The Ranch Solution

by Julianna Morris

  “Doesn’t sound appealing.”

  “You get used to it. And there’s nothing like the sensation that goes through your body when a herd of horses gallops past, their hooves thudding on the ground. Or the beauty of an eagle soaring over the prairie on a summer afternoon, the air currents carrying it higher and higher. I love being connected to the land and knowing its rhythms and moods.”

  “You must need a poet’s soul to live here.”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  Jacob sighed and took something from his pocket. Though the light was low, Mariah saw a flash of gold and knew it was the locket he’d received in his package. He turned it around as if searching for an answer in it.

  “Did life on the ranch—dealing with life and death on a regular basis—make it easier to accept losing your parents?” he asked. “Because even though it’s been over ten years, I haven’t stopped missing my wife. Especially recently, with all the problems Kittie is having. I keep thinking how different it would be if Anna was here.”

  Mariah rested her head on the hay. “I doubt anyone stops missing the people they love, no matter where they live.”

  “I adored Anna from the moment I met her in college,” Jacob said slowly. “She was sweet and gentle and it seemed incredible that she’d fall in love with an ex-jock working his way through grad school. I would have done anything for her.” He smiled faintly. “Remember that the next time you call me a soulless businessman.”

  “I never called you a soulless businessman.”

  “But you thought it, right?”

  A smile tugged at Mariah’s mouth, as well. “Not quite.”

  “Ah, diplomacy. I’ll have you know that I provide top employee benefits, including health insurance, and I run a green company. It’s good business to keep your employees happy and be environmentally responsible.”

  Good business? Was that his only reason for being fair to his employees or having taken measures for O’Donnell International to “go green”? He shouldn’t have added that part if he wanted her to see him as more than a soulless businessman.

  “And you love your daughter,” she said. That, with his devotion to his wife’s memory, was his best recommendation. She couldn’t count his unparalleled sex appeal, which had nothing to do with likability, just biology.

  “More than anything. I know you think I’m overprotective, but what I haven’t told you is that Anna’s problem was congenital. Two months after she died, Kittie needed surgery to correct the same defect. I don’t think she remembers.... I hope she doesn’t.”

  Mariah shuddered. It didn’t make Jacob more likable, yet it explained why he was so protective of Kittie...Caitlin, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to fall into bad habits.

  “Are you close to Caitlin’s maternal grandparents?”

  He shrugged. “More or less. The Barretts come from an exclusive social background—they could have fought the marriage, but instead they welcomed me. We mostly just discuss Kittie and she visits them often. Anna was Richard and Carolyn’s only child and I think they’d like to be closer, but it’s awkward.”

  Mariah had a sneaking suspicion that Jacob was too busy building his fortune to be close to anyone, but it wasn’t any of her business. Still...

  “Do they know about her current problems?”

  Jacob nodded. “Some of it. More than my own parents. I don’t deny that I’ve made mistakes raising Kittie. For a couple of years after Anna died, she would have these imaginary conversations with her mom. It was as if she actually thought Anna was there, doing things with her. When Kittie finally realized she wasn’t there, it was as if her mother had died all over again.”

  “She didn’t lose her belief gradually?”

  “No, maybe somebody said something to her. I don’t know. Kittie cried for days. That’s when I knew it should have been handled another way from the beginning. But she was two when Anna died, and there was the surgery to get through. I was still in shock myself, and I figured if it helped Kittie to imagine seeing her mother...what was the harm? I didn’t think she really believed it.”

  Mariah could hardly comprehend what it must have been like for him to bury the wife he’d loved so deeply, only to see their child undergo major surgery.

  “When I was little,” she said, “I used to think my great-grandmother came and told me bedtime stories of the tall chestnut trees she’d known in her childhood...about the fall harvest of nuts and the glow of color across the hillsides. I would go to sleep and dream about those trees, walking in thick stands of them, while the autumn leaves drifted down on my face. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized she couldn’t have told me those stories.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Neither. It just was. Being a teenager is hard. Caitlin may not consciously remember her fantasies, or if she does, they may be a comfort. My great-grandmother died the year before I was born, yet it’s as if I know her. Is that so terrible?”

  “You aren’t on the verge of self-destruction.”

  “True.” Mariah shook herself. What was it about Jacob O’Donnell that unhinged her tongue? She’d told him things she hadn’t told anyone, much less Luke or her family. She’d heard that it could be easier confiding in a stranger than in someone you knew, but this was idiotic, since they’d likely be fighting again in five minutes.

  “I simply don’t get Kittie’s clothes and everything,” Jacob said. “They’re dreadful. You’d never know what a beautiful child she is under that stuff. And the hair dye...? Thank God it isn’t permanent, any more than that damned spiderweb on her tummy. At least, I hope it isn’t permanent.”

  “Then it isn’t a real tattoo?” Mariah asked, unaccountably relieved. The idea that he’d allowed his fourteen-year-old daughter to get a tattoo had appalled her.

