Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: A Ranch for His Family\Cowgirl in High Heels\A Man to Believe In (33 page)

* * *

T
OMMY
W
ALKING
D
OG
had beat him. Twice. The Wolf Point rodeo had gone okay. He'd placed second behind Tommy, which at least gave him some earnings. The second rodeo, the one he'd hoped to win... He didn't want to think about. All those miles, all that gas, for nothing. As the announcer had said, even good cowboys had bad days, but Ryan couldn't afford bad days, literally or figuratively.

Too much on his mind. But, as he'd argued with himself more than once on the long drive home, he'd always been able to focus, to shove trouble out of his brain and catch the damn calf.

Maybe he was just getting old.

It was going on midnight when he approached Glennan, but he turned off the highway and drove down the narrow street to his mother's house, as he always did after a rodeo. She expected it. There was no curb, so he was able to pull the truck and trailer well off the road. His mother's lights were on and so was the porch light as soon as he got out of the truck.

“I won't be long,” he said to PJ, who shifted restlessly in the trailer.

“I got some supper for you,” his mother called out the door before he'd taken more than two steps up the walk. “You want me to pack it to go, or eat it here?”

“Both.” He hadn't eaten after his run and he was starving.

“Sorry to hear about your times,” Lydia said, holding the door open.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling his ball cap off as he walked past her into the house. “One of those weekends.” The house smelled of pot roast and potpourri. They hadn't had a lot of money while he was growing up, but Lydia had always made the house seem like home, doing what she could with what she had. Pretty much that meant good food and a lot of what she'd called shabby chic.

“I can't stay long,” he said as he picked up the plate waiting beside the Crock-Pot and started dishing up.

“I know. Work tomorrow.”

A long day tomorrow. He was going to have to abandon his search for the missing cattle for the time being and focus on other projects.

“How're things at the ranch?” Lydia asked casually as she packed the remaining meat and vegetables into a container.

“Not that great.” Ryan reached for the horseradish. “The owner's niece is there learning what she can before George Monroe shows up to evaluate the operation.”

“George?” Lydia snorted. “Well, he's competent enough, if he could just get past his need to bully people.”

And that was the problem—George was a bully. He'd grown up on a ranch, worked on a ranch, but had always seen himself as a bit better than everyone else. As soon as the Montana land rush had started, he'd set himself up as a ranch consultant, helping the rich new ranch owners evaluate and operate their new properties. His love of shaking things up and firing people he'd grown up with just because he could made
bully
the perfect word for George.

“I'm worried about Walt.”

“No doubt,” Lydia said, scraping out the last of the gravy. “Is this niece of theirs a reasonable sort? Can you kind of explain Walt to her? And George?”

“I'm going to try.” Although given their last conversations, he didn't feel all that optimistic about it. “The problem is she knows nothing about ranching, so it's going to be hard to convince her Walt's essential when I'm pretty damned certain George will do his best to persuade her otherwise.”

“It might be time for you to move on anyway,” Lydia said gently. “I know you're staying out of consideration for Walt, but sometimes there's nothing we can do to fix the problems of others.”

Ryan smiled wryly. “You're a fine one to talk.”

“I don't stick my nose in other people's business.”

He said nothing and she glanced down at the table. “Not unless they're too stubborn to ask for help.”

“Kind of like Walt?” Ryan asked.

“Walt doesn't even know he needs help.”

Lydia took a seat across the table from Ryan, who could see by her expression that she had something on her mind besides Walt and the Rocky View.... Something she wasn't comfortable broaching. He waited, wondering if his father had anything to do with whatever she was about to say.

His question was answered a split second later.

“Has Charles been in contact with you?” she asked suddenly.

“No.” He'd been in contact with Charles, but that hadn't been the question. “Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“Again, why?”

Lydia simply shook her head.

“Damn it, Mom—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Cindy said something that made me curious. That's all.”

The mother voice. Which he would heed for now. Until he got a little more information as to what was going on...from somewhere.

“All right.” Ryan picked up his empty plate, stacked the flatware on top and headed to the sink.

