The Runaway Bride

by Patricia McLinn

  She turned to him with a smile that said she understood his pride, even though he’d tried to downplay it.

  “Great success, I bet—they’re gorgeous. It’s a beautiful ranch, Thomas. And Gandy says it’s mostly your doing.”

  She’d promised to ooh and ah, but she hadn’t said she’d sound so darn sincere that it would warm him despite himself.

  He bent and plucked the top off a long blade of grass. Rolling it between his fingers as if to test what it was made of, he said, “You haven’t seen most of it.”

  “I still hope to get jeans and see the rest, but I’ve seen enough to know it’s beautiful.” She didn’t concede an inch.

  “Beautiful, huh? Too bad beautiful doesn’t pay better.”

  She scowled at him. “Back to money? Money isn’t the most important thing you know, Thomas.”

  “It’s right up there when you don’t have enough. We’re holding our own. But cut away a quarter of the acreage, and red ink will be our best product.”

  “Why on earth would you cut away a quarter of the acreage?”

  “I wouldn’t. I’m doing my damnedest to hold it together.”

  “Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

  “What it boils down to is there’s somebody with the right to sell a quarter of the ranch come July 15. And if I don’t have the money to meet the price they’ve set, they’ll sell it to somebody else.”

  “Oh, Thomas…” He felt that low murmur of his name like a balm through his soul—and a sizzle in his bloodstream. “But wouldn’t three-quarters still be okay?”

  Grateful to address something he understood, he told her, “We’d be on the razor’s edge. Everything’s geared to the acreage we’ve got. If we lose a quarter, we’ve got too many head. We could sell—probably at a loss after expenses with the way the market is. Or we could lease grazing acreage, but there’s the leasing fee and the added cost of moving head, and working them somewhere else. Or we could sell some of the younger horses.”

  “Oh, Thomas, you don’t want to do that!”

  “I don’t want to do any of it. I won’t have a choice unless I get that money. And listen, don’t go talking to Becky about this. She knows things are tight—we’re down a few hands—but not the details.”

  He braced for her to make a comment about telling her when Becky didn’t know, but instead she looked thoughtful. “That’s why the training fee for Dickens is so important?”

  Nobody ever said she was stupid. “Yeah.”

  “How close are you?”

  “If I can collect that fee for training Dickens along with the early deadline bonus, I’ll make it. It’ll be tight for a few years, but we’ll be okay.”

  “Well, then, you’ll have to be sure Dickens is trained so well and so early you’ll not only get your fee, but a bonus on the bonus!”

  “Just like that, huh?” Feeling a lift from her energy, her confidence, he smiled.

  “Just like that.”

  And damned if he didn’t almost believe her.

  “You’re too young to date.”

  Judi stilled the porch swing when she heard Thomas wave that red flag in front of Becky’s fire-breathing fury.

  “I’m fifteen!”

  Judi had helped Gran get up and prepare for the day as usual, then left her in privacy to make her final touches, and had taken a seat on the porch swing with a cup of coffee to enjoy the morning peace. A peace shattered by the rising voices from inside the kitchen. These two particular voices seemed to rise with increasing frequency.

  “Like I said, too young. We’ll talk about it when you’re sixteen.”

  “Then I’ll get my license and I’ll drive away from here and never look back.”

  Becky flounced out, swinging the screen door wide so it slapped closed with a jolt that Judi felt through the porch floor. Becky never noticed Judi sitting there, as she ran down the porch stairs and around the house.

  Thomas followed more slowly, his widespread hand catching the screen door on one of its echoing rebounds. He looked in the direction his sister had gone.

  Was his guard dropping or was she getting better at reading his expression? These battles with Becky pained him. And he didn’t have a clue what to do about them.

  That’s why she kept her voice gentle when she said, “Give it up, Thomas.”

  After a flicker of hesitation, he turned, showing her a face devoid of emotion, and stepped onto the porch, letting the door close gently behind him. “Give what up?”

  “You’ll never be her hero again.”

  His guard dropped for an instant. “I’d just be happy to be her friend again.”

  “You were never friends before, Thomas. Because you were never close to being equals. Friendship takes level ground, and you were always way up on the hill until now. You’re her big brother, and you were her hero. But now she’s growing up.”

  His disbelief had been growing like grains of sand trickling onto one side of a seesaw, and when the “Becky growing up” grain—well, maybe that one was more like a boulder—hit the seat, it dropped down, sending the seesaw’s opposite end—the end holding Thomas’s irritation—shooting up.

  “She’s a kid,” he snapped. “Not to mention a complete stranger to you up until two weeks ago.”

  “She’s a kid, and she’s a woman, both and neither, all at the same time. She’s finding her path to being an adult. If you won’t let her take steps down that path while she still lives here as part of the family—”

  “Becky would never run away.”

  She huffed out a breath in exasperation. “I wonder how many families have said that before a teenager ran away. But it doesn’t have to be that way. There are a thousand other ways to get off the main road than being a runaway.”

