Rescuing Harmony Ranch

by Jennie Marts

  “Focus, Talbot.” Her mouth drew together in a tight line, then she tapped their tied legs. “Remember how we used to do this? This leg was one, our outside legs were two.”

  “Got it.” He tightened his grip on her waist and leaned forward.

  “Get set!”

  She held up her dress with one hand and wrapped the other around his back, her fingers securely clasping his belt loop. Leaning sideways, she whispered, “We can circle back to that kissing idea after we win.”

  He choked and almost stumbled forward, but she held him up even as her body shook with laughter.

  “Go!”

  She stopped laughing as her jaw set in concentration. “One!” she commanded, drawing their joined legs forward. “Two!” They found their rhythm as other couples around them yelled similar instructions.

  “Right! Left!”

  “Your other left!”

  “Just move your leg!” The couple next to them tripped and pitched forward. A few went to their knees or dragged their partner next to them.

  Mack focused on Jocelyn’s count, and they pulled ahead of the pack. Ted Wilkerson, a Woodland Hills native who ran the Big R Mercantile, and his ten-year old son Ned were right on their heels. Ted’s face set in concentration as he lifted the boy off the ground and practically broke into a run.

  “One, two. One, two.” Jocelyn’s count grew more feverish as they neared the finish line. “Don’t worry about them. There’s plenty of race left.”

  She always knew what he was thinking. “We made it,” he said as they crossed the line, and he immediately bent to untie their legs.

  Jocelyn grabbed two gunny sacks and tossed one to him, then stepped into the other one. “Help me stuff this dress in here,” she told him, as she shoved piles of material into the sack.

  He grabbed one side. “Here, I’ll hold the bag. You shove in the dress.” Together they got her in the bag, and she took off hopping as he yanked his gunny sack up to his waist. “Go! Go! I’m right behind you.”

  They’d lost a little ground with the extra time they took with the dress, but she was making up for it now as she leapt around the hay bale course. He tried to focus on his hopping, but she was cracking him up as her hat bounced on her head with every hop. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t fallen off already.

  Ted and his son were just ahead of them as Jocelyn made it across the new finish line and started wriggling out of her gunny sack. Mack doubled his efforts, hopping harder, then dropping the bag and stumbling out of it.

  Jocelyn already had two eggs, and she handed him a spoon. “We only have to get one of these across.” There were four balance beams set up, and if a contestant fell off in the middle, they had to get in line again. She sprinted to the far beam where there was only one person in front of her.

  He ran to the line next to hers, figuring they could try to get to the other side at the same time. Who was he kidding? He totally wanted to beat her. “Hurry up, kid,” he told Ned, who had just stepped onto the beam ahead of him. Dang. Little weasel raced across like it was nothing. Now the Wilkersons would have the lead.

  He stabilized his egg on the spoon before stepping on to the beam. Steady. Steady. You can do it. He made it halfway across—then his foot slipped and hit the ground. He lunged his hand out and caught the egg before it fell. Circling back, he got in line behind Janice Newberry, a woman who ran the coffee shop in town and occasionally volunteered at the ranch. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited his turn.

  Jocelyn’s straw hat had slipped forward, and some of her hair had come loose, but her feet were steady as she focused on her spoon and stepped solidly across the beam. “Come on, Mack,” she encouraged from the other side. “You got this.”

  Three more steps, and he had it. He jumped to the ground on the other side, and his egg went tumbling off the spoon and hit the grass with a splat.

  “Dang it,” he shouted, staring at the yellow yolk leaking from the mess of egg shell fragments.

  “Don’t worry. We still have one,” she said, her enthusiasm undeterred.

  “Easy for you to say. You still have your egg.”

  Laughter bubbled from her as she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward the final leg of the race. “Don’t pout. We’re still in this.” She nodded to Ted Wilkerson, who was already taking his first tentative steps on the stilts. “I know I can take him.”

