The Rancher's Redemption

That worked. The heifer made a sound like someone had sat down hard on a whoopee cushion. She wheeled and trotted out through what was left of the fence posts, kicking up dirt clods at Rachel. Slimy mud spattered her good jacket and skirt.

A guttural wail filled the air.

That wail... It was hers.

Rachel had three court suits that fit her mommy hips.

Well...now only two.

Her mother tapped on the bedroom window glass, her face hovering above Nana’s. “Are you all right?”

Rachel nodded, even though she wasn’t. She marched across the ravaged carrots and torn-up grass, scrunching her eyes against the threat of tears, because ranchers didn’t cry. Not over ruined wool and silk.

The heifer headed behind the barn.

Rachel took off after her, rounding the corner only to find the escapee ambling down the weed-choked road that separated the Double T from the Blackwell Ranch, tail swinging happily as if she was high on carrots.

The gate was open, which gave rise to many questions. Why was it ajar? Who’d been careless enough to leave it open? How had the heifer escaped the large pasture? Was another gate open? A fence down? Were other livestock roaming about? The herd was supposed to be summering across the river in higher, greener pastures.

Rachel latched the listing gate, closing off the road and shutting the heifer in. Someone would have to saddle a horse and ride the property line to find how and why the heifer was free.

Personally, she’d like that someone to be Henry. She hadn’t expected to do anything but paperwork today and hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Although her clothes were already ruined, she reminded herself.

Rachel turned toward a small house behind the barn. It was the original one-room homestead. It had no front yard. No fenced backyard. No driveway. But a well-used green Ford pickup was parked near the front door.

“Come in,” Henry called after she’d knocked.

The tiny house had somber walls and exposed beams. A twin bed was in one corner next to a tall pine dresser. The doors to the closet and bathroom were ajar. The kitchen had a collection of empty soda cans on the brown Formica countertop. A burgundy recliner and television filled out the space, the latter perched on an old kitchen table with spindly wooden legs.

Henry sat in his recliner, an empty microwave container of macaroni and cheese in his lap. His scuffed boots were discarded near the door, as if he’d needed to take off his shoes first thing to pamper his aching feet. He muted the television. “What can I do for you, little lady?”

Is it too much to ask that he call me Rachel?

Probably, since he’d seen her as a toddler running through the front yard sprinkler naked.

Hoping to garner some respect, Rachel tugged down her blouse and buttoned her jacket. Her efforts to look like a presentable boss—one worthy of a title better than little lady—resulted in a fair amount of dung sprinkled on the floor. “There’s a heifer loose. I shut her in the road leading to the river, but there’s a break in the fence somewhere.”

“I’ll get to lookin’ tomorrow.” Henry was seventy-five if he was a day. He’d been with the ranch since he was in his twenties. Nothing upset him. Not loose heifers or flooded pastures. “Thanks for letting me know. If she continues to be a problem, we’ll have to make steak out of her.”

Rachel had never been good at eating animals she’d had a face-to-face with. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Let’s make sure none of the rest of the herd is loose.”

“Little lady.” Henry slid his glasses off his nose and stared at Rachel. “After your father died, we made an agreement. Unless there’s an emergency, I don’t put in more than my eight hours, or I retire.”

The last thing Rachel needed was to upset Henry enough that he’d retire. But still, she worried. They had so few cattle left. “What about Tony?”

“He left early to have a root canal in Bozeman.” Henry’s gaze drifted back to the television. “He won’t be in tomorrow by the way.”

Shoot. She’d forgotten. But still... “This needs to be done tonight.”

“Ain’t no hurry, little lady. We don’t live in a time of cattle rustlers.” Henry cast a disparaging glance at Rachel’s pearls and then at her mother’s pink-and-gold trimmed boots. “The Blackwells raise Black Angus. They aren’t going to confuse white-faced cows on their land with their own.” He unmuted the television. “You can’t run a ranch in heels and pearls. Now, you worry about taking care of that baby of yours and I’ll worry about the ranch.”

Rachel left, feeling as if she’d been given a glass of water, a pat on the head and then shooed toward her bedroom.

Little lady.

Rachel’s anger increased with every step she took. Dad wouldn’t have waited until morning. There was nothing for it. This little lady was going to have to ride out to the fence line herself.

Now all she needed was something to wear.