Lydia put her hand on his as he reached for the faucet handle. “I'll do them. You need to get home. Get some sleep. Think of a way to keep Walt from shooting himself in the foot job-wise.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Lydia walked him to the door, then said, “Wait. I almost forgot Walt's scraps.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a plastic container with an aluminum foil–wrapped package on top. “The bottom one is for Walt. The top is for the dogs. Make sure he doesn't get them mixed up.”

“Will do,” Ryan said, reaching out to hug his mom with his free arm. “Talk to you soon.” And in the meantime, he might just have to contact Cindy to ask her to let him know if she ever heard of Charles contacting Lydia.

* * *

E
LLIE
WAS
WIDE
-
AWAKE
when the truck and trailer drove past the house. She got out of bed and headed for the door. A blast of chilly air hit her and she went back into the bedroom, grabbed her coat and draped it around her shoulders before stalking back through the house.

Walt had yet to contact her about the water situation, and she'd found that life without water was worse than life without electricity. She didn't know why she had no water, but she was damned certain Walt did and he was making her suffer for some unfathomable reason. Didn't he know that his professional future was in her hands? Didn't he care?

The trailer was parked directly beneath the yard light, so Ellie didn't bother with the porch light. She let herself out of the house and marched toward the trailer. She had no idea where Ryan had been for the past two full
work
days, but her life would have been a hell of a lot better if he'd been there, and they were going to discuss this matter here and now.

CHAPTER SIX

R
YAN
PARKED
IN
front of the pasture gate to unload PJ, rolling his stiff shoulders as he walked to the back of the trailer. It'd been a hell of a long day.

“Do you work here?”

Ryan swung around at the sound of a taut female voice. Ellison stood a few feet away from him, a coat draped over her shoulders and a take-no-prisoners expression on her face.

“Yes,” he responded, his hand still on the trailer latch. Inside, PJ shifted, anxious to get out of the trailer and into his pasture.

“When?” she asked coldly.

He was way too tired for this. “The ranch gets all the hours it pays me for,” he said, answering what he assumed was the big question.

“It doesn't seem like it.”

“Not to be disrespectful, but you haven't been here long enough to see how many hours anyone works.”

“I've been here for six days and you've been gone for three of them.”

“It's my time off.”

“You were also gone the day I arrived.”

“That was my time off, too.”

She hugged the coat more tightly around her as wind gusted over them. “You seem to have an awful lot of time off.”

“What's this all about?” Ryan asked, figuring if he was going to get any sleep, he may as well cut to the chase—set up a meeting to talk or whatever it was she had on her mind.

“There's no water in the house,” she said abruptly.

Not even close to what he expected. “Have you told Walt?”

“Lonnie was supposed to tell him about it, and either he forgot or Walt didn't care enough to come down here and do something about it.”

“So you've been sitting here stewing about it instead of contacting Walt?”

“I haven't had a lot of luck talking to Walt,” she replied in a clipped voice. “The power went out earlier due to the wind storm.”

“Nothing Walt could have done about that.”

“I know,” she said from between her teeth. “But when I tried to discuss calling the power company's emergency number...” She let out a breath that told Ryan more than if she'd described the interchange she'd had with Walt. “Never mind about that. The power company eventually came, the power came back on and then the water stopped running. Lonnie was supposed to tell Walt. When Walt didn't show up, I tried to call Francisco.”

“On Friday evenings he goes to Mass and then visits his family in town. Sometimes they spend the night.”

“And
you
were nowhere to be found.”

“I'm here now,” he said. “And I'll fix the water.”

“Tonight?”

“As soon as I take care of my horse and park the trailer.”

“You know what the problem is?”

“I have a good idea.”

“Which is?”

Damn, lady. Let me unload my horse.
“You used up all the water in the storage tank and the pump isn't on.”

“But the power came back on and there's still no water.”

“When there's a power bump, sometimes the pump has to be reset.”

“It would have been nice if
someone
had done that.”

“There's a good chance that Walt didn't think about resetting the pump after the power came on.”

“Oh, I think it occurred to him. I think he totally resents having me here and is taking every opportunity to make me uncomfortable.”

She was probably right. Ryan rubbed a hand over the back of his aching neck, more to buy time while he thought than to ease the stiffness there. PJ stomped a front foot, rattling the trailer. “Look, I need to take care of my horse—”

“Fine. Just take care of the water, too. Okay?”

