The Ranch Solution

by Julianna Morris

  “I can manage that.” Mariah focused on the top button of his shirt, a deep certainty filling her. They’d both suffered terrible losses, but that meant they knew what was important, such as finding a way to be together. “Are you absolutely sure that living in Montana is what you want?”

  “More sure than anything else in my life,” Jacob said, his voice rough with emotion. “I was desperate when I came to the U-2, hoping for a miracle with Caitlin...not realizing I was the one who needed the miracle. I’m a lucky man.”

  “Wrong.” She flicked the button open, then the next. “We’re both lucky.”

  He opened a button himself. “I suppose we’re going to disagree on how much independence Caitlin should get on the ranch.”

  “I suppose we are.”

  Jacob ran his fingers down her leg and pulled off her boots. “And we’ll fight about you taking too many risks.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “But I’m not going to win on that issue very often, am I?”

  Mariah laughed. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Well, at least it won’t be boring.”

  Three months later

  MARIAH SMOOTHED THE FLARED SKIRT of her white satin gown, her pulse racing. In a few minutes she would be marrying Jacob in front of dozens of neighbors and wranglers and his friends and family from Washington.

  “You look awesome,” Caitlin said, excitedly hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Indeed,” Grams agreed, gazing fondly at the teenager. She and Granddad had taken Caitlin into their hearts, an instant great-granddaughter they could delight in spoiling.

  Big changes had taken place at the U-2, though Jacob had made every effort to keep everything low-key and hidden from view. An airfield large enough for the O’Donnell International company jets had been constructed a half mile away, and a building at the end of the field housed the majority of the satellite equipment needed to run his high-tech office. Granddad had surprised Jacob with his knowledge of communications and they’d had long discussions on how technology had advanced in the past fifty years. Of course, Jacob was frequently surprised these days, discovering that life in Montana didn’t have to mean your head was in a hole.

  Mariah couldn’t comprehend the money he’d poured into the airfield alone—he was a man who committed to a course of action without a backward glance. There was also a new asphalt road into the ranch, and Grams’s U-2 medical clinic was considerably expanded, along with Aunt Lettie’s clinic in Buckeye. Mariah had tried to be patient, understanding Jacob’s instinctive need to protect his family and knowing the community would benefit.

  The U-2 would never be the same and it was difficult dealing with the changes. The next years were going to be an adjustment in more ways than one.

  The most exhilarating difference was the small buffalo herd making a home on some of the land that Jacob had purchased bordering the U-2, higher in the hills. Mariah wasn’t sure they were ready to bring buffalo in, but she hadn’t objected since it was something he wanted so much. Jacob had hired wildlife experts to advise them and had acted like a kid in a candy store when the massive animals came off the trucks, snorting and stamping. They were fenced separately from the other livestock and would always have a safe haven from two-legged hunters.

  Jacob was trying to buy even more adjoining rangeland, and she was convinced he had visions of reestablishing the great bison herds, thundering across the plains.

  Mariah sat in front of the bureau and looked at herself in the mirror. She’d chosen a simple, mid-calf-length wedding dress, and around her neck she wore the delicate gold cross that Catherine Heider Weston had worn when she got married, and each of the Weston brides since. She touched the cross and prayed that the happiness that Catherine and Timothy had known would be theirs, as well.

  Grams fixed a long lace veil to her hair and arranged it down her back.

  “Luke came,” she murmured. “He said he couldn’t miss seeing his best friend get married.”

  A shaft of sorrow went through Mariah, but she pushed it away. It wasn’t a day for sorrow and regrets; it was a day for the future and remembering absent family with love.

  “Uh...when can I start calling you Mom?” Caitlin asked. She was fidgeting with her flower bouquet. She’d spent the summer with them in Montana, though her father had traveled back and forth, making arrangements.

  “Whenever you want.” Mariah got up and hugged her. It was the first time Caitlin had suggested calling her Mom.

  “Awesome...Mom.” Caitlin grinned.

  Her hair was longer now, curling around her face with a charming pixie quality. She wore a pretty sky-blue dress that accentuated her healthy color, and if it clashed somewhat with her black fingernail polish, nobody cared. Quite solemnly she had explained to Mariah that it was okay to fit in, but she liked the idea of being the only cowgirl in Buckeye with black fingernails. Occasionally she also donned her spiked leather collar, just to mix things up.

  “It’s time,” Granddad said with a knock on the door.

  While the Westons didn’t believe a woman should be “given away” in the marriage ceremony like a piece of property, they held to the tradition of the bride being walked down the aisle. Granddad would walk with her today, but she knew that both her parents would be there in spirit.

  Grams and Caitlin left and Mariah took Granddad’s arm.

  He put a hand over hers. “Scared?”

  “Terrified.”

  “Yup, so was I. Keeps you on your toes.”

