by Jill Kemerer
She’d also noticed that two of the planners had unopened boxes stacked in their offices when company policy was to check each delivery as it came in, then move the packages to the storage room. When she confronted them, they quickly moved the boxes, but it didn’t change the fact the standards she’d put in place were not being met.
Natalie hadn’t been in the office, and her phone had gone directly to voice mail. Last night she’d returned Lexi’s calls, assuring her she would handle everything. But why had Natalie let things slide in the first place?
Lexi plunged a box cutter through the packing tape of another box. Daddy’s doctor still hadn’t called her back. She’d called Monday and yesterday. Left messages, too.
Didn’t anyone respect her anymore?
She unpacked the linens and folded a dove-gray napkin before placing it on her desk. After spreading a tablecloth over the folding table she’d brought in, she set it with sample plates and flatware. She stepped back, finger on chin, taking it in. Maybe the table would look better with the classic silverware. Every time she put a wedding together, she couldn’t help stashing ideas for her own. Blush bridesmaids’ dresses. Tons of flowers—white peonies and pale pink roses—everywhere. The most delicate of stemware. Hand calligraphy on the invitations. And a handsome groom who only had eyes for her.
Clint stood in the doorway.
The fork in her hand clattered to the floor. Her cheeks warmed. One of the reasons she’d anticipated coming home last night was the thought of talking to Clint today.
She was living in an alternate reality, one with a gorgeous cowboy who took care of her problems, a reality as flimsy and fleeting as the bubbles wedding guests blew for fun at receptions. And the man before her was her employee. An important detail she dared not forget.
Last night she’d prayed about the situation, hoping she’d feel led to keep things light and professional with Clint. Instead, here she was, dropping forks and blushing like a flighty middle schooler the instant he appeared.
“How did the trip go?” He took off his hat and held it between his hands.
She took a moment to get her equilibrium. “It was eye-opening. I’m disappointed. When I’m not around, the standards seem to slip. My vice president assured me she’d take care of it, but it’s frustrating. Plus, one of my couples—a March wedding—canceled.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“They broke up. The wedding’s off.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too.” Boy, she was all gloom and doom today. Look at the bright side, Lexi. “But, hey, a senator’s daughter set up a call with me next Wednesday to discuss the possibility of me planning her wedding. Madeline Roth is a high-profile client, good publicity, so I’m glad.”
“Next Wednesday, huh.” Clint frowned. “That reminds me. The calf sale is scheduled the same day, and I’ve got some bad news.”
Her stomach clenched. She braced herself for whatever was coming.
“The only feed I can find is three times the price it should be. No one else has a surplus to get us through the winter.”
The implications were clear, and she didn’t like them. “So we have to sell?”
He nodded, regret all over his face. “I have one more lead, but he’s not answering my calls, and we’re out of time. If we’re going to sell the calves, we need to keep our sale date.”
It was as if another ten pounds had been added to her already too-full load. Instead of slumping, though, she kept her back straight.
“That’s too bad.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “After looking at your spreadsheet, I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to sell right away.” The sudden emotion in her chest crushed her. She was letting Daddy down. He’d been excited about producing and selling the hay, and she wouldn’t be able to make it happen. Not this year, anyway. “I guess we’ll have to wait on the farm equipment.”
“I’m sorry. I tried everywhere.”
“I know you did. Don’t worry. That’s life on a cattle ranch. Unpredictable.” She rounded the desk, took a seat and gestured for him to also. “What else is going on?”
“Still looking for the cabin crasher.” He lowered his frame into the chair opposite her desk.
“No leads?”
“No, and I’ve ridden back twice. No one has been there again that I can tell.” He looked like he was going to say more, and she tilted her head slightly to encourage him. “I’ve put feelers out about it around the ranch. The only two cowboys I’m not sure of are Jake and Ryder. They’re young.”
“Youth isn’t a crime.”
“No, but I know the type.”
“Do you? From personal experience?” She couldn’t imagine straitlaced Clint as a troublemaker.
“I guess you could say that.”
“Were you trouble with a capital T?” she teased.
“My grandfather thought so.”
“But you only lived with him as a small child, right? Or did I remember that wrong?”
“Until I was six. I’m sure I was a pest.”
“You, a pest?” She propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on her fist. Thinking about him as a child made her worries disappear. She tried to picture him as a little boy. “No way. I’m guessing you were adorable with those big blue eyes. You must have been a quiet kid.”
“Um, I guess.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What about you? I don’t see you as being quiet.”
She chuckled. “I wasn’t quiet, but I was very girlie.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I wore dresses and pretended I was a princess. My mom and I had tea parties and baked cookies and planned special parties for my friends.” She let the sweet memories seep inside. “I had a really great childhood.”
The things he’d told her about his dad and grandfather came back. She suppressed a groan. She’d been insensitive. “I’m sorry. I forgot you didn’t have a home like mine growing up. Do you have good memories? Who raised you after your grandfather?”