  Mack picked up a stilt. “In that dress? No way. I got this part.”

  “You’re terrible on stilts. I can win this for us.”

  “You haven’t seen me use these in years. I’m better now.”

  “Seriously? Have you been practicing?”

  “Occasionally. And I’m sure I’ve been on stilts more often than you have in the past decade. Unless you often take a stroll through Central Park on a pair of them.”

  “Quit bickering, you two,” Molly yelled at them from the side lines. “Woodland Hills is taking the race, and I’ve got a twenty bet on this.”

  They froze and jerked their heads toward the race area. Ted was halfway across. Mack pushed the stilt toward Jocelyn. “Molly’s right. We’ve got to get out there. You do it.”

  She looked from him to Ted, chewing her lip, then thrust the stilt back at him. “No. You’re right. This dress will probably trip me up. You do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Somebody get on the dang stilts!” Molly shouted.

  “Go,” Jocelyn ordered.

  He stepped onto the small platforms, then took off across the raceway. This was his chance to redeem himself after dropping his dumb egg. Taking large solid strides, he passed two people. Ted still had a good lead on him, though. He picked up the pace.

  “Come on, Mack!” Jocelyn yelled her encouragement. She and Ned had run around the side of the track and were now standing on the other side cheering him and Ted on.

  “Go faster, Dad,” Ted’s son screamed. “Squash that guy like a bug.”

  Geez. Ned seemed to have inherited his competitive streak from his dad. But Mack had a competitive streak of his own, and he was going to win this thing. He and Ted were now the clear frontrunners, and Mack was gaining on the other man.

  Ted looked back, his eyes going wide as he saw how close Mack was. That panic was the other man’s fatal mistake, as he fumbled the next step and fell to the ground.

  Now was his chance. Mack took four giant steps and crossed the finish line.

  “You did it! We won!” Jocelyn shouted, racing toward him and throwing her arms around his neck.

  He dropped the stilts and lifted her in the air, spinning her around. Caught up in the moment, he apparently forgot they were surrounded by half the town of Harmony Creek, as he set her down and went in for that kiss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Well, dang. Jocelyn realized what was happening a second too late. She’d thought Mack was coming in for a hug and had just turned her face toward his shoulder when his lips collided with the side of her cheek. She turned back, hoping it wasn’t too late—or too awkward to try again. But the moment was gone.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to take that thing,” Hank’s voice came from behind her. “Those Wilkersons almost beat you.”

  Jocelyn stepped back, but still gripped Mack’s forearms, holding onto him to steady herself. Her brain was dizzy from the spin and the barely missed kiss. Mainly the kiss.

  “Oh, leave them alone,” Gram said, scooting up next to them. “Let them enjoy their victory.” She patted Jocelyn’s arm. “Great race, you two.”

  Jocelyn turned to her grandmother as she dropped her hands to her sides. “Thanks, Gram. It was fun. I was a little worried in that last bit, but Mack pulled it out.”

  “I had a good partner,” he said, dropping his arm around her shoulder. “Even if she is a little bossy.”

  “I’m
not bossy. I’m confident.” She playfully nudged his belly with her elbow. “Confident that I ran that race better than you.”

  “Better than me? We were on the same team.”

  She laughed, her grin mischievous as she tried not to be sidetracked by the warm pressure of his arm resting casually around her shoulder. “I know. I’m just saying, not that it matters now, but I’m not the one who dropped my egg.”

  He smiled. “Touché.”

  “You both did great,” her grandmother told them. “You seem like the perfect team to me.”

  Jocelyn wiggled her finger in Gram’s direction. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “What?” Gram said, with feigned innocence. “I’m just making an observation that you two seem like a great couple, er, I mean, team.” She grinned, then her eyes widened as she spotted something behind Jocelyn. “There’s Loretta. I gotta go before she catches me and makes me go back to the house to take a nap.”

