A Reunion for the Rancher (Lone Star Cowboy League 1)

by Brenda Minton

  What should she say to that? She could say, of course it wasn’t. Or she could admit that it was. “I didn’t realize I was frowning.”

  He leaned against the back of the car, long legs in new jeans and those expensive boots of his. The walker was still in his hands.

  “You were definitely frowning.”

  “I should have sold the ranch and convinced Gran and Derek to move to Oklahoma with me,” she admitted without intending to.

  “What would have been the fun in that? You’re not a city girl, Ruby. You were born and raised in Hill Country, and you can’t outrun it.”

  “I’ve been living in the city a long time, and I’m adaptable.”

  His smile faded. “Yes, I guess you are.”

  She wondered about that smile, why he acted as if it was all about him. She wondered if he had any clue how much his dad and sister had hurt her. How much he’d hurt her? It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to stay gone from her home. She’d stayed gone because she hadn’t been able to imagine seeing him with someone else. She was only back because Gran’s health had deteriorated and someone had to look out for Derek.

  “Listen, we don’t have to do this. When we see each other, we don’t have to get tugged back into the past. It was a long time ago and I’m over it. I’m sure you’re over it since...” She shook her head. She wasn’t going there. “I have work to do.”

  He stepped away from the back of the car and pointed, indicating she should open the trunk. When she did, he lifted the walker and stowed it inside. “There you go. Is there anything else you need help with?”

  She stared up at the tall, overpowering rancher, surprised by the offer. She tried to see the boy she’d known in the face of this ruggedly handsome stranger. The features were stronger, more defined, more...everything. His eyes were shuttered against emotion. But she saw a flicker, maybe a hint of warmth.

  “I don’t need help. We’ve always gotten along just fine.”

  “Did you put up the surveillance cameras the league handed out?”

  “I have them in a box. I haven’t had a chance to take them out, and I don’t know if I can do it myself.”

  “I can help you put them up.”

  She wondered if her mouth had dropped when he made that offer. Purposefully, she clamped her lips and shook her head. “I’ll read the directions and do it myself,” she insisted. Yes, she knew the only difference between her and a stubborn five-year-old was the lack of a foot stomp on her part.

  “I was trying to help.”

  “I know. And I really do appreciate that. But I can take care of things. Derek will help me.” She put a finger up and wagged it in his face. “Don’t say it.”

  He grinned and suddenly the tension in the air melted just a little. “I won’t say it. But if you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I will.” She took a few steps away from him, feeling better with the solid metal of the sedan between them.

  “It’s been nice talking to you, Ruby.”

  With that, he walked away.

  “Yes, nice talking to you.” Nice going back in time and revisiting heartache. And the other leftover emotions. The ones that should have been long gone— feelings she hadn’t expected to surface after so many years. Ruby stood there for too long, and a car honked. She stepped out of the way, waving absently at the car pulling into the parking space next to hers.

  She opened the door of the sedan and climbed in behind the wheel. She glanced at her passenger, and Iva pretended not to be grinning.

  “Gran, do not get that look on your face. Carson Thorn is twelve years in my past. I can do without him and without his daddy’s money.”

  “His daddy has been gone a few years, honey.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “And you have to think about forgiving, because hanging on to all that resentment isn’t good for a soul. While you’re at it, forgive his sister.”

  She started the Buick and glanced quickly at her granny before shifting the car into Reverse. “How do you know about Jenna?”

  “As if there are any secrets in this town. You didn’t want to tell me, but I heard that she said some things about you not being the right woman for her brother and that he’d found someone in college that would make him a perfect wife. A woman who didn’t buy her clothes at the thrift store.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. It would have...”

  “Hurt me? No, not at all. We did the best we could, and there’s no shame in buying clothes secondhand. It’s called being good stewards of what God gives us.”

  She swiped at the tear trickling down her cheek and reached for her grandmother’s hand. “You are so important to me.”

  “I know.” Iva grinned and squeezed her hand. “Now, let’s get on out to the house, and you try to stop thinking about Carson Thorn.”

  Stop thinking about Carson. Of course. She would just put his memory aside. She would forget summer days at the lake, two kids in love planning their future, the house they would build, the horses they would raise together.

  They’d been kids planning a way to conquer the world and their own pasts.

  His past: the death of his mom in his early teens and a dad who wouldn’t accept anything less than perfection.

  Her past: the loss of her mom and then her dad. There had been a lot of dysfunction before they’d been turned over to their granny Iva to raise.

  Life had brought her full circle, back to Little Horn, back to Iva and Derek. She would try to start a new life in Little Horn, working with kids, giving riding lessons and maybe rebuilding the farm.

  Carson Thorn wouldn’t even cross her mind. Not if she stayed busy, stayed clear of town and never stepped foot off the ranch. If she had no social life and no friends, she would never bump into him.

  “I wonder why he never married?” The question slipped out, totally unintended. “You know, the woman he met. Did he ever bring her around?”

  Iva shot her a knowing look. “You know, for years you haven’t let me mention him. Why all of the questions now?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I never saw him with another woman, Ruby. He’s worked the ranch, tried to keep that sister of his out of trouble and he’s done his best for the town.”

