How to Wrangle a Cowboy (10 page)

“I told you he loved you,” Grace whispered. “He was so proud of you.” She squeezed Lindsey’s hand. “So proud.”

Lindsey breathed deep and sat up, struggling to come to terms with her new reality. Somehow, her whole world had changed in the space of a few seconds. She’d inherited a ranch that was probably worth a million dollars, but that wasn’t what mattered. It was the words. Grace’s words.

“He was proud of me?”

“Of course. He grew the ranch for you, dear. He always meant for it to be yours.”

Lindsey clutched her grandmother’s hand as a memory from childhood threatened to sweep her away. In her mind, she drifted back in time until she was sitting on the front porch of the Lazy Q with her grandfather, her muscles deliciously achy from a long horseback ride that had taken them to the far reaches of the ranch. For the first time, she’d had a true sense of the size of the Lazy Q.

“Well, short stuff?”

That’s what he’d called her. She’d almost forgotten.

“What would you do with it if it was yours?” he’d asked.

She’d thought of the acres of wheat; the vast, rolling pastures; the endless rock-strewn grazing lands where cattle drowsed in the sun, and she’d known, all in a rush, exactly what she would do.

“It’s too big for just cows,” she’d said. “I’d start an animal sanctuary for all the poor dogs and cats and horses that don’t have homes. I’d save every stray animal in Wyoming.”

Her grandfather had laughed, and she’d been secretly, silently wounded as he’d told her how much work was involved in creating a ranch, and stressed the responsibility of maintaining it for all the folks who depended on it. He’d asked her how she’d pay for food for all those animals, and she had to mumble that she didn’t know.

She’d felt so ashamed. Pushing her silly idealism into a dark corner of her mind, she’d promised herself she’d be more practical. Silly dreams wouldn’t make her granddad proud.

Years later, her ex-husband had driven that lesson home, mocking her plan to work for shelters and rescue organizations. He’d reminded her how well-meaning women often took in strays only to become animal hoarders.

Maybe he’d been right to warn her. She had to admit she probably had the hoarding gene. She’d taken up knitting a year before, but already her closet held more yarn than she could use in a decade.

As the old memory faded, it left one lingering feeling behind: that heady sense of being young and idealistic, filled with grand dreams and good intentions. There was a part of her, a big part, that still wanted to fulfill that crazy dream.

And now, her grandfather had given her the ranch. She could make that dream come true if she just held fast to it, made it real.

Had he taken her more seriously than she’d thought?

Grace nudged her and she jerked out of her thoughts with a start. The lawyer was reading more of Bud’s words, words meant just for her. They were probably important instructions about running the ranch, and here she was, shirking her responsibilities already to float through candy-colored clouds of imagination.

Inhaling a long, deep breath, she gave herself a break. It had been so much to absorb, such a big change, and so sudden. She’d absorb the rest of the will later, when she could savor her grandfather’s words and hug to herself the love he’d left behind, along with that pride Grace had mentioned. Both would be a legacy as precious as the ranch itself.

Chapter 12

John Alvarez read a few more clauses loaded with legalese, then stopped. The reading of the will was done, and the void left by his voice was filled with the sound of shuffling boots and the scraping of chairs over the linoleum floor.

Grace turned to Lindsey, her eyes alight.

“I told you he forgave you.” She took Lindsey’s hands and squeezed them with surprising strength. “Now do you believe me?”

Lindsey nodded, but at that moment, her new responsibilities fell across her shoulders with a
thunk
, heavy and hard. She didn’t know anything about ranching. In fact, she’d struggled in any veterinary classes involving cattle, especially the hands-on ones. She would have been ashamed to tell her grandfather, but cows had always scared her a little.

Great. She’d just become the only rancher in the world who was afraid of cows. It was a good thing nobody knew.

The hair on the back of her neck stirred with a prickling sensation.

Shane Lockhart.

Yeah, he probably knew. She didn’t know how or why, but he seemed to probe all her secrets with those dark eyes. Just to confirm her hunch, she turned, and sure enough, his gaze was burning into her, hot and hard. He didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t staring.

Ignoring him, she turned to her grandmother. “It should be yours.” She twisted out of Grace’s grip so she could squeeze the old woman’s hands in her own. “It
is
yours. I don’t care what the will says.”