  “You should go back to the house to take a nap,” Jocelyn called after her. But it was too late. Gram had already scooted her way into the crowd of people heading toward the food vendors.

  “I should go too,” Mack said. “I’ve got a blacksmithing demonstration I need to finish setting up for.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nah, I got it. But I’ll catch up with you at the chili cook-off afterwards.” He started to lean forward like he wanted to try to kiss her again, then must have changed his mind because he just squeezed her shoulder, then dropped his arm. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Thanks for helping me win the race.”

  “Thanks for not dropping your egg.” He shot her a wink as he walked away.

  Jocelyn had plenty to do to keep busy, but she still somehow happened to find herself outside the blacksmith shop an hour later. She should probably check on the volunteers at the gates to make sure they had enough change, but she was drawn to the door of the shop and the deep voice coming from inside. She could just pop in and listen for a minute.

  She slipped inside the door and stood at the back of the room. No one noticed her. They were all too busy watching the man at the hearth as he worked, pounding and molding the hot iron to his will. He looked so strong and handsome, his big hands working the iron.

  He wore khaki trousers and a lightweight cotton shirt, and had a leather apron wrapped around his waist. Jocelyn imagined he looked much like blacksmiths had in the early 1900s—the tools and trappings of the craft having stayed much the same.

  “This bit I’m raking up is called the coke.” Mack was pulling a small forked tool through a pile of burnt coals on the hearth. “It’s coal that’s already been baked from a previous fire.”

  “Why don’t you wear gloves?” a young boy at the front of the audience asked. “Doesn’t that hot metal burn your hands?” Jocelyn had been wondering the same thing.

  “I try not to touch the hot part,” Mack said, grinning at the boy. His smile did funny things to Jocelyn’s stomach. “This is the way I was taught when I apprenticed with the Master Blacksmith. Gloves are kind of bulky, and the best tongs are my hands,” he explained. “And the iron isn’t hot on this end.” He waved the boy forward. “Would you like to come up here, and you can tell everyone how it feels?”

  The boy’s head bobbed as he eagerly vaulted from his chair. Mack showed him how to touch the cool end of the piece, then handed the boy the hammer and let him bang the hot iron. Jocelyn remembered Hank letting them do the same thing when they were kids and hanging around the blacksmith shop.

  She saw a lot of Hank in Mack—in the confident way he worked not just the iron, but the audience as well. He kept up a lively conversation, teaching them, but also tossing in a few corny jokes and making them laugh.

  A man in the audience nudged his wife as he whispered, “See, babe? I told ya dis would be cool. Dat ain’t sumpin’ you nah-mally see in Central Pahk.”

  Jocelyn turned her head as she caught the thick East Coast accent. She expected to feel deeper pangs of homesickness for New York, but instead she realized how much she was enjoying being back in Colorado and the slower pace of life on the ranch.

  Her chest tightened as she suddenly felt unsure of where she belonged. There were so many things she loved about New York: strolling through the museums, catching a Broadway show, and nobody did a Maple Bacon Melt and tots like the Meltshop. But a piece of her also felt at home in Harmony Creek. No one in New York made an Old Fashioned Apple pie like her grandmother, or mac and cheese like Mrs. Crandle.

  And there was no Mack Talbot in New York.

  Her eyes were drawn to him as he laughed and forged two fiery pieces of metal into one intricate shape, and her heart both filled and hurt at watching him.

  Mack had found his place here. This ranch, this job as blacksmith and caretaker, it suited him. He had followed in his grandfather’s footsteps, but he’d also made it his own. And he’d settled into it like a comfortable chair.

  This was where he belonged. She’d always thought she belonged here with him. But if she had come back, she would have missed out on so many of the amazing experiences she’d had in New York. And she wouldn’t have the job that she currently held and loved. Or a chance at the promotion she was fighting for.

  Being here, on the ranch, with Mack, it was easy to slip into their old patterns, teasing each other, competing over who was better at using stilts, even sneaking hugs that had her toes curling in her old-fashioned boots.