CHAPTER THREE

BEN SPENT THE rest of the afternoon and early evening at the kitchen table of his childhood home researching water rights and occasionally staring up at the pink-feathered chandelier above him.

He’d seen a lot of high-end apartments decorated by celebrated designers in New York, but he’d never seen the likes of that chandelier. Big E had to be going blind. There was no way his grandfather could sit underneath pink feathers and drink his morning coffee every day.

Watch out, boy. Men bend over backward for love.

His grandfather had told Ben that years ago. And now? Big E was like a pretzel.

When Ben had proposed to Zoe, he’d been naive. He’d thought his high school sweetheart wanted the same things he did—the finer things city life had to offer. He’d thought his grandfather wanted what was best for Ben when he’d made sure Zoe didn’t need to worry about spending on the wedding.

“Your grandfather took me shopping in Bozeman,” Zoe had said on the phone one night when Ben was in New York.

“Why?” Ben’s attention was still half focused on the wording in the legal brief he was crafting.

“Because he wants me—and you—to have the very best,” she’d replied in a stately voice.

Later, when Ben had asked his grandfather about his generosity, he’d scoffed and said it was nothing.

Today, looking around the remodeled kitchen with its frivolous decor, it looked like the Blackwell Ranch had money to burn. According to Ethan, that was far from the truth. But then, when had Big E been a proponent of the truth?

Ben had worked hard in law school, spent summers interning in Boston, passed the bar in New York on the second try and in Montana on the first, returning home to help Big E protect the ranch’s water interests after practicing law in New York for a few years. He should have known Big E had personal interests of his own.

“We have to disclose this to opposing council,” Ben had said when Big E showed him a yellowed piece of paper referring to the thin strip that divided the Double T from the Blackwell Ranch. “This says the land above the aquifer was traded by Mathias Blackwell to Seth Thompson in 1919 for a prize bull.” In which case, the Thompsons would have rights to the aquifer, not the Blackwells.

“No, not necessarily.” Big E closed the door to his study, affording them some privacy. “For all we know, there’s another deed for the parcel. Folks in this valley bartered back and forth with land all the time. The Blackwells have been paying taxes on that strip for decades. I don’t care what that paper says. It’s our land.”

“We won’t know for sure until I do a title search.” Protecting Blackwell assets required due diligence.

Ben was in a precarious position. He didn’t want the Double T to go under, but they might if their river water was restricted. If the Thompsons owned the strip of land and the aquifer rights, the river water would matter less.

“No title search.” Big E dragged the cigar chair to the left of the fireplace out of the way. He leaned down and pried a board up with a letter opener, revealing a small safe. He put the yellowed piece of paper inside. “This is a small county. You search for a title and pretty soon everyone knows we’re looking for something, and then someone will want to know what it is we’re looking for.” Big E got to his feet with a creak of bones and put his hands on his hips. “Next thing that happens is we’ve got less land and a need for water. Are you a Blackwell, or not? Are you going to be our lawyer, or not? Think about the repercussions before you betray attorney-client privilege.”

Ben hadn’t wanted to let the issue go, but he had in the end. Eventually, they’d won the river water rights, but Ben had felt guilty about the victory because his father wouldn’t have approved the means, and Rachel was his friend. Of course, he’d only had twenty-four hours to feel guilty about it before Zoe ran off with Big E, and Rachel tossed that in his face, along with their friendship.

“Hey, where were you?” Ethan returned to the house after dinner. He’d showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a green button-down. “Dinner service at the guest ranch was an hour ago. We were expecting you to lend a hand.”

“I’ve been busy.” Ben closed his laptop and the article about the revocation of rural water rights in nearby Gallatin County. “And before you get on me, I don’t take calls or answer texts when I’m preparing for court.” Ben glanced around the kitchen and at Ethan’s empty hands. “Didn’t you bring me something to eat?”

“No.” Ethan scowled. “You have to earn dinner. We’re all pitching in until Big E gets back.”

Ben pointed at his laptop. “I am pitching in.” He let annoyance trickle into his tone. “I’ve been working on something more important than making sure Zoe’s guests give the ranch a good rating on social media.”

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come on, Ethan. Are you sure Big E went on vacation on impulse? Coincidentally right before the guest ranch opened its doors?” Ben hooked his arm over the back of his chair, not about to be a busboy in Zoe’s little side business. “Are you sure Big E didn’t take off because he didn’t want to be the host of a bed-and-breakfast? This could be a ploy to get someone else to do all the work.”