“Sure, I have good memories.” The starkness in his eyes convinced her he was lying. “I had a real nice foster mom right after my grandfather died.”
“Why did you end up at Yearling, then?”
“Miss Joanne got sick when I was eight, and I lived in a couple other homes after hers.”
“Define a couple.” A sinking feeling in her chest made her want to take back the question.
He glanced up at the ceiling, his lips twisting. “Hmm. Four, I guess.”
“Four? But that would mean moving almost every year.”
“Yes.”
“Why so many?”
He shrugged. “Crowding. Funding. Babies. I didn’t mind leaving most of them.”
She rubbed her temples. “You didn’t mind? But they were your families.”
“No, they weren’t.” His dry laugh held no pleasure. “There are a lot of great foster parents out there, but besides Miss Joanne, I wouldn’t call any of the people I lived with before Yearling my family. The guys I met there? They’re my brothers. And Dottie and Big Bob have always looked out for me.”
“How did you meet the Laverts?”
“They ran Yearling while I was there. Dottie still watches out for me. Listen, I’m not complaining. I had a roof over my head and food to eat my entire life.”
“There’s more to life than food and shelter.”
“Miss Joanne taught me that.”
“Tell me about her.”
Clint shifted in his seat. “I went to live with her—she had two other foster kids, too—after my grandfather died. She taught us Bible stories and played board games with us. I was pretty broken up when she got sick and had to move back in with her folks in Idaho.”
“And you said you were eight when
she left? Where did you go next?”
He shrugged. “A lot of places. Some good. Some bad. None lasted.”
The picture he painted sounded bleak. No mother to comfort him. No father to ride around a ranch with. No childhood home. Just random people he had no choice but to live with. She’d been fortunate to have had two parents raising her.
“We should probably discuss the sale next week,” Clint said, clearly wanting to change the subject. “The vaccinations are done. Jerry and I will...” He filled her in on all the sale details, but she had a hard time concentrating. She found herself wanting to know more about the man in front of her. And wanting to give him some of his lost childhood back.
When they’d discussed the sale and other items on the agenda, Clint stood to leave.
“I’ve been meaning to ask—how is Banjo?” Lexi followed him out of her office through the hall.
“Fine. I’ve been letting him sleep on my floor at night. He won’t take no for an answer.”
“You’re a good man, Clint.” They stopped in the living room.
He looked ready to argue. With a glance at the far wall and the fireplace, he shifted his jaw. “Don’t start a fire in the fireplace until I get a chance to inspect it. I’ll get to it after we sell the calves.”
* * *
A good man? If she only knew the memories she’d kicked up with her innocent questions, she wouldn’t be so quick to brand him. Unexpected emotion had hit him hard in her office, and at first he couldn’t define the feeling. But then he’d realized it was sadness. Long ago he’d stopped hoping to experience the things she described. He’d never known his mother or had the sense of belonging to parents the way most kids did. How many times had adults given up on him? How many adults had he given up on?
Lord, I know who I am. Lexi acts as if we’re from the same world, but we aren’t. I want to live up to her expectations, but I’m not going to fool myself into thinking I can.
Clint trudged through the snow on his way to the ranch office. He was her employee. Nothing more. And now that he had her approval, he could call the auction house and confirm next Wednesday’s sale date.
As he strode past outbuildings, he saw someone duck into the horse barn. Logan? No, Logan had told him earlier he was checking calves. Clint detoured to the barn, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer light, his nose trained to smell anything beyond manure and hay. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He inspected the empty stalls as he walked past them then heard rustling in a stall in the opposite aisle.
“Who’s there?”
Jake’s head appeared, and he held a pitchfork in one hand. His face was flushed. The kid had guilty written all over him. “Just cleaning out stalls, boss.”
“It’s Thursday. You’re supposed to be in school.” Jake and Ryder were seniors in high school and only came in on weekends or in the afternoon during the occasional busy times throughout the year.
“I don’t have class right now.”
Somehow Clint doubted it. He made his way over to the stall Jake was supposedly cleaning out. “So you decided to muck stalls between classes?”
“Yep.” Jake’s brown eyes darkened. He wore old jeans, a stained work coat and gloves. A stocking cap covered his overgrown brown hair. With the exception of not wearing his winter overalls, the kid was dressed to work, but Clint wasn’t buying his story.
“Didn’t see your car out front. How’d you get here?”
“A buddy dropped me off.” He shifted as if to block Clint’s view of the straw bales behind him.
“Hmm.” He tried to see around Jake without being obvious. “How are you getting back to school?”
“He’ll pick me up later.” Jake wrapped both hands around the pitchfork and leaned on it.
Whatever he was up to, it wasn’t cleaning horse stalls. A dozen possibilities came to mind. He could have run away from home for a day or two. Maybe he’d stashed a bag with some clothes behind the straw. Or the kid could be playing hooky for whatever reason.
