The Ranch Solution

by Julianna Morris

  “That’s enough.”

  “I’ll bet the Pony Express cost more and they weren’t overnight.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said drily. “It was before I was born, and they didn’t ride through Montana, just across the Oregon–California trail. Um, the dance is starting soon and I still have an email to send. So...”

  Jacob recognized a brush-off when he heard it. He stepped outside, tapping his finger on label of the shipping envelopes. They were from the Munich, Germany, division of his company. He frowned; while his visit to Montana wasn’t a secret, he preferred that everything go through the Seattle office. Gretchen wouldn’t have circulated his temporary address, but the guys in the shipping department could have put it in the computer network to be handy.

  He looked around and saw Dr. Weston was no longer stitching her quilt, though it remained on the patio. Curious, he went to examine it closely; even to his untutored eye, the piece was a work of art. It was formed from strips of various fabrics, the overall design created crossing diagonal bands of color that gave the illusion of being woven.

  “That’s a ‘log cabin’ quilt,” Mariah said from behind him. “It’s a traditional pattern, though ones such as the ‘wedding ring’ or ‘basket of scraps’ are older. Originally those patterns were made with smaller amounts of milled fabric and a great deal of off-white homespun for the background.”

  “Why homespun?”

  “It was cheaper and could be produced by women at home. The early colonies weren’t allowed to build fabric mills, so fabric had to be imported and there were high tariffs on it. Even later it was expensive. And when cheap unbleached muslin became available, it took the place of homespun in the old-time patterns.”

  “Old-time or not, it’s stunning. This is something I would frame and hang in the lobby of my office building in Seattle.”

  * * *

  MARIAH HADN’T EXPECTED to hear Jacob admiring the artistry of Gram’s craftsmanship. He might remain devoted to his wife’s memory, but the man he was today was obviously not the grad student who’d fallen deeply in love with the girl of his dreams. The mystery was how he’d gone from adoring husband and prospective aerospace engineer to hard-nosed businessman.

  “Did you get your email sent?” Jacob asked.

  “Yes.”

  All she’d had left to do was enter the address and hit the send button, but she’d felt a need to get him out of the U-2’s office—and away from her. She was accustomed to tall, powerfully built men, but it was easy to forget Jacob’s lean height until they were in close confines. He moved well for a city-dwelling snob. Almost sensually... Mariah clenched her jaw. It was one thing for an engaged woman to think another man was attractive, another to get hot and bothered around him.

  “You’d best get going. I hear the music starting down at the Big Barn.” Mariah gestured to the path around the house. Normally they didn’t have guests in their backyard since the U-2’s office wasn’t designed as a reception area. Gram’s dispensary was attached to one of the barns, and visitors could ring the bell there in case of emergency, or if something was needed and a ranch employee couldn’t be found.

  “Trying to get rid of me?” Jacob sent her a knowing grin.

  “No, just wondering what mischief Caitlin might have found while you’re up here, and she’s...somewhere else,” Mariah said sweetly.

  The humor faded from his face. “Right.”

  He turned on his heel and strode away, much to her satisfaction. Yet when she headed toward the Big Barn a few minutes later, he caught up and walked with her.

  “According to witnesses, my daughter went to the dance with Burt,” he explained. “If she’s plotting global domination, that’s where it’s going down.”

  Luke was already there when they arrived and gave her a determined kiss. “You look wonderful,” he whispered against her lips.

  “You don’t look bad yourself,” she said, startled. He usually wasn’t demonstrative in front of people.

  “Evening, O’Donnell,” Luke said over her head.

  “Branson.”

  The men measured each other and bared their teeth in something that might pass as smiles.

  Mariah thumped her shoulder into Luke’s chest. She hadn’t deliberately arrived at the dance with Jacob, something Luke should know without being told. “You don’t need introductions, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  They shook hands and she was glad to see they were mature enough not to get into a finger-squeezing contest...at least she hoped they were that mature. She’d met grown men who acted like children with the smallest provocation.

