Wild Cowboy Country

by Erin Marsh

  “But this is Sagebrush Flats! We’re one of the few ranching communities openly embracing wolf reintroduction. You’re talking about water. Water! This land needs more of it. You don’t have to be an ecologist to know the West’s aquifers are in trouble.”

  Lacey halted her tirade when she spotted Clay watching her with a bemused expression on his face. Disbelief crept through her. He looked…affectionate? Toward her? An unexpected warmth flooded Lacey. Surely, she’d misinterpreted his look.

  “Lacey, you could talk the town into collectively relocating to the International Space Station. But I’m not you. My ranch hands aren’t happy when I ask them to build dams in the creek or to loosen up ground and then use the rocks we excavate to make patterns to trap the soil. As Thompson says, ‘Moving dirt isn’t ranching.’”

  Realization sunk into her. Maybe she had misread his expression. “You need my help.”

  “Support would be a better word,” Clay corrected as they headed back toward their horses.

  “With your own ranch hands?”

  He winced a little at her question as he climbed into the saddle. “They might not like the work we’re doing on the ciénegas, but I’m still the boss. But if I’m going to build the Valhalla Beef brand and transform the ranch into a wedding venue, I need to stop being blackballed by the community.”

  “You’re not blackballed,” Lacey protested as she mounted the mare Clay had lent her.

  He pressed his heels into his gelding’s sides as he directed the horse back to a knoll overlooking the creek running through the property. He gave a whistle before answering. Ace loped up to them, and Clay kept their pace slow enough that the dog could easily follow.

  “I’d read about programs where high school students help restore ciénegas. But when I called Sagebrush High, they weren’t interested in a project involving a Stevens.”

  “It’s a lot of work for a teacher to set up something like that. Maybe no one was available.”

  “True, but folks won’t collaborate with me even if it benefits them. I already told you Katie Wilson turned down the opportunity to design some ads and help me put together an online video. She said her schedule was too full.”

  “Maybe it really was,” Lacey said, although even she doubted that. Katie was doing great as a freelancer, but she’d normally jump to put together an ad campaign for someone local.

  “She’s your cousin.”

  “Second or third.” Lacey wished the slight buzzing in her head would stop. Horseback riding with a brain injury was turning out to be challenging. She wondered if Clay noticed her discomfort, because he pulled his horse up short as they reached a knoll overlooking the creek cutting through the land. Cottonwoods and aspens grew alongside it, their leaves rustling in the air. Clay’s ancestors had chosen a beautiful spot. They’d settled at the headwaters, which would make Clay’s plans for restoring the ciénega easier since he wouldn’t have to fight for water rights.

  Ace glanced at the creek and then swiveled his large head back in Clay’s direction. His ears were perked in excitement, his brown eyes liquid pools of longing. Clay made a motion with his hand, and the dog let off a stream of happy barks as he raced into the water, the spray glistening in the sunlight.

  As the canine splashed happily in the eddies, Clay leaned forward in the saddle, his eyes focused on his dog as he spoke. “And then there’s June Winters. She doesn’t currently offer burgers, but I told her the tourists would go crazy for one-hundred-percent grass-fed beef. She seemed interested until I told her I wanted her to market them as Valhalla Beef. She gave me her best ‘poor little chickadee’ smile and told me they wouldn’t sell.”

  “‘Poor little chickadee’ smile?”

  Clay tilted his head, made his blue eyes soft and gooey, and plastered on the world’s most placating smile. He looked like a caricature of June Winters and her sunny southern charm. A surprised laugh bubbled out of Lacey, but Clay didn’t appear amused.

  “I want to build a specialty beef business, so I’m not sending my herd to be fattened at feed lots. If I can build a brand, I can sell each heifer for more. Then I can decrease the herd and rotate the fields, which means better grassland, more biodiversity, and less water use. But to do all that, I need a local market, but nobody’s buying. Even the national park won’t touch me. They all know you and your mom.”

