The Way to a Cowboy’s Heart
Sons of Chance
Vicki Lewis Thompson
THE WAY TO A COWBOY’S HEART
Copyright © 2012 by Vicki Lewis Thompson
ISBN: 978-1-63803-960-0
This title was previously published as LEAD ME HOME
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ocean Dance Press, PO Box 69901, Oro Valley AZ 85737
Visit the author’s website: VickiLewisThompson.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
But Wait, There’s More!
Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson
About the Author
Prologue
July 14, 1980, Last Chance Ranch
* * *
After forty-five years of marriage to Nelsie, Archie Chance knew timing was everything, especially when dealing with a touchy subject like food preparation. Nelsie was possessive about her kitchen, always had been. She’d rejected every suggestion to hire some help, but this time, Archie was determined to convince her.
He waited until they’d settled on the front porch for their usual after-dinner cup of coffee accompanied by a look-see at the mountains. Then he pretended his next move was an afterthought. “You know what? I’m gonna get that bottle of Bailey’s and add a little to my coffee.” Setting his mug on the small wooden table between their rockers, he stood.
Nelsie glanced up at him with a smile. “What are you plotting now, Archibald?”
He should have known she’d suspect him of having ulterior motives, but he pretended innocence. “Not a thing. I just like a little taste of Bailey’s in my coffee now and again.”
She didn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”
“Be right back.” He walked inside and grabbed the bottle out of a cabinet he’d built years ago. From upstairs came the familiar sound of his son Jonathan and his daughter-in-law Diana having a row. Little Jack was crying, which any toddler would do if his parents yelled at each other like they had no sense.
Archie considered going up there and fetching Jack, but about that time the arguing stopped and Jonathan headed down the curved staircase holding his son.
“Taking Jack for a little ride.” Jonathan avoided his father’s gaze. “Won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.” Archie watched Jonathan stride out of the house, his back rigid with anger. The marriage was not going well, but Archie wasn’t surprised. Although Jonathan had made an effort because of the baby, he’d never been in love with that woman, and Diana wasn’t easy to love, anyhow. Archie didn’t know how to fix a problem like that.
So he decided to concentrate on the problem he could fix, or at least one he had some likelihood of solving. Carrying the Bailey’s, he walked back out to the porch, unscrewed the cap on the bottle, and held it toward Nelsie. “Want some?”
“Think I will, after all.” She held up her mug and he poured about a jigger’s worth into it. She sighed heavily. “I hate it when they fight.”
“Me, too.” Archie doctored his coffee and put the cap back on before reclaiming his rocker. “But they’re the ones who have to figure it out.”
“I know. I just wish...”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence for Archie to know what she wished — that Jonathan and Diana had been in love when they’d made that baby, so that getting married would have been a joy instead of an obligation. He took a sip of his coffee and was glad he’d added the Bailey’s to soften the sharp edges of reality.
Pretty soon Jonathan came out of the barn leading Scout. He put Jack on first before mounting up and riding slowly across the meadow holding Jack on the saddle in front of him. In spite of everything, Archie couldn’t help smiling. That kid loved being on a horse as much as his daddy had at that age. Jonathan had tried teaching Diana to ride, but that effort had been doomed from the start.
“The mountains are pretty tonight,” Nelsie said. “I love it when they get that pinkish glow.”
“Yeah, it’s nice.” Gradually Archie’s spirits began to lift, as they always did when he took time to appreciate his surroundings. The view from the porch was spectacular, and he could see it whenever he took the time. Besides that he had a wife he cherished beyond belief, a devoted son, and the most amazing grandbaby in the world. All in all, he was one lucky SOB.
He’d finished about half his coffee when he decided to broach the kitchen help idea. At least Nelsie had some Bailey’s in her, which tended to mellow her out some.
“I can hear the wheels grinding over there,” Nelsie said. “You might as well spit it out.”
Archie looked over at her and grinned. She always could read him like a book. “All right. You’ve been against this in the past, but we’re feeding quite a few cowhands at lunch these days, and—”
“Archie, you know I hate the idea of a stranger in my kitchen, not to mention the expense.”
“But you’re working yourself to a frazzle.”
“If only Diana would—”
“Well, she’s not going to, and we might as well accept the fact that she’s not domestic.” Archie hadn’t figured out what Diana was good at besides shopping for clothes in Jackson.
She and Jonathan fought about her spending habits, but whenever Jonathan refused to give her money, she threatened to divorce him and take Jack. She would get that baby, too. Courts usually found in favor of the mother unless she was a drunk or a drug addict, and Diana was neither.
Archie peeked over at Nelsie to gauge her mood. He’d bet she was thinking about those shopping trips, too, judging from the way her mouth was set in a ruler-straight line.
