The Ranch Solution

by Julianna Morris

  Mariah hesitated.

  Granddad often told her she’d inherited more than her temper and red hair from an Irish ancestress; he claimed she’d gotten Great-Great-Grandmother Eileen’s fey instincts, as well. And her instincts were telling her to get rid of Jacob O’Donnell, except she couldn’t evict every obnoxious guest—especially guests who’d paid in advance for a six-week stay at the ranch.

  “I’m glad your friends had a good visit to the U-2,” she said finally. “But if you want things to change for Caitlin, you need to do something about it yourself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? I’ve been going crazy for months trying to do something...anything that might work. That’s why I’m here. Believe me, a site with such primitive accommodations would be my last choice for a vacation.”

  Primitive?

  Mariah’s back went rigid.

  He made it sound as if they were making guests dig their own privy holes and bathe in the creek. It had cost a fortune to have commercial restroom and shower facilities built at the ranch—she knew exactly how much, because she’d signed the checks.

  “It’s too bad the accommodations don’t meet with your satisfaction, Mr. O’Donnell. However, they are thoroughly outlined on our website, so they shouldn’t have been a surprise,” she said coolly. “As for what I mean, you want Caitlin’s problems to somehow get resolved at our ‘primitive’ ranch, and yet you’re dressed as if you’ve just come from a board meeting.”

  “I did come from a board meeting. We left for the airport immediately after it ended.”

  “I see. That tells me a lot.”

  She stepped backward as she saw Reid striding toward them, probably guessing this wasn’t a normal discussion between her and a guest. Her brother tried to protect her, but she didn’t need help. She’d learned to protect herself from pushy, overbearing guys a long time ago. She liked men who didn’t think the universe revolved around them. But it was a rare trait—one that Jacob O’Donnell obviously didn’t possess.

  “I had to make arrangements to cover my business interests while I was gone, but my daughter comes first,” Jacob said in a stuffy tone.

  “Then act like it. She won’t join in if you aren’t doing it yourself. This ranch isn’t a corporate boardroom. That ten-thousand-dollar watch won’t impress a herd of cows, and your custom-made suit isn’t the least bit appropriate for the physical work we do here.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Mariah belatedly reminded herself that working with the U-2’s guests was her job. It didn’t matter if she disliked them or thought they were pompous jackasses. On the other hand, she had no intention of playing babysitter for a spoiled teenager or of letting one of the U-2’s wranglers play babysitter. She had enough headaches.

  “Well?” he prodded.

  “In that case, the sooner you start participating, the better it will be for Caitlin. As I said, we have Levi’s and work shirts that you can both borrow. That would be a big move forward.”

  “We brought our own gear, and if we need more, I’ll go into town and buy it. We certainly don’t need anyone’s loaners.” He strode off—bristling with snobbish arrogance—and Mariah had a childish wish he’d slip on a pile of fresh horse manure. That would trim him down a few notches.

  Reid said something as they crossed paths, but O’Donnell didn’t pay attention.

  Mariah wrinkled her nose.

  City people bothered Reid; men with control issues like Jacob O’Donnell bothered her. The overt wealth, the expectation that everyone should jump at their bidding, the conviction that their money was worth more than anyone else’s...she’d met too many men like that when she was waiting tables at an upscale Los Angeles restaurant to earn money for school. She’d quickly found it wasn’t wise to accept gifts or excessively large tips from her male customers because of what they thought it would buy them later.

  “Why aren’t you eating supper?” she said as her brother walked up to her. “Grams isn’t cooking because she needed to work at the clinic today.”

  “I’ll eat after a while. What’s up with that O’Donnell guy? He’s got an attitude you can see from a mile away. I bet he’s going to be a pain in the ass.” Reid glared in the direction Jacob O’Donnell had gone, though he was no longer in sight.

  “He’s a worried father. Cut him some slack,” she said. It was good advice for her as well, but there was something unusually annoying about Jacob O’Donnell that made it hard to follow.

  “I’d be worried, too, if she was my kid.”

  “Well, she’s not. Caitlin is probably just a little mixed-up.”

  “How mixed-up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mariah looked toward the U-2 parking area where the O’Donnells’ rented Mercedes sat in conspicuous glory, sadly out of place among the usual SUVs and trucks and economy cars. How did they rent a Mercedes in Montana? And why would they rent one to drive to a ranch over dirt and gravel roads? Especially a black Mercedes that showed every speck of dirt.

  Burt Parsons had told her about the dust-covered luxury car with a laconic grin. He was the ranch’s best wrangler—shrewd, unflappable and great with kids. She’d assigned him to the O’Donnells when she’d realized that Caitlin, age fourteen according to their online registration form, ought to be attending classes. It suggested she’d been suspended or expelled.

  Apparently Mariah had guessed right.

  Judging from the tightly wound state of her father’s nerves, Mariah suspected that Caitlin wouldn’t be welcome at her school for a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAMNED OBNOXIOUS...opinionated...

  Muttering under his breath, Jacob tossed his suitcase onto the mattress in his tent and hunted for a pair of jeans. He hated admitting it, but the Weston woman was right—at the very least he ought to have changed before dinner.