“Oh, no.” Grace’s smile dimmed ever so slightly, and Lindsey realized she was crushing fragile fingers that weren’t much more than bones. She eased her grip and the glow returned to Grace’s face.

“I can’t run it, honey, and Bud knew that,” Grace said. “Why, I don’t know a thing about cattle. Not a thing, after all these years!” She laughed, twinkling out the same graceful, trilling notes that had made her an up-and-coming ingenue so many years ago. “I just can’t get interested in smelly old cattle, but you’re a veterinarian. It’s a natural fit!” She bent her head close to Lindsey’s and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And don’t feel like there are any strings attached. It’s
yours.
You can keep it; you can sell it—you can do whatever you want. You heard what Bud said. He trusts you to do the right thing.”

Was that what he’d said? Dang. She’d hoped for step-by-step instructions, not trust.

She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling, her mind swirling with questions.

Why couldn’t life be simpler?

Why hadn’t she paid closer attention in Bovine Behavior 101?

Why was the world so filled with difficult men? There was her ex-husband, and there was Shane Lockhart, and there was—

She suddenly remembered the stranger with Bud’s face.

“Grace, where did that man go? The one who looks like Bud?”

“Oh, that wasn’t Bud, dear. Bud was much better looking.” Grace sounded a little dreamy, and Lindsey knew her grandmother was lost in memories again. It was a day for remembrance, but it was also a day about business, family, and the future.

“There was a man who looked like him, Grace. He had to be a relative. Don’t you know who it was?”

“No one to worry about, dear.” Grace’s eyes were still misty with memories. “Now that Bud’s gone, it’s just you and me.” She glanced pointedly at the foreman, then back at Lindsey. “Maybe it’s time you started a family of your own.”

“I’m not ready for that. Not again.” Lindsey let out a mirthless laugh, and was surprised to hear how bitter she sounded. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Oh, you know what they say, dear.” Grace’s eyes fairly twinkled, and Lindsey knew some gem of advice was coming. “When you get thrown, you have to get right back on the horse. Unless…well…”

Her words faded into silence, and Lindsey winced. She’d never be able to hear that old piece of cowboy advice without thinking of her grandfather and the unlikely cause of his sudden death.

She thought of the many times she’d seen him fall from a horse only to leap up again, laughing, his movements so limber it was hard to believe he was even a year past his prime. She’d give anything to see him laugh again—to see him, to talk to him, to ask for his advice.

To ask him what the heck he’d been thinking when he’d left her the Lazy Q.

* * *

Shane leaned against the back wall of the lawyer’s office, watching Lindsey whisper with her grandmother. She’d tamed her hair into a tight little knot at the back of her head in an effort to make herself look like a schoolmarm instead of the wildcat tomboy he’d glimpsed the night of the funeral, but a few tendrils were already escaping.

He wanted to lean forward and tug one of those delicate strands so the whole dark, shining mass would come tumbling down, revealing the spirited woman beneath her cool facade.

She glanced back and caught him looking. Hardening his stare, he did his best to cover the fact that he’d been well on his way to picturing her naked. Which was completely inappropriate, since his son was standing right there beside him.

Cody was staring at Lindsey too, but for a different reason. Where Shane saw a threat to his sanity, Cody saw a reminder of his missing mother.

Shane sighed. They’d have to leave. He couldn’t work for Lindsey Ward, and Cody didn’t need a daily reminder of all he’d lost. Bud had left them a stunningly large sum of money, along with two excellent roping horses, one a stallion. And to top it off, he’d left Cody a college fund.

Shane couldn’t quite believe it. The old man had even specified that whatever happened to the ranch, Shane would keep his job for a minimum of one full year, but he hadn’t said Shane was legally bound to stay and work for his granddaughter.

He remembered Bud’s words of praise, words the lawyer had intoned in the same monotonous drone as the rest of the will.

“
I haven’t seen Lindsey in a long time
,” Bud had written, “
but I’m betting she hasn’t allowed anything, or anyone, to change her. I’m sure she still wants to make the world a better place, and I want to give her the means to do that. I trust her with this whole kit and caboodle, and I trust her to care for my lovely bride as well.
”

The cowboy beside Shane leaned sideways and whispered, “She’s just a little bit of a thing, isn’t she? And now all that land is hers.”

