was no signal. They were in a dead zone. Literally.
She laughed. Somewhat hysterically, if truth be told.
“Go ahead,” Ben said. “Have your fun.”
Rachel wasn’t going to explain she was losing her composure. “I’ll keep him distracted and you shimmy down that tree and jump to the bank below. Chances are, if he notices you, he won’t want to leap down a fifteen foot cliff.” Not unless he had a very big grudge against Ben. “From there you can walk to the road.” The one she and Utah were on. “And I’ll escort you back to safety.”