  Lacey would have never suspected she and Clay Stevens would agree on anything, but his long-term goals for his spread were an ecologist’s dream. Between the ciénega and better land management, he would bring back habitat for many local animals, including the black-footed ferrets that the Sagebrush Zoo was currently breeding for release.

  “I want to see your plans.”

  “Okay,” Clay said congenially as if she’d just told him she’d like tea instead of coffee rather than asking him to share his business model. She would have expected Clay to balk at handing over details of his proposed improvements to his own property. As much as she got along with her uncle, she doubted even he’d appreciate her reviewing his strategy for the family ranch.

  “Just like that, okay?” Lacey asked, a little surprised.

  “I might not agree with you regarding the wolves, but you’re a damn good ecologist. Why the hell would I turn down your expertise?”

  “You don’t exactly like me.”

  Clay’s eyes warmed to a tropical blue-green. “I wouldn’t go that far. In fact—”

  “Stevens!” The sharp voice cracked into the moment, shattering it. Both Lacey and Clay turned to see his foreman barreling toward them in a four-wheeler. Dust sprayed from the tires as he skidded to a stop. The rawboned fifty-year-old jumped off the vehicle and marched up the hill. When his eyes fell on Lacey, they widened first in shock before they narrowed.

  “What are you doing out here, Lacey?” The man attempted to modulate his voice to sound pleasant, but he couldn’t completely smooth over the underlying terseness.

  “I was just showing her the ranch,” Clay said, his voice stiff. He didn’t sound defensive, but it also wasn’t a tone a boss would usually take with an employee challenging his control. It was more the sound of a man dealing with a professional adversary.

  Uncle Pete’s lips tightened, but he didn’t question Lacey any further. Instead, he turned his hard eyes on Clay. “There’s been a wolf sighting.”

  Clay’s entire body went rigid. “Where?”

  “Tim Forrester said he spotted them leaving his property and heading toward the north pasture.”

  Clay swore. He turned toward Lacey. The green flecks had all but vanished from his eyes, leaving a clear blue behind. This was a man steeled for action. He didn’t look so much like a predator as he did a defender, ready to stand guard over those under his protection.

  “That’s where the calves and their mothers are,” he explained to her. “It’s the farthest from Rocky Ridge.”

  “I’ve already sent Hawkins and Stewart that direction, but I thought you’d want to know.” Uncle Pete’s eyes slid toward hers, and she swore she saw a challenging glint. “Considering your low opinion of wolves.”

  Ignoring his foreman’s last comment, Clay turned his horse toward the north. He gave a sharp whistle, and Ace loped up the hillside, his tongue happily lolling to the side. Clay jerked his head in the dog’s direction as he addressed Pete. “Take him and Lacey to the main complex. I don’t want him tangling with a wolf.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Lacey said.

  Clay shot her a glance. The fire in his eyes almost blasted her back. “I’m not going to shoot one of your Mexican gray wolves. They’re a protected species. I know the law. I’m just going to help scare them off.”

  “And I’m an expert on wolf behavior, and it’s odd for them to be active this time of day,” Lacey said calmly, although he wasn’t completely wrong about one of her reasons for tagging along. She was
beginning to realize Clay’s appreciation for wildlife, but he was still a man protecting his livelihood. “I can help you safely chase the lobos from your property. This is a good opportunity for me to document their behavior.”

  “Suit yourself.” Clay pressed his heels into his mount’s sides and took off at a gallop.

  Lacey followed. Her parents might have owned a diner in town, but she’d spent enough time on the Montgomery family ranch that she knew how to ride. It surprised her how well Clay did. He sat easy in the saddle. The leisurely ride out to the ciénega and the creek had been difficult with her concussion, but this fast jaunt triggered an uncomfortable pressure in her head.

  Still, she didn’t stop. Clay and his men had a duty to the cattle. Hers was to the wolves. They needed a champion on their side.