But wishing for a different kind of daughter-in-law wouldn’t get them anywhere. He pressed on. “I heard about someone who’s looking for work. She came here from Nebraska with some guy who left her high and dry. She’s been helping Edgar and Madge Perkins at the diner and they love her, but they can’t give her enough hours because they already have a cook.”
Nelsie turned to him. “Why doesn’t she just go home to Nebraska?”
“Apparently she’d catch grief for her decision to leave in the first place. Besides that, she’s become fond of our little town. Edgar and Madge said working for us would be the answer to her prayers.”
Nelsie’s expression softened. “So you’ve come up with a young woman who needs a helping hand.”
He sensed victory. “It seems like we should at least try her out since we need a cook and she needs a job.”
“You always did know how to get around me, Archibald Chance.” She met his gaze. “I guess you’d better ask this girl to come out and talk with us. What’s her name?”
“Her last name is Simms.” Archie paused, trying to remember. “Her first name has two parts, like Mary Jane, or... no, wait, it’s Mary Lou. Mary Lou Simms.”
“Mary Lou Simms.” Nelsie seemed to be trying out the name on her tongue. “You know, it might be ni
ce to have another woman around the place.”
Archie didn’t miss the note of longing. Nelsie had dreamed of a daughter-in-law who was also a friend, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe she’d find that female friend in Mary Lou Simms.
Chapter One
Food was important to Matthew Tredway. He loved the taste, texture, and smell of good food, and at six-five and two-twenty, he required a lot of it. But due to a series of air-travel snafus between Richmond, Virginia, and Jackson Hole, Wyoming, he hadn’t had a decent meal all day.
Jeb Branford, a lanky, red-haired cowboy, had picked him up at the Jackson airport for the hour’s drive to the Last Chance Ranch, where Matthew was scheduled to train a problem horse named Houdini. The potentially valuable stallion had never been ridden, let alone used as a stud. Matthew had been hired in a last-ditch effort to salvage the ranch’s investment.
As a bonus, Matthew looked forward to some down-home ranch cooking during the week or so he’d be at the Last Chance. Jeb had offered to stop somewhere for a bite to eat, but Matthew didn’t want to look at another restaurant menu if he could help it.
“I’ll just wait until we get to the ranch,” Matthew said. “I’m ready to kick back with a cold beer and some home-cooked eats.”
“I really think we should stop somewhere.” Jeb scanned the area as they headed out of Jackson. “About a mile down this road there’s a burger joint that serves really—”
“No thanks.” A burger would do in a pinch, but Matthew longed for something that hadn’t been part of an assembly-line operation. “I’m sure leftovers from the ranch kitchen will beat your burger joint, hands down.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, Mr. Tredway.”
“Matthew.”
“Okay, Matthew, although it feels funny calling you that.”
“Because I’m so old?” Matthew pegged the cowhand as early to mid-twenties, and at that age, a thirty-five-year-old like Matthew probably seemed ancient.
“Heck, no!” The kid’s blush nearly obliterated his freckles. “Because you’re famous, Mr. Tred — I mean Matthew. You’ve been on TV and everything! I have your book, Think Like a Horse, and I’ve about worn it out. I lobbied for the chance to pick you up at the airport.”
“Well, thank you.” The concept of having fans always made him uncomfortable. Fame was a byproduct he hadn’t counted on when he’d set out to do the work he loved. “I’m glad the book has been useful.”
“Oh, definitely. Although we all finally gave up on Houdini, which is kind of cool since he’s the reason you’re here. I’m actually grateful to that horse for being a pain in the ass if he brought you here.”
Matthew laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Ultimately, if my program is a success, I’ll work myself out of a job.”
“I doubt that will ever happen. There’ll always be people who mess up a horse one way or another and need you to straighten things out. But listen, I really think you should eat before we get back to the ranch. We’ve passed up everything in Jackson, but Shoshone will be coming up in forty minutes or so. We could stop at the Spirits and Spurs or the Shoshone Diner.”
“Why are you so dead-set on feeding me before we get to the ranch?”
“Because the food there is terrible.”
“Terrible? I find that hard to believe on a ranch the size of the Last Chance.”
“It didn’t used to be terrible. Mary Lou fixed great spreads.” Jeb spoke in a worshipful tone. “Fried chicken with her special batter, amazing ribs, potato salad seasoned just right, stew with lip-smacking gravy, biscuits that would melt in your mouth... man, what I wouldn’t give for some of that grub right now.”
Matthew had a bad feeling about how this story would end. “Don’t tell me Mary Lou up and died.”
“No, not that bad. She got married.”
“And left you high and dry?”
“For a little while, yeah. Mary Lou and Watkins are on a three-week honeymoon cruise, and nobody saw that coming because first of all she said she’d never marry him and second of all she’s not much of a traveler. But the upshot is we’re stuck with Aurelia Imogene Smith for the duration.”