  What was more, Mariah knew full well that Luke had a temper, same as Jacob. The big question was, what would set them both off and how much?

  It had been an unseasonably warm day for May, but a cooling breeze blew through the multiple open doors on each side of the barn. The public welcome to the dance got under way, the wranglers in the band explaining to the greenhorns about basic square dancing and moves such as the do-si-do and promenade. They enlisted the U-2’s neighbors to demonstrate, who then pulled in the greenhorns to practice, with promises that everyone messed up now and then and that it was fun regardless.

  Next, Grams and Granddad showed the crowd how to do a basic polka, U-2-style. The band began playing and soon the barn was filled with couples enjoying the fast, lively dance.

  “I’ve waited all winter for this,” Luke said and swung Mariah out onto the floor.

  Talking was impractical during the vigorous folk dance, along with hanging on to darker feelings, and they were both in a cheerful mood by the time the tune ended.

  Mariah was pleased to see the usual group of neighbors in attendance, in addition to a few that didn’t often come to community events. She said hello, keeping her greetings low-key so she wouldn’t make them self-conscious.

  “Can you believe old man Price is here?” Luke asked quietly. “He’s the biggest hermit in three counties. Maybe he’s hoping to catch a wife who can cook something besides beans.”

  Mariah laughed. Luther Price was notorious. He had a spread south of Buckeye and the cowboys who worked for him claimed he bought pinto beans by the hundred-pound sack...and little else.

  “Maybe he’s just lonely.”

  “Speaking of lonely...” Luke gestured to Caitlin, who was hanging around the refreshment tables, standing out like a sore thumb. The spiderweb tattoo on her stomach wasn’t displayed, but her black clothes and dull, black spiky hair were bad enough. “I thought you said her father got new clothes for her. She doesn’t look different to me, other than the snake adorning her T-shirt. And I wouldn’t call that an improvement.”

  Mariah sighed. She didn’t know who she felt sorrier for—Jacob or Kittie.

  “He drove into Buckeye late one afternoon and returned with shopping bags, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to wear what he bought. The Buckeye Booteek doesn’t carry anything decorated with spiders, skeletons or snakes—they don’t even cater to the Harry Potter crowd, much less someone going Goth.”

  “Yeah, but the men’s shop carries a nice selection of hats.”

  “Hmm, that’s right.” Mariah stood on tiptoe and tapped the brim of Luke’s cream-colored cowboy hat. “I thought this was new. Are you trying to look like one of the good guys?”

  He chuckled. “Would it work?”

  “Not a chance. By the way, why didn’t you bring Moonfire over tonight? I have the stall next to Blue ready for her.”

  Moonfire was an exceptionally gentle and intelligent mare Luke was donating to a program that worked with autistic children. He’d learned about the project eighteen months ago and had evaluated his horses to find one with the right personality. Moonfire was ideal. She’d foaled twice and had a natural mothering instinct. When things quieted down in
the fall, Luke planned to truck the ten-year-old down to California and see the facility she’d be staying at for himself.

  It wasn’t any surprise to Mariah that horses worked well with special-needs kids; they were responsive and learned quickly. She was going to have their younger visitors ride Moonfire to polish the horse’s training. If the mare could tolerate a bunch of eager, underage greenhorns, she’d be terrific with children who had difficulty relating to the rest of the world. Originally she’d thought that Caitlin and Moonfire might be a good match, but in light of the growing bond between the teen and Blue, she was glad the timing hadn’t worked out.

  “I changed my mind. I’ll bring her over tomorrow or the next day,” Luke said unconcernedly.

  Mariah cocked her head, puzzled. “You’ve already been here several times this week.”

  “Don’t you want to see me?”

  “You know I do, but this is your busiest season. You don’t have time to waste coming over here.”

  “Seeing you isn’t a waste.” The serious note in his voice made Mariah wince. Sooner or later they’d be married and she had to be more sensitive.