  The Big Barn was banked with flowers and filled with friends and family. Mariah’s nerves settled as she saw the people inside. The Sallengers had come. They’d found a tiny ranch outside of Buckeye and were hosting Chad and Susan and some of the other longtime U-2 guests who’d wanted to attend the wedding. Luke was smiling, and if there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, he hid it well.

  Jacob’s younger brother and sister were sitting in the front, along with his parents, an easygoing couple who’d accepted their son’s move to Montana with bemusement. As for Caitlin’s other grandparents, they’d flown in, too. Mariah had met the Barretts earlier in the summer and they’d said they were happy that Jacob was getting remarried.

  “You’re going to be Kittie’s mother. That makes you important to us,” Richard Barrett had muttered gruffly, kissing her cheek before getting on the plane in Billings after their first visit. “You’re...uh...our family now.”

  They weren’t the most comfortable people, but they were sincere and well-meaning.

  Caitlin marched ahead of Mariah down the temporary aisle, and Reid stood with Jacob as his best man. An assortment of chairs had been borrowed from all over Buckeye to accommodate the large number of wedding guests, but Mariah didn’t see the mismatches; she only saw Jacob, waiting for her.

  Another wedding to add to the barn’s memories, she thought, walking toward him. Another celebration to bridge the past and future.

  She and Jacob would always fight, and they’d never see eye to eye on a lot of things...but they would love each other forever.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from His Uptown Girl by Liz Talley!

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  CHAPTER ONE

  New Orleans, 2013

  “HOT GUY AT TWO O’CLOCK,” Pansy McAdams said, craning her head around the form mannequin and peering out the window.

  Eleanor Theriot rolled her eyes and swiped her dust cloth over the spindles of the rocker she knelt beside. “You think half of New Orleans is hot.”

  “No, I’m just optimistic.”

  “Or need a good optometrist.”

  Pansy didn’t turn her head from whoever had drawn her attention. “I have perfect vision, thank you very much, and this one is worth the drool I’ll have to wipe off the glass.”

  Eleanor pushed past Pansy, who’d plastered her nose to the window of the Queen’s Box. Eleanor could only imagine the picture her friend and employee presented to passersby. Pig nose.

  But no actual drool.

  “Let me be the judge,” Eleanor said, playing along. Pansy had spent the past month reminding Eleanor of her resolution to get back into the dating game. When Eleanor had examined her life, as everyone is wont to do on New Year’s Day, she’d discovered her home felt empty, and most of her lingerie had been purchased from a wholesale club. Time to start dating again, to start claiming a new life for herself outside widowhood and motherhood. Up until now, Eleanor had been good at ignoring the male sex—hot or otherwise—but today, Eleanor felt game. Maybe it was the phone call earlier from her mom, who had cut out an article about healthy living for the premenopausal woman.

  Not that Eleanor was going through menopause.

  Yet.

  So an innocent ogle sounded...harmless.

  Across the street, in front of the place where tradesmen had been streaming in and out like worker bees, was a pickup truck. Leaning against the side of that truck was someone who made her swallow. Hard.

  Pansy soooo didn’t need glasses.

  The man resembled an Aztec prince. Like his honeyed skin should be twined in gold and turquoise, bedecked in a feathered headdress. And a loincloth. He’d be breathtaking in a loincloth.

  “Told ya,” Pansy said, shouldering Eleanor out of the way. “He could eat crackers, chips and freakin’ beignets in my bed any day of the week.”

  “Not sure your husband would appreciate an extra bedmate.”

  “Eddie lets the dog sleep with us. What’s one more hairy beast?” Pansy straightened the ceremonial Mayan mask that sat next to the silver candelabra in the window display before sliding off the edge of the window stage, her long body loose and loping. Pansy was over six feet tall, flat-footed and thin to the point of painful, but she had a sharp sense of humor and a heart that was big, fat and full of good cheer. Like Santa Claus in Olive Oyl’s body.

  Eleanor glanced again at the man standing beside the pickup, peering at his phone. He wore well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His face had a sort of sexy Brad Pitt thing going on with sensuous lips, but his jaw was hard, nose straight, brows dark and drawn to a V as he tapped on the phone. His skin was a creamy café au lait and his hair jet-black, clipped close to his head. Broad shoulders and narrow hips finished off the visual treat. A damn chocolate cupcake from Butterfield’s Bakery wasn’t as tempting as this man. “Hey,” Pansy whispered over Eleanor’s shoulder, making her jump. “You should go get him and see how you like sleeping on cracker crumbs.”

  “I already know I don’t like sleeping on cracker crumbs.”

  “With the right guy, you’ll never feel ’em. Trust me.”

  Running a hand over a well-crafted Federal chest of drawers, Eleanor turned to Pansy and wiggled her fingers. “Dust.”

  “Chicken.”

  Eleanor wasn’t going outside to talk to a guy leaning against a work truck. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Never had been...even if she was determined to get out there...wherever “there” was. “No way.”

  “Candy ass.”

  “Calling me names won’t work. Get the lemon oil and let’s make sure our pieces up front look pretty. Tourists will be pouring in with Mardi Gras weekend coming up. I could use some sales.”