  Ruby shrugged it off. “Not that I care.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “I do not care.” Ruby turned on to the driveway that led to the Donovan ranch. A long driveway with sagging fences running along both sides. At the end of the drive sat a white farm house and a sagging barn to match those fences.

  When she looked at her home she saw work that should have been done years ago. She saw neglect.

  She should have come home more often. She should have ignored her grandmother’s claims that everything was fine. Somehow she’d convinced herself that the money she sent home was needed more than her presence. Random weekends home hadn’t been enough to keep things going, though.

  “Stop beating yourself up, Ruby.” Iva reached to open her door, but she paused to give Ruby a sharp look. “It was my choice to let Slim go. I just couldn’t see paying him anymore. And it was me who told you that we could get by.”

  “I should have come home.” Ruby let her gaze slide over the landscape, the fields dotted with a few head of cattle, the hills in the distance and the blue, blue sky rising above it. “I love this place.”

  And she’d let heartache keep her from it, from the people she loved and the life she loved. But she was back now, and she would make this ranch profitable again.

  She hoped it wasn’t too little, too late, because she wouldn’t run again. She would face the past and face Carson Thorn. Even if it hurt.

  Chapter Two

  As much as Carson loved living on this ranch in Texas Hill Country, some mornings he’d just as soon put it on the market and move to the city. Or to another country. This was one of those mornings. He’d been up since well before daybreak, and he’d heard nothing but problems and complaints
since he set foot in the barn.

  The hay they’d bought from Iowa hadn’t showed up, there was an outbreak of pinkeye and someone really needed to do something about the wild hogs that were tearing up a section of field at the back of the property where the hills were steep and a creek supplied water. Carson poured himself a cup of coffee, raised a hand to the young kid about to ask what he needed to do, since it was his second day on the job, and walked out the back of the barn to watch the sun come up over an autumn landscape.

  He sighed as he sipped about the worst coffee in history. For a brief moment he could forget wild hogs, pinkeye, drought and cattle thieves. For that moment, as he watched the sun come up, he knew God existed and he knew that as bad as things could look, somehow they always worked out in the end. For a man who sometimes felt as far from God as he could get, maybe that was getting somewhere.

  The door creaked open. He sighed and turned to face that kid again. Ron? No. Rolland? Rick.

  “Can I help you, Rick?”

  “I just thought I should tell you that gray mare of yours looks like she’s got a tendon problem. I’ve doctored her the best I could, but I think she might need a vet. And...” The kid let out a breath as if that was how he filled himself with courage. “Someone got into the trophy case. This back door was open when I got here.”

  “Trophy case?” Why would anyone want trophies that were thirty years old?

  “There are a few empty spaces and some belt buckles missing.” Rick cleared his throat on that news. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll take a look. I can’t imagine anything of value. Just dusty old trophies. Keepsakes, mostly.”

  “Maybe the silver?”

  “I guess a few of them might have silver.” He followed Rick inside. “Did Larry and Gayla show up to take that gelding and the other mare to the show in Houston?”

  “Yes, sir. They left last night. Larry wanted to get them there a few days early, give them time to settle in before the event.”

  That’s why Larry was his trainer. The couple was invaluable. They trained, they were able to hit shows and rodeos he couldn’t, and they were dependable.

  Rick, just eighteen, tall and wiry with a shock of wheat-colored hair, led him to the tack and trophy room. He pointed to the trophy case, his face a little pale. Carson stepped close, surveying the loss. It wasn’t much, a few trophies, mostly sentimental. Why would anyone want trophies? He shook his head. And then he noticed that his mom’s trophy, won at a national finals event, was gone. He hadn’t paid much attention over the years, but he didn’t want that piece of his history gone.

  And why would anyone want it? The only thing he could think was that someone wanted to mess with him, maybe show him they could take what they wanted. They’d made it personal, taking those trophies.

  He walked out, left that room, left the barn and headed for the house. Rick didn’t follow him. Fortunately no one asked where he was going. He didn’t really know.

  His gaze settled on the house, a museum of a place in Georgian architecture that his grandfather had built. Columned porticos extended from each side of the house, those massive porches devoid of warmth or furnishings. Rose gardens ran wild because he didn’t really care. It was the one thing he’d let go, those flower gardens. They represented his only rebellion against his father’s legacy.

  Carson took care of business. He took care of the ranch. He maintained the family reputation and standing in the community. He didn’t like roses, so if something had to be neglected on a ranch this size it was going to be the flowers.

  As he climbed the steps of the front porch a car shot up the driveway, coming to a quick stop in front of the detached garage. He nearly groaned when he saw who it was. His sister, Jenna, five years his junior, and never one to take the family name seriously, jumped out of her little car and reached in the backseat. When she emerged she had her son by the hand. They were both dark haired and dark eyed, and the little boy looked tired.

  Jenna looked on the verge of some kind of breakdown.

  “Here.” She pushed her son’s hand into his.

  “What?”