“That’s quite a handle.” Matthew pictured a sour-faced woman who insisted everyone address her with the whole blessed thing.
“Yeah, well, she told us that her mother gave her two fancy names to offset the boring last one. I don’t know if those fancy names went to her head or what, but she claims to be a gourmet cook.”
“Oh.” Matthew smoothed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Most cowhands weren’t big on gourmet vittles.
“The hands might be able to tough it out, but I feel especially sorry for the kids. Did anybody tell you about that program?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. You’ve got, what, eight teenaged boys for the summer?”
“That’s right. This philanthropist named Pete Beckett came up with the idea of using the ranch for a residential summer program for teenage boys. They’ve been labeled troublemakers, but I guess they like being on the ranch, because they haven’t caused a single problem. I worry about this food thing, though. Teenagers need regular food. They don’t want to complain, but I can see it in their faces that they don’t like it.”
“So what does she serve that’s so bad?”
“Escargot.” Jeb said it with a groan.
“Hm. Pricey.” Matthew wondered what sort of bills Aurelia Imogene was running up.
“It’s snails, man! You don’t eat something that crawls on the ground with slime coming out its ass! But she served a plate of those varmints and expected us to eat ‘em. I don’t think so.”
“So you left them on the plate?” Matthew happened to love escargot and hated to think of that delicacy going to waste.
“Hell, no. That would have been rude. We scooped ‘em out of the shells like we planned to eat them. By now we know to bring plastic bags in our pockets when we come up to the house for lunch, which is the only meal we eat at the main house. Mornings and evenings we fend for ourselves down at the bunkhouse with stuff like canned chili. We always used to fill up at lunch. But now we’re starving to death.”
“What’d you do with the snails?”
“Gave ‘em to the dogs.”
Matthew winced at the travesty of that. Of course, maybe the snails weren’t any good. Just because someone claimed to be a gourmet cook didn’t mean they were one.
“Some stuff’s so bad even the dogs won’t eat it.”
Matthew was hard-wired to solve problems, and this was one he had a stake in because he did love his food. “Can’t you talk to somebody? Either her, or whoever hired her?”
“That’s just it. She’s Mary Lou’s niece, and Mary Lou invited her to come and fill in. Nobody wants to offend Mary Lou because she’s been good to us, and to be honest, I don’t know what the Chance family thinks about the food because they’ve never said anything.”
“So maybe they like it.”
“I’d be surprised. I think they’re just trying to ride it out like the rest of us. Plus, Aurelia’s sweet as can be, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make us gag. Nobody has the heart to hurt her feelings. In fact…” He glanced over at Matthew before sighing and turning his attention to the road again. “No, I can’t do it. It’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair?”
“One of the guys came up with the idea that you could pretend you were on a special diet or something, which she’d have to accommodate because you’re an honored guest, and we’d all climb on board and say we’d eat the same thing to make life easier for her.”
“I’m not going to lie to her about some bogus special diet.”
“No, I don’t think you should, either,” Jeb said quickly. “I told the boys that. Bad idea.”
“But I’d like to help. I’ve had some experience with fine dining, so maybe if I show that I appreciate what she’s trying to do, I can make some subtle suggestions that would turn things around.”
&nbs
p; “Now that’s more like it! But I still think we should stop for food before we get to the ranch.”
Matthew shook his head. “That makes no sense. Before I can discuss food with her, I have to eat something she’s made.” He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dashboard. They wouldn’t arrive at the ranch until around seven, which was nine his time. By then he might not care what he ate.
“You’re a brave man.”
Matthew laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“I have two words for you. Goat cheese.” Jeb made a face. “Find out if she’s made something with goat cheese and if she has, don’t eat it. I guarantee you’ll want to puke your guts out.”
Matthew decided not to admit he was fond of goat cheese, too. Demand for his training skills now brought him offers from around the world. He’d learned to appreciate all sorts of food, assuming it was prepared well.
“So I should drop you at the main house?” Jeb asked.
“Right. I need to check in with Sarah Chance, anyway. If you’ll take my duffle to the bunkhouse, you can put it on whatever bed you want me to use. I’ll unpack after I’ve had something to eat.”
“I hope you don’t mind being down with us, but it’s that or sleep in the main house with eight teenagers. They’re behaving themselves, but still.”
“No worries. Bunkhouses are one of my favorite places to sleep.” Matthew gazed out at the majestic Tetons in the distance and the grassy meadows bordering the road. After spending the past few weeks in the manicured pastures of Virginia, he relished the rugged landscape of Jackson Hole. Born not far from here in Billings, Montana, he was a Westerner at heart.
At sixteen, he’d hired on at a working ranch outside of Billings. There he discovered his gift for working with difficult horses when he’d befriended a mare that previously had trusted no one. His boss had been a talkative man, and soon Matthew had been in demand throughout the state.
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