  Pansy propped her fists on angular hips and narrowed her piercing blue eyes. “Come on, El. What will it hurt to do a little flirting? You’ll probably never see him again and you need to get your feet wet. Beyond time, sugar.”

  Yeah, it was way beyond time. That’s what her daughter, Blakely, had yelled at her over a month ago—to get her own life. But Eleanor wasn’t going outside and getting her feet wet with some random house painter. Even if she’d never see him again. Even if it was harmless, silly and somewhat daring. “I’m moving on, Pansy. I am. I even checked out that eHarmony site last night, but I’m not the kind of girl who goes up to a random guy and says, uh, I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

  “Pretend you’re locked out and need a screwdriver or something to jimmy the lock. I’ll hide in the back.”

  “Jimmy the lock? Who are you? Nancy Drew?”

  Pansy faked an elaborate laugh. “You’re so funny. Share it with the sex god across the street. Unless you’re...chicken?”

  Eleanor looked around the antiques store that had been her salvation, first after the hurricane and then after the sex scandal, and felt the security she always did when she really thought about who she was. Did she want to be another relic of the past like the beautiful pieces in her store? Hmm. Pansy was right. Blakely was right. She needed to step out and get a life. “Okay. Fine.”

  Pansy froze. “Really?”

  “Yeah, what’ll it hurt? Not like I’ll see him again.”

  Pansy pulled Eleanor to her, snatching the ponytail holder from Eleanor’s hair. “Ow!”

  “Hold still,” Pansy said, tugging strands of Eleanor’s hair around her face and studying it critically.

  Eleanor batted her hands away. “Jeez, Pans.”

  “Let me grab the coral-rose lip gloss I bought at Sephora. It will look nice with those new red highlights you just put in.”

  “I’m—”

  “Shh,” Pansy said, pressing a finger against Eleanor’s lips. “He’s a little out of your league so we need to prepare you for—”

  “Please.” Eleanor pushed past her friend and tucked her shirt into her new gold Lilly Pulitzer belt. “He’ll be gone before you could perform all that magic. Besides, he’s not out of my league. Forget the lip gloss.”

  “Whoa, that’s my sassy girl,” Pansy called, scurrying to the back of the store, thin arms and knobby knees moving so fast she resembled a clumsy puppy. She sank behind the counter, leaving only her eyes visible. “I’ll hide back here so he buys the story.”

  “This is nuts,” Eleanor proclaimed.

  Pansy’s hand emerged over the register, shooing her toward the door. “Just go.”

  Taking a deep breath, Eleanor pushed the glass door, ignoring the dinging of the sleigh bells affixed to the knob, and stepped onto Magazine Street, which had started waking up for the day. She shut the door behind her, slapped a hand to her forehead and patted her pockets.

  Damn, she was a good actress.

  She started toward hunky painter dude, looking both ways before crossing the street ’cause she’d learned that rule when she was seven years old. The closer she got, the hotter—and younger—the guy looked.

  God, this was stupid. Pansy was right. The man was out of her league.

  Too hot for her.

  Too young for her.

  She needed to go back t
o her store and abandon the whole ruse, but as she began to turn, he lifted his head and caught her gaze.

  Oh, dear Lord. Eyes the color of smoke swept over her and something shivery flew right up her spine. It wasn’t casual or dismissive. Oddly enough, the gaze felt...profound.

  Or maybe she needed to drink less coffee. She must be imagining the connection between them. It had been almost twenty years since she’d tried to pick up a man, so she was out of practice. That was it. She imagined his interest.

  He lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and she tried to remember what she was supposed to ask him. A horn honked and she turned her head.

  Yeah. She stood in the middle of the street like a moron.

  The Aztec sex god turned his head and nodded toward the car. “You gonna move?”

  “Yeah,” she said, stepping onto the sidewalk. She licked her lips, wishing she’d put on the stupid lip gloss. Not only did she look stupid, but her lips were bare. Eleanor the Daring was appalled by Eleanor the Unprepared, who had shown up in her stead.

  “Can I help you?”

  You can if you toss me over your shoulder, take me to your temple and play sacrifice the not-exactly-a-virgin on your stone pillar of lust.

  But she didn’t say that, of course.

  “I’m looking for a screw,” she said.

  * * *

  DEZ BATISTE LOWERED his phone and stared at the woman. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Huh?”

  “You asked for a screw?” he repeated.

  She turned the color of the red tiles that framed the doorway behind her. “No. I didn’t ask you—uh, I meant a screwdriver.”

  He almost laughed because he could see where her thoughts had jumped to...which was kind of cute.

  He’d parked in front of the club five minutes ago, pissed he couldn’t get his damn contractor to show up. He’d dialed Chris Salmon three times, but hung up each time he heard the voice mail. He wasn’t in a good mood, didn’t need some woman bothering him, but when he’d really looked at this one, he had put his bad mood on pause.