  But this was his life, not hers. Wasn’t it?

  Everything about her life was forward-thinking and technology-driven, while everything in his was focused on the simplicity of the past.

  But could they find a way to meld their lives together, the way Mack was forging the two pieces of steel into one complete design?

  The audience clapped as the boy took a bow, then returned to his seat. Mack tipped his head, giving the boy the acclaim. His gaze traveled over the rest of the group, then lit on Jocelyn standing by the door. His lips curved up in a smile meant just for her.

  And all thoughts of their differences, their two separate lives, disappeared as she fell into that grin. Her heart tumbled, hammering in her chest, and all she could do was hold on. And smile back.

  The chili cook-off had been set up in one of the outbuildings. It wasn’t part of the original homestead, but had been built in the Eighties, and it housed a small kitchen and a large meeting room. They often used it for cooking or quilting demonstrations or if they needed a bigger area for more people.

  Since it had originally been a Woodland Hills event, the visitors had offered to set everything up, but had coordinated it with Hank. Mack’s grandfather had long been held in high regard as a chili aficionado and often served as a judge for both communities’ cook-offs. Long tables ran one length of the room and folded placards sat in front of various crockpots, stating the contestant number and the category in which the chili was entered.

  Jocelyn inhaled the sweet and spicy scents of tomato sauce, onions, and chili powder as she stepped into the room. Since the contestants had to pay a fee to enter, she was thrilled to see so many crockpots lining the wall.

  Hank stood in the center of the room and waved her toward the judges’ table at the front. “Thanks for volunteering to do this, Joss,” he said as he met her at the table. “You’re in for a real treat.”

  “I’m excited. But also a little nervous.”

  “Don’t be. I assigned you to the Sweet and Sassy category, so you won’t have to judge the real hot stuff.”

  “My mouth and my stomach thank you.”

  He pointed to the chairs lined up behind the table, where a few other judges were already taking their seats. “You’ll be Judge #5. I put you next to Janice Newberry. She’s an old hat at this thing, and she can show you the ropes.”

  “Perfect.” Jani
ce had been around forever, and Jocelyn had known her since she was a girl. She took her place next to the other woman. “Hey Janice. Good to see you.”

  The other woman gave her a hug. “Good to see you too, honey. I wanted to give you a squeeze earlier, but we were on the obstacle course and in the throes of competition.”

  “That was fun. I’m glad we’re on the same side in this contest, though. Hank told me I’ll be judging the Sweet and Sassy category.”

  “That’s probably good.” Janice wiggled her eyebrows and gave her a mischievous grin. “Because judging by the smoldering looks I saw Mack Talbot giving you earlier, I don’t think there’s a chili here that’s spicy enough to compare to that heat.”

  Warmth flooded Jocelyn’s cheeks. Speaking of heat, she thought. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

  The other woman smiled knowingly. “I’m just teasing you. It’s good to have you home.”

  Home. Harmony Ranch had always felt like home to her. But her life, her job, and her dinky share of an overpriced apartment were in New York. Not to mention the promotion she’d just spent the last several months of her life working for.

  Except she was starting to wonder if the most important part was here—her heart.

  Mack made it to the chili cook-off just as they were announcing the winners. The room was packed, which was good because after the winners were announced, spectators would be able to buy bowls of chili and sample the various entries. He hoped they all brought their appetites and their wallets.

  He craned his neck to see the judges’ table. Spotting Jocelyn sitting next to Janice, stacks of paper bowls littered across the table in front of them, he made his way forward, then dropped into the vacant chair beside her. “Sorry I’m late,” he leaned in and whispered. “How did it go?”

  “Great. It was fun,” she whispered back. “And hard. There were so many good ones. I’m glad your grandpa gave me the sweeter ones to judge, though. The ones in the spicy category were apparently pretty fiery this year.”

  “Oh yeah?”