  She stood, setting the swing rocking by the abruptness of her move. “And I know more about her after two weeks than you do after fifteen years because I’ve been there, being the much younger sister of an accomplished and bossy older brother. And because I pay attention.”

  She reached the door, then looked back. She didn’t want to leave that shot as her final word on the subject. Her final word on the subject today, she mentally amended. She knew herself too well to think she’d let it drop for good.

  “I’m telling you that you’ve never been Becky’s friend up ’til now, Thomas. And you won’t be while she’s working at finding her own way. But if you don’t mess it up, you will be friends in the future.”

  Thomas came in after dark, weary and grimy from a full day of haying.

  There was a note on the counter.

  2 plates in the fridge. Microwave one covered in plastic for 2 minutes on high. Do NOT microwave the one covered in foil. Coffee still warm.

  Bossy little thing.

  He found himself almost grinning as he pulled out the plates and followed the instructions. He’d had Gandy bring him food so he wouldn’t waste any daylight. But if he was going to get the paperwork that needed doing finished tonight, he’d need more to keep him going.

  As if in a trance, he stared at the countdown on the microwave, coming to when it dinged. He poured coffee, grabbed a fork and took both plates and headed toward his desk.

  Three feet away, he stopped dead.

  He could see the desktop’s wooden surface, scars, dings and burn marks and all. To one side was a metal rack with different colored file folders hooked between its sides. And smack-dab in the middle rested another note, this one longer.

  I couldn’t get this done until Gandy brought the folders and holder back from town yesterday. The labels should be clear. The folders are color-coded—see list on back of this page. Be sure to check the beige folder first—those are things I think should be thrown out, but you said not to throw anything out. The red folder has items that I couldn’t categorize.

  After you get used to this, we can organize the drawers.

  If you can’t find something you need, wake me up.

  Wake her up. Go into her room and put
his hand to her warm sleeping shoulder, maybe on the bare skin around a narrow strap. Smell the sweet spice that surrounded her. Watch her eyes open, and look up at him. See her breathing change. Hear her say his name…

  And ask her where the folder with the IRS quarterly payment form was.

  His bark of laughter was as much pained as amused.

  What the hell was he thinking? If he went into her room it should be to search her things—and he was going to do that. First chance he got. He was going to find out who she really was. And then he’d stop this damned nonsense of fantasizing about a stranger from nowhere who’d be going back there as soon as Gran healed up.

  He speared a piece of meat loaf and got to work.

  Thomas’s timing couldn’t have been worse from Judi’s perspective.

  Keith gave her a pleading look as Thomas stepped into the kitchen, and she returned her most reassuring smile.

  She’d suspected the lanky, taciturn ranchhand wasn’t happy. When she’d asked him about the desk for Gran, she’d been sure of it. Not because he said no—he said he’d be happy to do that for Gran—but because of the way he said yes. The way he asked if Thomas knew about it, and if Thomas had said it was okay and if Thomas had approved the plans.

  She’d withstood the temptation to tell him to forget Thomas, and had simply said that the design should be decided between him, as the builder, and Gran, as the user. From that point, it had taken days of patiently building up his confidence in her to get him to start to say what was bothering him.

  It was a lot like doing an exit interview. At first, hardly anybody wanted to say the real reason they were leaving. They wanted to shake the dust of a crummy job off their feet. But if you were patient enough and understanding enough, you could get to the truth. That was important for an organization, at least it could have been if the head of Human Resources had been willing to listen.

  But this was even more important with Keith—because it could prevent there ever being an exit interview, and Thomas losing help he needed.

  Keith had just opened up as he checked the fit of the desk around Gran’s chair when Thomas walked in.

  Thomas gave Keith a surprised look, then frowned. Was that the man’s reaction to everything?

  “Thought you were going to check the herd at Bacon Creek today.”

  “You told me to finish the desk for Gran.”

  “Oh, right.” Thomas took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair as he asked her, “Have there been any calls from a Harry Totten?”

  “No. Want me to take a message if there is?”

  “No. Give him my cell phone number. I need to talk to him today.” Without waiting for a response, he moved over to peer at Keith’s work. “Those braces aren’t going to hold much weight. Better replace them with bigger ones, even if it means another day away from work. Don’t want this thing collapsing on Gran’s lap.”

  Judi wasn’t a violent person. Even as a kid she’d seldom resorted to hitting people. But she would have been willing to make an exception at the moment if it would have gotten through to Thomas without wounding Keith’s pride even further.

  He had dropped his head and was fiddling with the roller on one leg. He wasn’t going to say anything. And then one day he’d decide he was sick of it, and he’d quit. And Thomas would never know why.

  “Actually,” she started as she wiped her hands and came toward them. “Keith was telling me that he talked the matter over with Gran. Weren’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He didn’t exactly take the ball and run with it, so she shoved it more firmly into his gut. “Go ahead, tell Thomas about that.”