  Drat him anyway. She’d feel better about disliking Jacob if she didn’t know the complicated reasons he was absolutely impossible. But no, getting that necklace must have rattled him enough to say things he wouldn’t usually reveal. She certainly hadn’t asked him to tell her about his wife or Caitlin’s heart surgery. Yet now she knew more about his life, and it wasn’t something she could easily dismiss.

  “She claims they’re temporary applications she got from a costume shop—I hope it’s the truth. If I find out someone is giving minors tattoos without parental consent...” The look on his face was chilling. “She also wants to get her nose pierced and I won’t agree to that, either. As for the rest of it, the school psychologist said I should let her express herself, so I’ve tried to keep from saying too much. It’s hideous, though. All that black...even her lipstick.”

  “Some people like the Goth style. I’m sure she thinks it’s terrific or she wouldn’t be wearing the stuff.”

  Jacob frowned. “You mean the Visigoths that invaded the Roman Empire? They didn’t wear black jeans and T-shirts with leering skulls on them, and why would anyone copy how they dressed in the first place?”

  Mariah blinked.

  Visigoths?

  How out of touch was Jacob?

  “No, the Goth movement,” she said. “You know, the subculture that started back in the eighties. I think it began with the Gothic rock scene, but there probably isn’t a single definition of a Goth, and people are adopting aspects of the look without embracing the subculture.”

  “Oh...right. Goths.”

  “By the way, where is Caitlin?” Mariah sat up, somewhat alarmed. “Are you sure it’s safe to leave her alone?”

  “She’s in the mess tent. Ray offered to teach her chess. I suggested we play cards, but she gave me a drop-dead glare and took Ray up on his offer instead. I went for a walk and saw you come in here. It gets old being the bad guy,” he said reflectively. “I love Kittie to distraction, but I decided two things a long time ago—one, I’d never remarry and, two,
I’d never have more children. Raising another teenager would take twenty years off my life. I swear, they’re a different species altogether.”

  “Hey.” Mariah poked him. “I haven’t had my kids yet. Stop scaring me.”

  “If you think you’re scared now, just wait until they’re fourteen. You’ll be terrified.”

  Mariah laughed. For all his faults, Jacob did have a fair amount of wit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KITTIE STOOD IN FRONT of a mirror in the U-2’s guest bathroom, twisting back and forth to make sure there wasn’t anything out of place on her outfit and that her black lipstick was on straight. She wanted to be perfect for the dance. A lot of people didn’t seem to like her skull-and-crossbones T-shirts so she’d picked another top that wasn’t as awesome, but much better than the junk her dad had gotten when he went shopping a couple of days ago.

  Jeez.

  He’d bought three pairs of blue jeans that were sort of baggy and four long-sleeved plaid shirts that would make her look like a hillbilly if she was stupid enough to wear them...the kind of hillbilly who stayed a virgin her entire life.

  Oh, puleeeze.

  At the bottom of her duffel bag she’d found a sort-of-okay black T-shirt that had a red snake on the front with funky yellow eyes. She’d redone her nails with fresh black polish, though they were even shorter than they were when she’d first gotten to Montana, and then she had washed and dyed her hair to get rid of the icky blond streaks. Permanent dye would be nice, except sometimes it was fun to make it a different color.

  Kittie checked herself in the mirror one last time before heading to the mess tent. Supper was early because of the dance, but she was almost too excited to eat. Almost. She got hungry riding and doing fun stuff all day.

  “Is that what you’re wearing to the dance?” asked her dad, sitting down across from her with his food.

  “What of it?”

  He seemed annoyed and shrugged. “Nothing.”

  Reid started to come over and she was glad she’d gotten salad instead of meat and beans. She moved the lettuce around with her fork so he wouldn’t see how much blue-cheese dressing and buttered croutons she’d put on it.

  “Hi, Reid,” she said.

  “Oh...hi, Kittie. Mr. O’Donnell, my grandfather wanted you to know a shipping service delivered two more packages from your company. We have them locked in the ranch office for safekeeping. Would you like me to bring them down now?”

  “No, I’ll go up before the dance.”

  Reid stuck his thumbs in the loops of his jeans. “I guess that’s all right. The office is in the back of the house.”

  Kittie could have spit. That was why Reid had come over? It had nothing to do with her, just deliveries for her dad’s dumb company.

  “And earlier this morning a courier picked up the package you were shipping to Japan,” Reid added. “He said to remind you they don’t come out on Sundays.”

  Her dad let out an exasperated breath. “I know.”

  Reid nodded to them both and left.

  Disgusted, Kittie shoved her salad away and went to get another plate. “I’ll have steak and beans and corn bread,” she announced at the food table.

  “Rare, medium or well-done?” Edna Sallenger held up a pair of tongs and smiled. She always smiled and Kittie was sick of it. Nobody was happy all the time.

  “Whatever.”

  “Then I’ll give you a medium. That’s a good choice if you’re undecided.” Edna put a steak on the plate. The servers down the table added beans and two squares of corn bread and gave it back.

  Kittie loaded the corn bread with butter and honey and poured barbecue sauce on the steak. The teacher who’d taught her class about nutrition last semester would get a sour-apple look on his face if he saw what she’d loaded her plate with, but she didn’t care. And what did it matter anyhow?