  Woman?

  Jacob frowned as he pulled his shirt off. Mariah Weston looked younger than she claimed to be, though it was unlikely she’d distorted that fact. She didn’t seem the type of person he would have expected to encounter running a ranch—more like a Hollywood actress playing a part with her leggy appeal and long red hair. Maybe she was a figurehead, the public image of the business. On the other hand, looks could be deceiving; he still thought that somewhere beneath Kittie’s dismal clothes, black lipstick and in-your-face attitude was the great kid she’d always been.

  Jacob massaged the back of his neck. Worry and the rush of making arrangements for his unplanned absence from the office had taken their toll. He’d hardly slept since Kittie’s latest escapade; he was now operating on autopilot. Even his parents didn’t understand. He had been forced to tell them why he was going to be gone for an extended period and could hear his mother saying with indulgent humor, She’s her father’s daughter, but you got into plenty of scrapes as a boy and turned out fine.

  Granted, he’d soft-pedaled the incident, but starting a fire was serious, accidental or not. And it wasn’t just the smoking; it was all the trouble combined over the past few months. One unholy mess after another.

  Naturally the discussion had given his mother an opening, for the hundredth time, to recommend that he find a new mother for Kittie. She couldn’t accept that he was never getting married again and certainly not having any more children. Who in their right mind would leap into the prospect of raising another teenager after they’d done it once already? And he had...well, other reasons. Reasons he didn’t like thinking about.

  A chill went through Jacob. It was too hard loving someone, only to lose them. He’d buried his wife and nearly buried his daughter as a toddler due to health problems; he wasn’t taking a chance of going through it again. There might be things he couldn’t control in his life, but avoiding that particular pain was one that he could.

  Yanking
his tie loose, Jacob dropped it into the suitcase. The conservative blue silk was another accusation of parental failure. He should have worn the tie that Kittie had given to him for his last birthday, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it—Tweety Bird and Sylvester weren’t appropriate corporate attire. It was bad enough that he’d had to call an emergency board meeting on a Sunday morning.

  Not that a suit was appropriate ranch attire, either.

  The old cowboy had given him fair warning. Burt’s urging to “get comfortable” must have meant “change your clothes,” but Jacob hadn’t been thinking clearly. It wasn’t like him. Usually he was methodical, working things out, making sure he made the best decisions and kept everything carefully managed.

  Jacob snorted, his irritation rising again.

  Mariah Weston had implied he was spoiled when she suggested he wanted to be waited on hand and foot, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying comfort. And he didn’t expect to be pampered—he just wanted to receive a reasonable amount of service for the money he was paying.

  He rotated his shoulders and leaned on the rolled sleeping bag. Damn, he was tired. That must be why Mariah Weston’s criticism had gotten to him. He loved Kittie and he’d busted his ass since Anna’s death to make sure their daughter would be safe and secure. Why shouldn’t they appreciate and enjoy the benefits?

  Stop it, he ordered silently, kneading his throbbing temples.

  Anna had been gone for over ten years, yet sometimes he missed her so much it was as if he had an aching, frozen hole in his chest. He knew that things would be different if she was still here. Anna wouldn’t have screwed up with Kittie, and they wouldn’t have needed to come to Montana, hoping for a miracle.

  He’d jumped into the ranch vacation solution out of desperation, not really believing it would work. Yet at the same time, he’d clung to a kernel of hope that the U-2 would do some good. Now he was back to square one and unsure of what to do, though maybe getting Kittie out of her usual environment for several weeks would accomplish something.

  In the distance Jacob heard the neighing of horses and other, more unfamiliar sounds. From the opposite direction came the rattle of plates, along with the chatter and laughter of people enjoying themselves. With any luck Kittie’s hunger would outweigh her antisocial mood—she was angry with him, not anyone else.

  Hell, he hated feeling so out of control.

  He ought to have realized the ranch’s website didn’t say they worked with at-risk children—it was his friend who’d called it a troubled kid’s boot camp.

  At risk.

  That was how Kittie’s principal had described her while ranting about the fire. Jacob donated to organizations with programs for at-risk kids, and now his daughter had the same label slapped on her forehead.

  Jacob put his arm behind his head and gazed at the sturdy frame of the canvas tent, trying to think of anything but Kittie and how much he wished Anna was still alive. It astonished him that the ranch got so many guests. There were two or three dozen tents on the hill—if they filled to capacity very often, they must make a decent chunk of change each year. Of course, the U-2 had to make their profits during the summer season, since no one would stay out here in the winter.

  Someone walked by outside and coughed, and Jacob made a face.

  That was another problem with this place...no privacy. If he and Kittie got into one of their frequent shouting matches, everyone on the ranch would know their business.

  * * *

  KITTIE SAT ON a small hump of ground and sniffed.

  She wasn’t crying—she was probably allergic to Montana. That was why her eyes were burning.

  Her dad didn’t get it. Nobody did. And it didn’t matter anyway, because soon she’d be dead and buried and everybody would forget her.

  The same as her mom.