“I'll do that.”

Ellison turned without another word and started toward the house, stopping when she reached the flagstones. “I'd like to set a time to talk about a few things.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you're here,” she said pointedly.

“How about at seven? Before I go to work?” That way he could get the damned meeting over with and concentrate on work.

Her mouth opened and he had a feeling she'd been about to say no, when instead she said, “Fine. Seven.”

* * *

E
LLIE
STALKED
DOWN
the hall to her bedroom, snapping off the light as she walked into the room so that Ryan couldn't see her through the curtainless window. Outside, the truck headlights cast odd shadows across the yard, but it wasn't the shadows that caught her attention. Ryan had just led his horse into the pasture and pulled the halter off, but the animal didn't walk away. Instead he turned to face Ryan, lowering his head as Ryan reached out to rub his ears. Ellie was about to turn away, feeling as though she were spying, but she stopped when Ryan took the horse's face between his hands and lightly rested his forehead against the horse's. Ellie turned away from the window, but the image stuck. Man and horse in silent communication, as if drawing strength from one another. Or maybe Ryan was so tired he'd fallen asleep leaning against the horse.

Ellie wondered how he was going to look after four whole hours of sleep, but the bigger question was whether or not he could get the water running. After he parked the truck and the headlights went out, Ellie had no idea where he went. To bed, if he was anything like Walt, but a few seconds later she was startled by a cough from the kitchen faucet that she'd left on. Another cough and as she walked into the kitchen, water started to sputter out. Soon a thin stream formed, gaining volume with each passing second. When the pressure was at full bore, Ellie turned off the faucet and headed to the bathroom for a late-night shower.

All right, cowboy,
she thought as she pulled the shirt over her head while she walked,
I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But your alleged boss, the ranch manager...not so much.

* * *

I
T
WAS
A
good thing that his mother never once let Ryan sleep in after he'd rolled in late from a night of partying back in his younger days, because getting out of bed after a grand total of three hours of sleep seemed almost easy when he didn't have a hangover. He found Walt graining his calves, muttering to the animals as they pushed at each other.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said as Ryan walked up. “How'd you do?”

“Lost twice to Tommy Walking Dog. How'd you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn't reset the pump after the power came back on and I heard about it when I pulled in last night.”

Walt put his hand on top of his head. “I forgot.”

“Did Lonnie tell you?”

“Left a note on the door, but I got back after dark, got busy with the dogs—Betsy needs her medication and it's hell getting it down her throat—and I guess it just slipped my mind.”

Right.
“You can't do stuff like this.”

“I forgot,” Walt repeated stubbornly. “It didn't kill her to go a few hours without water—although I imagine she doesn't think that way. Did you reset the pump?”

“Is she out here yammering at us?”

Walt glanced toward the house. “Good point.”

Ryan let out a breath and it was cold enough that it showed, but by late afternoon, he'd probably be taking his shirt off. “I've got to meet with her and I'm going to do what I can to convince her that you had a good reason not to do as she'd asked, but, Walt...honestly...while the family is here, you've gotta play ball. Convince them that you're the competent manager they can't live without.” He wasn't quite ready to tell him about George coming in as a consultant, because Walt was going to blow a gasket once he knew his worst fears had come true.

“Shouldn't I be the one meeting with her?”

Probably. “I think she wants to talk about me being gone for three of the six days she's been here.”

“That's none of her business.”

Except that she was a representative of the owner. “Yeah. I'll talk to you later,” Ryan said.

“Good luck,” Walt muttered.

Ryan had a suspicion that Ellison was not an early riser. She'd agreed to 7:00 a.m., yet he'd knocked twice and there was no sign of life on the other side of the heavy wood door. He raised his hand to knock again, then heard the sounds of movement inside.

Ellison pulled the door open, a serene expression on her face, which made Ryan believe that she was unaware that her blouse was buttoned crookedly or that the lace of her pale blue bra showed through the gap.

“Good morning,” she said, stepping back to allow him to come inside. He pulled off his ball cap as he crossed the threshold. “I was just making some tea,” she said as she started for the kitchen. Ryan followed. The kettle was indeed on, so perhaps he'd been wrong in thinking that she'd been in bed when he'd knocked and had hastily thrown on her clothes.