  Luckily, the horse was sure-footed and knew the land as it followed Clay’s gelding. Finally, when Lacey thought she’d have to slack her pace, they reached the back pasture. Ignoring her symptoms, Lacey gazed over the sheltered land stretching along the creek. She couldn’t spot anything moving in the grass except the cows and Clay’s men. The two ranch hands were staring down at the ground, and Clay rode straight toward them.

  “Any wolves?”

  The taller cowboy shook his head. “Not that we can see. The herd seems content. Found a couple tracks though.”

  Clay dismounted and crouched down. While the men focused on the paw prints, Lacey slowly got off her horse, using the saddle to steady herself. Fortunately, the mare wasn’t skittish.

  When she turned, she found the men still analyzing the dirt by the creek bank. Walking toward the trio, she lowered herself to the ground to get a better look at the tracks.

  “What do you think?” Clay asked her.

  Still feeling off-balance from the horse ride, she had difficulty concentrating on the impressions in the mud. The outlines seemed blurry…and not because the tracks had been smudged. Lately, she’d experienced a similar problem when trying to read.

  She tried to blink and refocus, but it didn’t work. She swore she noticed something unusual about the paw prints, but she couldn’t be certain.

  “Lacey?”

  Clay sounded worried. His boots appeared in her peripheral vision. She started to stand, but she swayed just a little. She pulled in a calming breath. His hand rested on her left shoulder, and she concentrated on that. Even through the cotton fabric of her T-shirt, his fingers felt strong, reassuringly so.

  * * *

  Clay didn’t like Lacey’s pallor. The freckles dusting her nose stood in stark contrast to her milky-white skin.

  “Is she okay?” Carter Hawkins asked a little nervously. He was the youngest of Clay’s ranch hands. Although the guy knew his way around cows, his social skills were occasionally lacking. He was a loner and clearly didn’t relish the idea of being stuck with a sick person.

  “I’m fine,” Lacey said, but her voice didn’t contain its normal perkiness.

  “Stewart, can you get my canteen?” Clay asked. “Lacey might need water.”

  Joe Stewart nodded. He was in his early fifties. Although he’d worked for Clay’s grandfather too, he didn’t give Clay as much resistance as the rest of the old guard did. It didn’t take Stewart long to retrieve the flask. Clay took it and handed it to Lacey.

  To his surprise, when she shifted to sip from the container, she leaned against him. The trust in the gesture shocked him. He didn’t want to admit how good her slight weight felt. Clay yearned to snake his arms around her and pull her even closer. He didn’t dare though. The woman clearly wasn’t feeling well. The last thing she needed was for him to take advantage. Plus, even if Hawkins and Stewart weren’t the most talkative sorts, they wouldn’t be able to resist gossiping about their boss embracing the town sweetheart.

  Lacey tipped her head back, letting it rest against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said so quietly Clay almost didn’t hear her despite their proximity. “I feel a little off-kilter after the ride.”

  Shit. Clay might just be getting to know the real Lacey Montgomery, but she didn’t seem like a woman who’d willingly show any weakness. She must be feeling pretty ill to confess this. And he understood the need to hide vulnerabilities. He glanced up at his ranch hands. Clay would have preferred to look for the pack himself, but both men were meticulous. He trusted them to do the job. So did his foreman.

  “Stewart. Hawkins. Keep looking for the wolves. Radio if you see any. I’m going to stay here with Lacey. I’ll take her back to Frasier Mansion.”

  The men appeared visibly relieved. They jerked their heads in acknowledgment before climbing back on their side-by-sides. Chances were they wouldn’t see any lobos. The sound of the motors would drive off the notoriously skittish canines. Either way, the herd would be safe.

  As the men sped away, Clay glanced down at Lacey, who was gingerly sipping water. Sweat had dampened her skin and plastered a few tendrils of hair to her forehead.

  His brother had gotten a couple of concussions playing soccer, and Clay recognized the symptoms. After all, he’d been the one hanging out with Greg while his parents went to yet another social event.

  “Are you light-headed?” Clay asked gently.

  Lacey glanced at him. “Yeah.”