He should command Jake to move out of the way, but compassion stopped him. Clint had told Lexi the condensed version of his years in foster care. What he hadn’t told her was the abusive foster home he’d been assigned to right after he turned thirteen. He’d stuck it out for a month, but the family’s eighteen-year-old son kept using him as a punching bag. Clint had called his caseworker. A week later she still hadn’t come out to visit, so he ran away, staying with a school buddy for a night or two then moving to another friend’s house. When he’d overstayed his welcome, he contacted his caseworker again, and she told him to return to the foster family until she found him a new place.
He’d refused.
She’d tried to get him to tell her where he was staying, but he knew she’d just take him back. She asked him to call her the following week while she worked on finding a new home for him. He didn’t tell her he’d been hiding out in a barn. The weather had been mild that June, and the situation suited him fine. A couple jars of peanut butter and cheap bread kept the hunger pains at bay. True to her promise, his caseworker had secured him a spot at the Yearling Group Home, and he’d moved in the following week.
Those two weeks in the barn had changed him, though. And if Jake was dealing with similar issues, Clint wanted to help.
“How are things at home?” Clint leaned against the wood post, crossing one foot over the other.
“Fine. Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I don’t know. You live with your folks?”
“My dad and stepmom.” His shoulders braced defiantly.
“Do you get along with them okay?”
Jake averted his eyes. “I guess.”
“If something’s going on—”
“Nothing’s going on. I just came in to work. That’s all.”
Clint regarded him a moment and decided to drop the subject. “Call your buddy and have him pick you up now. We’ll see you Saturday morning.” He turned to leave.
“Whatever, dude,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” Clint pivoted back. This kid was really pushing it with him.
“Nothing.” He propped the pitchfork against the stall and pulled out an old cell phone from his pocket.
Clint began walking away, then paused. “Oh, and from now on, I don’t expect to see you here unless it’s your scheduled shift. Got it?”
Jake nodded before texting his friend.
Out in the fresh air once more, Clint’s cell phone rang. He wanted to ignore it, but maybe it was the Montana ranch with news about selling him feed.
He answered, not slowing his pace.
“How is life working on a ranch again, man?”
Clint grinned. Nash Bolton was one of his best friends from his days at Yearling. It had been a while since they’d talked. Clint hadn’t been specific about where he was working, because Nash had left Sweet Dreams under mysterious circumstances. Clint wasn’t sure how he’d react to him being back.
“It’s good.” He checked his watch. Lunchtime. He needed a break. He could inspect the stall Jake had been in later. Changing course, he headed back to his cabin. “How are you? Haven’t seen your name in the papers lately.”
“Yeah, got bucked hard two weeks ago. Broke a couple ribs and my ankle. I’m mending fine.” Nash had risen to bull-riding stardom right after high school. He’d won the Professional Bull Riders world championship seven years ago, and he still competed on the circuit despite the never-ending injuries plaguing him. “I’ve been off my feet, and I couldn’t be more bored. Figured it was time for you, Wade, Marshall and me to plan a get-together. Haven’t seen you since, what, September?”
“Yeah, September sounds about right. Where are you staying?”
“I’m holed up in one of Wade’s empty cabins. He remodeled them all. Must have sunk a lot of ca
sh into them, too, because I’m telling you what, I’m living in style. I’ll hate to leave this luxury next month.”
Their friend Wade Croft owned property all over the state, but his ranch was only a thirty-minute drive from Sweet Dreams. With Nash staying at Wade’s, Clint had even more incentive to visit soon.
“Another month, huh? What next?”
“Doc wants me to retire.”
Clint stopped in his tracks. Nash had never talked about retiring. Every season it was broken bones, sprains and bruises, but he kept on riding, laughing off any suggestion of quitting. “Are your injuries more serious than you’re letting on?”
“No, of course, not. The wear and tear is getting to me. Maybe I’ll come visit you before I decide.”
“Yeah, about that... The ranch isn’t in Cheyenne. I moved back to Sweet Dreams. Rock Step Ranch. I’m working for Lexi—Alexandra Harrington.” His cabin came into view, and he loped the rest of the way.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Nash sounded angry.
“I didn’t know if it would work out.”
“Why wouldn’t it work out?”
Clint hadn’t told anyone all the details of losing his property. He’d simply told them he made a mistake and lost it. While Marshall accepted his words at face value, Wade and Nash had pressed for the full story. Regardless, Clint had remained silent. Wade and Nash had both become successful beyond any of their wildest dreams, and Clint didn’t want them thinking less of him. He also knew they would have offered him money. Money he never dared take. He couldn’t think of anything sadder than borrowing from them and losing their cash, too.
“Have you seen... Never mind.”
Clint knew exactly whom Nash was referring to. Amy Deerson. “In church. In passing. Lexi’s friends with her.” He let himself into the cabin, peeling off a layer of outerwear in the process. “I should have told you this was where I was working. Dottie was the one who convinced me to try it.”