  Defiantly, she sat down and began eating. She didn’t care if every cute boy in the whole wide world saw her.

  * * *

  “IS ANYONE THERE?” Jacob called as he walked to the rear of the sprawling ranch house.

  From the back he couldn’t see the barns or tents or restrooms, just a rising vista of wild land dotted with trees and a thicker stand of cottonwoods. The fenced kitchen garden to the south wasn’t even visible. However, extensions had been built on each end of the house, creating a private patio protected on three sides, the fourth side being that incredible view. Dr. Weston was on the patio, working on a quilt set up on a frame.

  “Hello,” she said, looking up. “I thought I heard someone.”

  He stepped closer. “You sew, too, Dr. Weston? Baking, sewing, doctoring—you have many talents.”

  “Sewing is the same principle as stitching up cowboys.” She snipped a thread and smoothed a seam.

  “How do you find the time for everything?”

  “I’m semi-retired. My daughter runs the medical clinic in town, though I go a couple of days a week and for emergencies. And I do my bit on the U-2, fixing up visitors and cowboys. But I’ve always quilted, no matter how busy I might be. It’s an excellent stress reliever. Keeps me centered.”

  Dr. Weston’s clear gaze and the tiny laugh lines around her mouth suggested she didn’t need “centering.” She must be seventyish, yet she was one of those timeless women you occasionally met, beautiful and ageless. It was incredible to think she’d lost a son and daughter-in-law in a senseless accident and could still radiate peace.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re getting ‘centered,’ but I came for some packages your grandson said had come.”

  “Oh, yes, knock on that door. Mariah is taking care of a reservation for August before the dance starts. You’re attending, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. And you?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes. My husband and I do a mean polka. We’ll teach you—it’s fun.”

  Jacob smiled. He would love to hire Dr. Weston for the health clinic in his corporate headquarters. She was the type of doctor who could keep everyone healthy. And if her daughter was anything like her, she might also be a viable recruit. He should check it out. He could offer a generous signing bonus, and who wouldn’t grab the chance to leave a flyspeck town in Montana?

  Mariah, a voice whispered in his head.

  Stop it, he answered crossly.

  He knocked on the office door and went inside when Mariah called to come in.

  The small space was jammed with office furniture and equipment, including a fax machine. And a computer hooked up to the internet. He practically salivated. After a week of being cut off from modern conveniences, the prospect of sitting in a comfortable office chair and getting on the internet was seductive. Maybe the Westons would let him use their facilities for a couple of hours every night after Kittie was asleep. He’d have to find the right moment to propose an arrangement.

  “Jacob...hello,” Mariah said, spinning around in her chair.

  Thoughts of the internet and fax machines vanished from his brain at the sight of her. Instead of her usual jeans and shirt, Mariah wore a blue camisole-style top and skirt that contrasted nicely with her auburn hair and lightly tanned skin. Fresh and delectable. The outfit was far from chic, but it suited her and was snug in all the right places.

  A fleeting thought went through Jacob’s mind—it was a good thing Benjamin Weston wasn’t there, because Jacob was definitely ogling the man’s granddaughter.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing her distracted expression.

  “Not really. A professor from Sweden and a group of his film students are planning a trip to the ranch, but only one of them speaks English. I’m searching for a wrangler who’s fluent in Swedish before confirming the reservation.”

  “Why bother? The English speaker can translate for the re
st.”

  “It works better if the wrangler can communicate directly,” she said. “If there’s a problem on the range, you don’t want to go through a translator to deal with it.”

  Jacob’s attention kept drifting to the taut fit of her camisole top and he struggled to drag his focus to a more appropriate location. “How often do you have non-English-speaking visitors?”

  She tapped a pencil on a pad of paper that was covered with scribbled notes and artistic doodles. “Three or four times a summer. It can be interesting. One vacation season we had several master chefs from Italy—they taught Grams and Reggie how to make gnocchi and a fabulous spinach Provençal. Anyway...I assume you’re here for your packages.” She stood and retrieved two large envelopes from a locked storage cabinet. “I’m afraid you aren’t popular with the drivers from the shipping company. They don’t enjoy coming here so frequently.”

  “It would be easier if you put asphalt down over that gravel road,” he said absently, reading the address labels on the envelopes.

  Mariah shut the cabinet with a bang. “So they’ve suggested, but ordinarily they come out to the U-2 once or twice a year—not once or twice a day. We can’t spend thousands of dollars on a road so you can get your deliveries ten minutes earlier.”

  Her tone was crisp and Jacob’s mouth twitched. He was tempted to fan her redhead’s temper but decided to resist. It was entertaining to battle with someone so quick-witted and passionate—there weren’t many people who talked back to him. He ought to think about whether he’d gotten too autocratic at his company. Being the boss might have its privileges, but he could be missing out on things, too.

  “Will they begin refusing to deliver and pick up?”

  “Refuse considering the amount of money your company is paying for shipping?” Mariah sounded scandalized. “I doubt it.”

  “We’re paying the standard rate, less our corporate discount.”