  “I can’t do this. I need a break. Just a few days.”

  “He isn’t a...” Carson looked down at the little guy and bit back every foul word he wanted to say to his sister. Her child wasn’t a puppy. He wasn’t something you handed off, like secondhand toys or clothing. He was a person with feelings.

  And little feet that shifted back and forth as the boy squirmed and looked increasingly more uncomfortable.

  “Head for the bathroom, Brandon.” Carson opened the door for the five-year-old. The little boy shot past him and into the house.

  “He’s out of control,” Jenna informed Carson. As if that was his fault. He considered telling his sister that her son wasn’t out of control. She was.

  “I’m not the one dragging him from town to town and from relationship to relationship, Jenna. That’s on you. Stay here, be a mom and take care of your son.”

  “Don’t judge me.”

  He groaned. “Why is it when people are messing up and someone points it out to them, they always fall back on judgment? I’m not judging you. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Carson, I just need a few days. I need a break.”

  “You’re a mom, Jenna. I don’t think you get to walk away from that.”

  “I’m not walking away. I just need for you to do this for me. Just this once. I promise when I come back I’ll do better. I’ll get my act together.”

  “I think you should definitely get your act together. But stay here and do it. Don’t walk away.”

  Tears were streaming down her face, and Carson took a step toward her. She shook her head.

  “Carson, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know why everything is going wrong and I can’t seem to make it right. I can’t be the mom Brandon needs. I’ve never been a good wife. I’m just empty. I have to go.”

  “No.” Carson reached for her hand, but she evaded and headed down the steps.

  “I’ll be back soon. I promise,” she called out as she got in her car.

  He would have gone after her, but Brandon came out of the house, wide-eyed and mouth agape. When the little guy looked as if he was about to run after the car, Carson snatched him up.

  Together they watched the little red car speed down the driveway.

  “So, Brandon, have you had breakfast?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  Or what else to do. He didn’t know what to do with a kid. He didn’t know how long it would take his sister to get her head on straight. Days? Weeks?

  Brandon sniffled and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “I spilled the milk last night, and there wasn’t anything to eat this morning.”

  Carson pulled the door open and marched his nephew inside. First things first: food.

  As he rummaged around looking for kid-friendly food, he thought about Jenna. His sister had seemed lost for years. Their mom’s death had rocked their family, but maybe it had been hardest on a girl just about to enter her teens. When he looked back he realized she’d always drifted. She’d gone from relationship to relationship. She’d never quite found herself. And now Brandon was suffering for it.

  He found cereal in the cabinet that hadn’t been opened. It looked like the kind full of sugar and obviously what a boy would most want for breakfast. He poured a bowl for Brandon, then poured one for himself.

  As soon as he got Brandon settled at the table with breakfast he needed to call in the theft of the trophies. It didn’t amount to much, but they needed every theft on record.

  He thought about how he would question Ruby Donovan and her brother without really appearing to blame the younger man. Because everyone was a suspect at this point. He wouldn’t doubt if some people in town were putting his name on a list.

  As he contemplated, something crashed. A shriek followed. He hadn’t been watching Brandon. He turned in time to see the curtain rod over the French doors come
crashing down. The curtains fell, the picture frames on the wall to the left of the door shattered and glass flew everywhere.

  Brandon was in the middle of the mess on an overturned chair.

  “What in the world?” Carson lifted the boy out of the mess.

  “I was going to try and get that spider.” Brandon pointed.

  Carson groaned and shook his head. He had to find something to do with a five-year-old until Jenna came to her senses. But first they needed breakfast and a trip to the Donovans’.

  * * *

  Ruby walked down to the old barn that had been on her family farm since almost the beginning. And it looked every bit of its almost one hundred years. The weathered, wood-sided structure leaned a little from time, from wind and rain, but it was sturdy.

  There were a few stalls inside, a hayloft in the top of the barn and a good corral. It was perfect for the business she wanted to start: teaching young children to ride. It wouldn’t bring in a lot of money, but until she could buy more livestock to replenish what had been sold off over the past few years and get a job, it would have to do.

  Derek joined her, looking over the barn with the same critical eye she’d used moments earlier. He brushed a hand through his dark chestnut hair. The sun captured just the slightest hint of red. He was tall and thin, too thin. He had her hazel eyes but with darker, thicker lashes. He looked like their dad. And it worried her that sometimes he acted like Earl Donovan. Restless. Their dad had always been restless. He’d been a cowboy, a saddle bronc rider and an alcoholic.

  “How can I help?” Derek asked. This was the new Derek, the kid who wasn’t quite twenty but wanted to change his life. She didn’t credit prison with that change; she credited his newfound faith.

  People might doubt that faith. She didn’t. It was no jailhouse conversion.

  “There isn’t a lot we can do,” she admitted. “I have to get students. So far I have three. That isn’t even going to pay the feed bill. I need ten a week. Even that isn’t a living.”

  “We’ve got a dozen steers we can take to the auction next month. By then they should bring enough to keep us solvent for a little while. And I’m going to get a job at the steakhouse washing dishes.”