  Sniffing again, she picked at her black nail polish. It was stupid anyway. It wasn’t as if she had those fake nails that made your hands look cool. The school didn’t allow them any longer, not after Bethany Wilcox had stabbed herself at basketball practice last year. Everybody was mad at Bethany for a while after that, but no one stayed mad at the really, really popular girls, no matter what they do.

  Her dad marched to their tent and Reid’s sister returned to the mess tent. Neither of them seemed very happy.

  Kittie’s stomach rumbled.

  The food smelled good, but she couldn’t go in there. She might see Reid and he didn’t like her, no matter what Mariah said about him protecting the horses. Besides, she wasn’t that odd to a horse, was she? Her friends thought she looked totally awesome—why wouldn’t a horse agree? They weren’t dumb.

  Her dad hadn’t come back by the time everyone was done eating; he must be really pissed. Well, she was pissed, too. Nobody had asked if she wanted to come a gazillion miles from home and what was left of her life. Her dad had said they were going and that was that. So what if she’d set fire to a trash can and it got out of control? Big deal. Not that much got burned, and she didn’t mean to do it anyhow.

  Someone began playing a harmonica and she heard some dorky singing—“Home on the Range” and junk. Kittie rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to be a dork like everybody else, even if they were having a good time.

  There was a noise and she saw an old man coming toward her.

  “Hello, young lady. May I sit down?”

  Kittie started to say “Whatever” as usual, then stopped. “Okay.”

  He sat and put a paper sack between them. She smelled chicken and other stuff. “I brought you supper in case you’re hungry,” he explained. He opened the sack and took out a foil-covered plate. “Simple outdoor cooking—that’s what we specialize in at the U-2. It’ll stick to your ribs.”

  For a second Kittie considered refusing, but her stomach rumbled again. She pulled the foil back on the plate—it was barbecued chicken and beans and coleslaw and corn bread. The corn bread was buttery and drizzled with honey. She ate until she was ready to burst and washed it down with a bottle of cold root beer, which normally she’d say was for babies, but somehow tasted awfully good with the chicken and beans. It was the best food ever.

  Mariah came out of the mess tent and glanced in their direction. She was kind of pretty. Dad hadn’t hit on her or anything, though he’d definitely checked her out...especially her chest.

  Kittie wrinkled her nose.

  Her dad acted as if she didn’t know about sex, but she was fourteen, not four. She knew all about it. Not that boys would notice her unless she had real boobs.

  As if.

  “I also put a plate in for your father. I hope he has a taste for medium steak,” said the old guy. He had deep creases in his skin and looked, like, ancient. “Would you do me a favor and take it to him?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Much obliged.” He took a piece of straw from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “My name is Benjamin Weston, by the way. And my granddaughter says you’re Caitlin.”

  “Mariah is your granddaughter?”

  “Yup.”

  Kittie wiggled her toes. “Um, how does this ranch thing work?”

  “It isn’t complicated. You’ll work with a wrangler and mostly do what he does.”

  “So you can fix me,” she said resentfully.

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Do you need fixing?”

  “My dad thinks so.”

  “Fathers worry. That’s their job. But we just want you to have fun finding out about ranching and what we do round here. That’s our job.”

  “Oh,” Kittie said, still vaguely suspicious.

  The sun was getting low in the sky and she felt tired all at once. It was hard work pretending everything was okay when nothing was okay. Some things were so broken they could never be fixed.

  “I got
ta go.” Kittie picked up the sack with the extra food in it. “Dad must be in our tent phoning Japan or something. What should I do with that?” She pointed to her empty plate and pop bottle.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You go ahead.”

  Kittie didn’t know what to expect when she got to the tent, most likely her dad talking business on his cell phone. He worked an awful lot, but she’d bet he was still upset with her. Dreading another argument, she peeked around the partition.

  He’d fallen asleep with his legs extended on the ground and his suitcase open on the bed. She tiptoed over, put the food down and tiptoed out. There wasn’t any TV and he’d taken away her MP3 player, so she curled up on her mattress and chewed her fingernails as it got dark.

  Benjamin and Mariah were nice, and if they weren’t going to try to fix her, the ranch wouldn’t be so bad.

  For a while.

  * * *

  MARIAH ROSE BEFORE DAWN the next morning. A lifetime of getting up to do chores had made it impossible to sleep longer. Her city life at college hadn’t changed her; it just made it obvious she didn’t fit in there.

  “Hi, Grams,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

  “Hi, dear. Are you in a better mood today?” Elizabeth asked as she mixed a pot on the stove.

  “Working on it.” Mariah pulled the newspaper away from her grandfather’s face and kissed his forehead. “What’s new, Granddad?”

  He grinned his irrepressible grin and waved the paper. “What do you think of this? It came in yesterday’s Pony Express delivery—last year’s ball scores!”

  “Imagine that.”

  The family had been getting the New York Times as long as the newspaper had been mailing out editions. It wasn’t necessary with the internet available, but Granddad said there was no substitute for the smell of newsprint.

  He folded the paper and put it on the sideboard. “By the way, Luke phoned. If you have time, he’ll come by later so you can go for a ride together.”

  Mariah smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see him before the barn dance next Saturday. I’ll call him. He can come with me when I go out to check on the greenhorns.”