  Luke was better at the everyday courtesies—she tended to get so busy with her family and dealing with ranch visitors that she didn’t call or email as much as she should. Mariah also knew that she should make an effort to visit the Branson spread more often.

  “I appreciate that,” she said. “And I’m always glad to see you. I just worry that you’re stretching yourself too thin and don’t want you doing it on my account.”

  “I’m a big boy, Mariah. I can decide that kind of thing for myself.”

  “Okay, okay.” She put her hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I’ll shut up.”

  “You?” He winked, yet there was an odd expression in his eyes. “Doubtful.”

  A set was forming nearby that needed a couple, and she and Luke were coaxed into joining. Mariah was uncomfortable because she generally moved around, visiting with the guests, rather than dancing so much. But Grams and Granddad were here, as well as Aunt Lettie, and they could get folks to join in, same as her.

  Caitlin O’Donnell was the guest that Mariah worried most about, and she kept watching her from the corner of her eye. The teenager danced, reluctantly, with her father, though she was more animated when Granddad took her out for a couple of sets. Burt took a break from playing with the band to dance with her, but it was obvious that she’d prefer having partners her own age. The local boys were usually enthusiastic about new girls since guys outnumbered gals at these affairs, but apparently Caitlin and her Goth-look apparel were too peculiar for them.

  “I’ll dance with her,” Luke said softly when he noticed Mariah’s attention had shifted again to the troubled teen. “It might get Reid and his pals going.”

  “Thanks.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re one in a million.”

  “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

  * * *

  KITTIE STUDIOUSLY PRETENDED to be interested in the band where Burt and Ray Cassidy were playing, tapping her feet to the music as if it was the only thing that mattered. She’d tried to dress right—what was wrong with everyone? Reid and his friends were ignoring her; it was just old guys who’d wanted to dance with her, like her dad and Mr. Weston and Burt. Her dad was standing next to her and had suggested they join another set, but she’d seem pretty pathetic dancing with him five times in a row.

  “Miss O’Donnell, would you honor me by being my partner in the next set?” someone said, and she turned. It was Mr. Branson, the one who was sweet on Mariah. He was older, too, but really cute. “The band is taking a break now, but another will start when they’re done.”

  “Okay.”

  Her father looked at Mariah, who’d come over with Mr. Branson. “Mariah, seeing as I’m losing my partner, would you dance with me?”

  Ooh, that was rad.

  Mr. Branson’s face got weird and Mariah looked funny, too. Her dad and Mr. Branson went stiff and stared at each other even harder than when they’d met on the range.

  “How about it, Mariah?” her dad asked again.

  “Uh...sure.”

  Kittie almost giggled. This was the only fun part of the night so far. Grown-ups could sure act strange—and they thought she was the one with a problem.

  “Why don’t we have a piece of cake or a cookie while we’re waiting?” Mariah suggested.

  The long tables they’d set up when cleaning the barn were covered with white cloths and more desserts than Kittie had ever seen. They had cream pies and nut pies and fruit pies. There were chocolate, vanilla and lemon cakes, and other ones she didn’t recognize. Then there were the brownies and cookies...piles and piles of them.

  Kittie had reached to take a cookie loaded with chunks of chocolate and pecans when the container was snatched from under her fingers by a girl wearing a yellow dress.

  “Reid, these are the cookies I brought,” said the girl, holding them out to him, who was standing off to the side. “I baked them just for you.”

  “Thanks, Laura.” He grabbed a handful. “But I think one of the U-2 guests was going to have a cookie, too.”

  Kittie wanted to drop through the floor. He’d called her one of the U-2 guests. As if she was an absolute nobody. It was even worse than when he’d stopped in the mess tent to tell her dad about the packages from his company and had paid no attention to her.

  The girl gave Kittie an apologetic look. She was perky and filled-out like the cheerleaders at Garrison Academy in Seattle, with shiny brown hair that fell smoothly down her back. “I’m sorry. Do you want some?”