He felt his right eye twitch, then twitch again.

“You think she understands what it’s worth? I’m not talking dollars and cents,” the cowboy mused. “I’m talking history. Tradition. Wilderness like you don’t find anymore.”

Shane could only nod. The Lazy Q was a green-and-gold patchwork of endless pastures and high mountain meadows, stitched together with rippling streams. Through it all ran the Buffalo River, feeding the land and the wildlife. There were deer, elk, bison, wolves, grizzlies—every Western species imaginable.

And cattle. Thousands of them, growing fat on the land.

“And family.” The cowboy spoke as if he’d heard Shane’s thoughts. “This place is about family. The kind you’re born with, and the kind you choose. Bud and Grace always treated me like family, you know? Well, ’course you do. You’re one of us.” Guffawing as if he’d made the joke of the century, the man slapped his thigh. “You’re one of us, all right. Always was.”

Shane clenched so hard it ached. An emotional cyclone spun in his gut, and he was afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth. Lindsey Ward had been blessed with the kind of family Shane had always wished for, a family that was responsible, hardworking, and kind. They’d loved her, but she’d chosen money over love.

And now, forgiving her that choice, they’d given her both.

The cowboy didn’t seem to notice Shane’s distress, or that he hadn’t spoken, and continued his monologue. “I’m surprised Bud didn’t leave it to Grace, or one of those conservation groups she’s always carrying on about.”

Shane dared to speak two words. “Me too.”

But maybe Bud had noticed how Grace was fading—how her conversations tended to drop off into dreams toward the end, and how she fished, often unsuccessfully, for names and even simple words. Maybe he’d realized she couldn’t care for herself, much less the ranch. But why would he trust Lindsey to do it?

“There’s nothing to stop this woman from cutting the place up and planting some of those minimansions or putting in a shopping mall,” the cowboy observed.

At that thought, Shane’s throat ached so hard, he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to. He was relieved when John Alvarez started up again, explaining in detail how and when the men could claim their legacies.

He felt a tug on his pant leg and knelt, putting a finger to his lips so Cody would remember to whisper.

“Can we still stay here?” Cody looked more worried than a six-year-old should ever be. “Even though it belongs to Lindsey now?”

“If we want to, we can,” Shane whispered. “Why? You want to?”

Cody looked up at the ceiling in a charming pantomime of deep thought, then nodded. “I like it here.” His gaze slid toward Shane. “Except I don’t have a puppy.”

“Okay.” Shane smothered a chuckle. “We’ll stay, then. You have a kitten, and that’s enough right now.”

Actually, Haycat was more than enough. That morning, she’d danced a complicated two-step—or was that a four-paw?—between Shane’s legs as he’d made his morning coffee, tripping him everywhere he went, mewing for food, for water, for something. Finally, in desperation, he’d picked up the bony little beast, and she’d settled into his arms and purred. He’d been strangely flattered, and the purring had been a surprisingly soothing sound.

“Me and my mom moved a lot,” Cody whispered. “I don’t want to move anymore, ever.”

Shane stroked the boy’s hair. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Be quiet now.”

“Okay.”

The kid lasted about two minutes before he tugged Shane’s pant leg again. Shane reminded himself of the night he’d first seen Cody sleeping in the back of Tara’s car. He’d made a lot of promises to God in return for his answered prayers. One of them was that he’d always listen to his son. Listen, and be patient.

“My mom had a Yorkie.” Cody’s whisper was nearly as loud as the lawyer.

Two nearby cowhands chuckled.

“Okay.” Shane wondered what a Yorkie was. Some little yapper dog, probably. “Let’s be quiet now, okay? It’s almost done.”

When the lawyer finally finished and people began to leave, Cody tugged Shane’s pant leg again. This time, his whisper was a little louder. “Is it done now?”

Shane nodded, and Cody looked relieved, as if he’d been holding back important news.

Still holding on to Shane’s pant leg, he announced, “Edward made Mom take the Yorkie to the pound ’cause it peed on the floor. It peed
a lot
.”