  “I showed Gran a few designs, asked which one she’d like—she said she’d rather have it lighter and easier to move. I told her it couldn’t hold up to a lot of weight, but she said her knitting and such didn’t weigh that much.”

  “So if you don’t go putting granite blocks on it, everything should be fine.”

  Thomas shot her a look then focused on Keith. “As long as it’s what Gran wants, that’s fine. How soon can you be done?”

  “Couple hours each of the next two days and that should take care of it.”

  “Okay.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Hey, Helga.”

  “What?” If there was a bit of snap to that, she figured she was entitled.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you for cleaning up the desk. It’s a real help.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said as he headed out.

  If that wasn’t just like Thomas—get her all righteously indignant, then be nice. What a rotten trick.

  Thomas straightened from the well he’d been checking and watched the old silver truck come bouncing toward him. It had to be Helga behind that wheel. No one else would be going that slowly. And no one else would be winding around like she was trying to avoid running over sagebrush.

  To cut the agony of suspense, he started toward her.

  “Something wrong?” he shouted when he was close enough. “You should have called me on the cell phone.”

  “I have been calling on the cell phone—that’s what’s wrong!”

  He pulled it from the case clipped to his belt. Damn! The battery was dead.

  He must have said something, because she shouted, “What?”

  “Battery! Shut off that truck!” But she already had, and the end of his shout echoed across the hills. “I said, the battery on the cell phone’s out. Is it Gran? Is—”

  “Gran’s fine. But Harry Totten called. I gave him the cell number. When he couldn’t get you he called back. He said you need numbers from him, and he’s leaving tonight for two weeks, so I wrote it all down.”

  He looked over the paper she handed him. Her neat handwriting listed the acreages and leasing prices of places he’d scouted in case he needed them next spring…in case he couldn’t keep the Diamond V intact. It was all clear and concise. It wasn’t her fault the figures made him feel like he’d been gored in the gut.

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this. It’s not part of your job.”

  She gave him a rather odd look. “I was happy to do it. It was a small thing I could do that I hoped might contribute to the Diamond V. You know there are other people who would like to contribute more, and who would if you’d let them.”

  “Let them?” he gave a rueful chuckle. “Just let these people get within a mile of me, and I’ll rope ’em in.”

  “You don’t need to go a mile. Keith could do a lot for you, for the ranch.”

  He felt like he’d been transported from one conversation to another without ever moving an inch.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Keith wanting respect. He wants the work he does to be appreciated, and respected. And if it were, then he’d do so much more.”

  “Keith knows I respect his work.”

  “How would he know that? By the way you assumed he hadn’t thought through the building of that rolling desk? The way you made it sound like building it for Gran was his way of getting out of work?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “‘Those braces aren’t going to hold. Use bigger ones so it doesn’t fall apart and crush Gran. Even if it means another day you’re not working.’ Sound familiar? And that was an extra chore he did to help out Gran. You really think he knows how much you appreciate his doing that? Much less that you appreciate the regular work he does? Tell me again, how does he know you appreciate his work?”

  “Because I keep him hired on here.”

  “Oh, right, that’s plenty enough praise for anyone. What was I thinking?”

  “I’m not in a position to be handing out raises or bonuses or stock options.”

  “There you go again, thinking it has to do with money. Money’s not the solution. Talk to the man. Let him know you appreciate what he does. And show him. Give him responsibility for something. Let him be in charge of something, and don’t meddle with it.”

&
nbsp; “Like what? You going to tell me that, too?”

  “No,” she said with great dignity. “I’m going to trust you to come up with the specifics. I have every confidence that you’ll pick the right solution.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Then the woman grinned at him. And darned if he didn’t grin back.

  “Hi, Gandy. Gran said to come out here and bring you and Thomas lunch.”

  Apparently Gran figured since Judi had found Thomas the day before, she was now certified to roam the ranch in the truck. Either that or Gran wanted her out of her hair.

  “I’ll be real pleased to have mine, Missy.” He gave her a smile and a nod as he took the container from her and peeled back the top with a long sniff of appreciation. “But this is no time to be interrupting Thomas.”

  After handing Gandy a napkin, she looked to where Thomas sat astride Dickens, neither one of them moving.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Gandy finished a large bite then said, “You know the old saying about you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t know for sure until you get him near the water, so first you’ve gotta lead him to water. But Dickens decided he wasn’t going to follow the rest down that trail. Now, you just wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “You’ll see if you wait long enough.”

  “You sound like Gran,” she grumbled.

  He chuckled. “I’d be pleased to think I sound like Iris Swift. Held this place together near single-handed she did.”

  “Gran did? But she said she’s never been involved with the ranch work. She said Thomas is the one who knows the ranch.”

  “Oh that’s for certain. Thomas’s as good as the best top hand I ever saw. Knows animals like nobody else. Thomas held the ranch part of the Diamond V together. But Iris held the heart of it together.”

  “Oh, look! Dickens is going down the path.”

  “Yup. Never doubted he would.” Gandy didn’t even look up, his attention devoted to finishing the last few bites of his lunch.