  She offered the oblong pan, but Kittie would have died before taking one. Baked especially for Reid, were they? This Laura probably thought he was her personal property.

  “I’m having something else.”

  “Are you sure?” Laura seemed confused, as if she couldn’t believe anyone not wanting to eat her precious cookies. “They won the grand prize at the county fair last year.”

  “I’m sure,” Kittie said, thinking she could trip Laura flat on her perfect face if she stuck her foot out in the right place. Not that it was a very nice thing to consider doing, but she didn’t feel like being nice these days.

  She took a slice of lemon-meringue pie instead and it was yummy—she just hoped Laura hadn’t made the pie and the cookies.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our next dance,” Ray called as the wranglers went back to their banjos and other musical instruments. “We’re going to pick up the pace, so grab your partner and get busy doing an allemande left and a right and left turn.”

  Mr. Branson smiled at her. “Are you ready, Miss O’Donnell? You said you’d be my partner.”

  “I’m ready.” She threw her paper plate in a trash can and they joined a square of dancers that included her dad and Mariah.

  She wasn’t very happy, but the others didn’t seem too cheerful, either.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER Mariah had circulated, danced with Luke and the unattached male guests...and gotten frazzled nerves. Though Caitlin had danced twice with Luke, her father, Burt and Granddad, Reid and his high-school buddies were casually overlooking her. The teen was growing increasingly hurt, but Jacob didn’t seem to see it.

  She isn’t your problem, Mariah reminded herself. Short of Kittie damaging the ranch or doing something reckless that would get her injured, it wasn’t her business what the teen did or how she felt.

  “Mariah,” said the pastor’s wife, “the punch tastes odd, though I drank some earlier and it was fine. Could the juice in it have spoiled so quickly?”

  Mariah took the cup from Barbara and sniffed. “It’s not spoiled. That’s whiskey,” she said crisply.

  “Whiskey?” Barbara was a teetotaler, so it wasn’t surprising she didn�
�t know how it tasted or smelled.

  “Yup.”

  Mariah dumped the contents of the large bowl down the farm sink. It didn’t happen often, but a couple of times in the past somebody had tried to be funny by spiking the punch. Having lost her parents because of a drunk driver, she was determined to keep the dance “dry.” Nobody was going to leave the U-2 and get in an accident if she could prevent it.

  Grams came to help as Mariah assembled the makings for a new batch. “I smell whiskey. Who did it?”

  “I hate to speculate.” Yet Mariah couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Caitlin. The teenager was carefully gazing in a different direction and had assumed an innocent air. It seemed possible that she was responsible or knew who was.

  Grams’s eyes widened. “Caitlin? Surely not. How would she get alcohol? We don’t have any in the house and I haven’t seen signs that her father is a midnight tippler. Aside from black coffee, of course.”

  “Reggie locks up the bourbon whiskey he uses to flavor his barbecue sauce. Other than that, I don’t know. But she’s upset and I saw her here a few minutes ago. She could have hidden a bottle nearby and slipped it in when no one was looking. That isn’t enough to make an accusation, though.”

  “I’ll get Linc to watch and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Mariah lifted the fresh bowl onto the table. “Linc? Good luck. If a woman over eighteen and under fifty is going by, an elephant could spike the punch and he wouldn’t see it. He’ll be too fixated on her fanny or bustline.”

  “Someday he’ll fall in love and his wandering ways will come back to bite him, but we can try.” Grams crooked a finger at Linc. “Young man, somebody spiked the punch. As far as we are concerned, you are already on probation. Keep an eye on this bowl, and if anyone pours something into it that shouldn’t be there, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m serious, Linc.”

  “I know, ma’am.”

  Mariah hurried to where Luke was standing—it made her nervous to see him near Jacob and Caitlin. The two men were worse than stallions, stamping and pawing the ground to warn the others of their general male superiority.