“This isn’t like the time he hid our truck keys until we fixed the roof on the barn.” Gone was the humor Ethan had greeted Ben with earlier in the day. “He and Zoe and the motorhome are gone. Big E’s voice-mail box is full. No word from them. No ransom note either, in case you were wondering.”

“There has to be some clue in Big E’s office as to where they went.” Ben got up and walked down the hall to their grandfather’s study.

“We searched in there already,” Ethan grumbled, following him.

“Is it normal for Big E and Zoe to take off like that?” Ben stepped into the room, trying to remember which floorboard his grandfather hid his safe under. “The sheriff doesn’t suspect foul play?”

“No.” The way Ethan said the word, the sheriff had probably laughed him and Jonathon out the door.

The study was the one room on the ground floor where nothing had changed. The same wide-topped solid oak desk. The same metal, olive-colored file cabinet. The same dark wood floors worn in front of the fireplace where Big E liked to pace.

And there, to the left of the hearth, was the leather cigar chair that stood guard over Big E’s floor safe. Was the paper documenting the land trade still inside? All Ben needed was the combination to find out.

“According to Jon, Big E and Zoe travel regularly in the motorhome.” Ethan moved to stare out the window, sounding preoccupied. “But this time they left without telling Katie or Lochlan or anyone where they were going or how long they’d be gone. And Big E didn’t move enough funds in the bank accounts to cover the checks Katie needed to write, like for feed and payroll.”

Ben stared at a photo of Big E on the mantel. He wore a dark suit and black bolo tie. He’d shaven and his peppery hair was neatly trimmed. Zoe leaned in to kiss his cheek. Her straight blond hair was framed by a white bridal veil.

Ben expected to feel pain in his chest, somewhere around the spot his heart was supposed to be. Jealousy. Loss. Betrayal.

He felt nothing, except...confusion.

His grandfather looked happy. And Zoe looked like a joyful, blushing bride.

Ben’s image of them had been clichéd. He’d pictured Big E with a depraved, triumphant attitude, as if he’d successfully pulled one over on Ben. He’d imagined Zoe with a cold look in her eye as she calculated the spending limit on the credit card Big E gave her.

“We should be worried,” Ben said reluctantly. “Couples in love don’t just disappear. I’d wonder about his sanity if he didn’t have Zoe with him.” And wasn’t that a change? Ben paying a backhanded compliment to his ex.

“I need to tell you something.” Ethan turned, looking as if he was about to go on the witness stand in a contentious case.

His brother’s heavy expression seemed to require lightening. “If you tell me you killed Big E in the library with a candlestick, I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”

Ethan’s mouth was a flat line. This was either something grim, or Ethan had indeed killed their grandfather.

Ben swore. “Seriously, I would have studied criminal law if I knew you had a violent side.”

“It’s not that kind of news.” His twin shook his head. “I’m getting married.”

“To Sarah Ashley Gardner?” Please say no.

Ethan had been dangling from Sarah Ashley’s string since he was thirteen.

“No. To her kid sister. Grace.” That wasn’t concern lining Ethan’s face. It was defensiveness. “I love her. We’re going to have a baby.”

Ben had the strongest urge to close the distance between them and hug his twin. He glanced at the photo of Big E and Zoe and didn’t budge. “Congratulations.”

“Jon’s getting married, too, in case you hadn’t heard. Her name is Lydia and she’s great for Jon.”

Ben’s chest tightened. He felt like an outsider. They hadn’t told him their good news earlier. Of course, he’d refused the offer of a beer and a game of poker, during which they might have told him. “I’ll congratulate Jon next time I see him.”

“Grace has been helping at the guest ranch,” Ethan said. “But she’s tired and if you helped out—”

“If I helped out,” Ben cut his brother off, “I wouldn’t be prepared to defend the ranch’s water rights in court.” He had to be ready for whatever Rachel threw at him. “I’m here for one reason and one reason only. As your attorney.”

“Which is important to me. I want to start a veterinary practice here on the property once I get licensed in Montana.” Ethan rubbed a hand through his hair, still looking defensive. “Right now, I’m practicing under Norman Terry at the clinic in town. Most of my patients are pets of friends, our ranch livestock and the petting zoo animals.”

“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.