  “Headache?”

  She started to nod and then winced. “I might have the beginnings of one. How did you know?”

  “My brother was a soccer star, and his team was uber competitive—a lot of headshots, lots of collisions. It was before the serious implications of brain injuries were widely understood, so Greg just played through the pain. His reaction was about the same as yours,” Clay explained.

  “It’s not fun.”

  “Do you want an aspirin? I have some in my saddlebag.”

  She raised a single chestnut-brown eyebrow. “You ride prepared.”

  He shrugged. “I started carrying it when my grandfather had his first chest pains. A couple of my ranch hands are older, so I keep some on hand.”

  “You and your grandfather were close?”

  Clay moved away from Lacey and busied himself with finding the medicine. “I looked up to the old man.” His grandfather’s feelings toward him had been a lot more complicated. Hell, Clay was more surprised than Pete that he, rather than the foreman, had inherited the ranch.

  “Here.” Clay handed her the tablets. “Hopefully this will help dull the pain for the ride back.”

  “Thanks,” she said before downing the pills. “You don’t happen to have some Coke or ginger ale in there?”

  “Nope,” Clay said. “Midnight’s a tough horse, but even he’d balk at hauling a soda machine.”

  Lacey chuckled and then sobered. “Thanks for taking care of me. I know this is your busy season, and you have more to do than babysit me out in a pasture.”

  “Hell, it’s always busy season on a ranch,” Clay said, “but I can spare a few moments. It’s a good chance for me to check on the herd.”

  The cattle had long ago stopped showing interest in them. They’d moved downriver a little way. The babies stayed close by their mothers’ sides. As they got older, they’d explore more. Clay loved the stage when the calves romped with one another and worked on their bucking skills. Today, the scene was more peaceful than playful, the quiet only occasionally punctured by the lowing of the cows. As always, sitting still and watching his livestock on his own land triggered an elemental satisfaction deep inside Clay.

  He returned his attention to Lacey. Although he thought he spotted some pink returning to her cheeks, she still looked a little peaked.

  “Have you seen a doctor?” It probably wasn’t his place to ask, but the question had slipped out before he’d had a chance to think. She just looked so small and lost sitting in the red dirt beside clumps of big bluestem grass that his protective instincts had taken over.

  “So
rt of,” she admitted.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I saw my local GP here in Sagebrush, and he recommended I see a specialist in the city,” she said.

  “Have you made an appointment?”

  Silence and then a small “no.”

  “Let me guess, you’re one of those stubborn types who doesn’t like to go to the doctor.”

  “I was hoping it would go away on its own, and I don’t feel up to driving that far. I could ask my mom, but she hates being away from the Prairie Dog. My grandfather could take me, but I’ve already been asking him to chauffeur me to the store. At this stage in his life, I should be helping him, not the other way around.”

  “I could drive you.” Once again, the words fell from Clay’s lips before he’d thought them through.

  Her head bobbed up. “Really? It would take at least half a day.”

  “My nephew was partly responsible for your injury. It’s the least I can do,” Clay explained, even though he would have offered anyway. He felt drawn to Lacey, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting to spend more time with her. It was odd, this feeling of connection. He’d never been close, really close, to another person except for Greg. His old friendships had been shallow ones, and he’d lived as a loner in Sagebrush Flats.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Do you want me to tell your mom or grandfather about today?”

  She had enough energy to glare at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You need a push.”

  “What makes you think they’d even listen to you?”

  “Because they care about you more than they dislike me.”

  Lacey didn’t argue. She just sighed in patent resignation. “Fine. I’ll call and make an appointment. You’re sure you’re okay with driving me?”

  “Well, I won’t go so far as to say it would be my pleasure,” he said with exaggerated slowness until he added seriously, “but no, I don’t mind.”

  She poked him in the shoulder, and he smiled down at her. Arguing with him had definitely brought some life back to her face. The golden gleam had returned to her topaz eyes, and her skin didn’t appear as ghost-white as before.