“I hope I'm not too early,” he said as she busied herself getting two mugs out of the cupboard. Walt had kept a hodgepodge of cups and mugs, some dating back to the 1940s, in that same cupboard, which now held four generic white cups.

“Not at all.” She looked over her shoulder. “Do you like tea? I don't have any coffee.”

“I, uh, really don't need anything.”

“Suit yourself.” She dropped a bag in the mug, then came to sit at the table, waving him into the chair opposite. And then she smiled a little, a smile Ryan couldn't read. “I want to apologize for ambushing you last night. I was a little...stressed. I also want to thank you for the water.”

“No problem,” he said automatically, surprised at the unexpected apology and wondering if he should tell her about her blouse, which was gaping even more now that she was seated. “I talked to Walt. There's no excuse, but he honestly did get caught up in some stuff and simply forgot.” He wasn't about to say that Walt was old and it was understandable if he occasionally forgot.

“Let's talk about Walt,” Ellison said, taking the opening Ryan had purposely given her.

“All right,” Ryan said, hoping he could do Walt some good.

“He's not very friendly.”

“What Walt lacks in social skills, he makes up for in ranching knowledge.”

“My aunt and uncle are big on social skills,” she said simply. “I don't know how Walt survived their first visit here, but I'm actually kind of surprised.”

Did he tell her the truth here? That Walt had still been in a depressed funk and that Ryan had pretty much seen him through all the meetings under the guise of being foreman?

“You need to understand where Walt is coming from. His family owned this ranch for three generations. His great-grandfather homesteaded it and he was the one who lost it. You can see where, at his age, that's a sore point.”

“Then after selling the ranch, he should have moved on.” Her response was matter-of-fact. Cold. And it pissed him off.

“Where to?” Ryan asked.

“Surely he got enough—”

“To pay back his creditors. Once that was done and he paid back the private loans he'd taken out trying to keep the place afloat, well, he probably could have bought a small parcel, but he couldn't have kept his cows.” Ryan made a small circle on the tabletop with the tips of his fingers, debating before he met Ellison's eyes. She was watching him intently. “It would be hard for him to leave this place.”
He plans to die here.

“Even if it belongs to someone else.”

“I don't know if he can go yet. And you shouldn't let him go. Yes, he's behaving badly, but he has a knowledge of this place that only someone who grew up here could have.”

“Yet he lost it.”

“I don't think you understand the economics here. Lots of people lost their places. The ranch suffered drought followed by wildfire. On top of that, he was advised poorly in financial matters by someone he trusted and took a fall because of it. Frankly you guys are lucky that he wants to stay on.”

“Expertise means nothing if he's too surly to communicate with.”

“I'll help him out there.”

“Surely you have other things to do than to manage the manager.”

Maybe it was because she'd hit the nail on the head that Ryan felt his back go up. “Yes,” he said shortly. “I have a lot to do, and in a few minutes I really should be getting at it.”

“If you have so much to do, why are you taking so many days off?”

“Like I told you, I participate in rodeo,” he said. “I'm a roper. The busy part of the Montana Circuit is July and August, so during those months, I hire Lonnie to take over my duties on the days I have to be gone. He can only do certain things, so I make up for what he can't do during the days I'm here. The ranch loses nothing. I make sure of it.” He spoke with conviction, because what he said was true, but he didn't think Ellison was buying it.

“Shouldn't your job take precedence over your hobby?” she asked, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“It's a little more than a hobby.”

“How so?”

“I make pretty good money.”

“How good?” she asked suspiciously.

“I paid cash for my truck.”

She seemed reasonably impressed, to the point that it took her a thoughtful moment to say, “You're not dependent on the ranch for your income.”

“I didn't say that. It costs a lot to do what I do. Especially during the early season when I fly to the rodeos. Right now it's a decent second income, but it won't last forever. Shoulders and knees wear out.”
Horses fall on you. Things like that.
“The ranch is my first priority.”

Ellison shook her head and leaned back in her chair. The gap in her blouse closed with the movement...not that he was looking. “I have to admit that circumstances here are different from those I'm used to working with. Not that there's any excuse for Walt's behavior.”