Rescued by a Rancher

by Mindy Neff

  What a sight. Leave it to Tracy Lynn not to do anything in a small way.

  “Babe, I’m not so sure you and Tori can handle all these dogs by yourselves.”

  “Of course we can. But just in case, why don’t you come with us?”

  “Yeah, Uncle Linc. Come with us.”

  “We won’t all fit in that speeding metal steed of yours.” He couldn’t believe the idea actually appealed to him. He’d never once stepped foot in a seniors’ center. “We’d have to take my Suburban.”

  “Nonsense. We don’t have that far to go, and it would be silly to unload my trunk twice.” She gathered Sneak in one arm, opened the driver’s door and leaned forward so the seat back bent with her. “Come on, Buck. Get in. Tori, sweetie, hop in the back seat and buckle up. Dixie, Simba, lie down. Oh, that’s a good boy, Buck,” she praised the Lab when he obeyed, as well. “Don’t squish Tori, Simba. There you go.”

  Amazed, Linc watched the shuffle take place, then looked into Tracy Lynn’s I-told-you-so dancing eyes. He shook his head. He should have known she would one-up him.

  “All right, I’ll go. But I’m driving. I want to get there in one piece.”

  Chapter Nine

  Linc kept a sharp eye on the little old lady inching closer to him. Bitsy Jeeter was her name—she’d told him so just before she’d patted him on the behind.

  Good God Almighty, the woman was old enough to be his great-grandmother. If she took one more step, he was going to run like the devil.

  Hope Valley Convalescent Home offered both independent living and “skilled care” facilities, so there was a diverse group of people wandering around. The seniors’ center was a fairly new gymnasium-size addition to the complex, providing the residents with a second dining hall that also doubled as an activities room.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he’d been roped into gutting pumpkins so they could be used as bowls for the floral centerpiece project. Probably because he was the only one with steady-enough hands who could be trusted with a knife.

  “Want me to help you scoop the seeds, Uncle Linc?” Tori asked as she joined him in the kitchenette that was open to the rest of the room.

  He looked down at the front of his shirt, now decorated with slimy strings of orange. “Heck, yes. But we’d better find you an apron. Your mama’ll skin me alive if I let you mess up your pretty sweater.”

  “Naw.” Tori grinned up at him. “She don’t really skin people. She just threatens Daddy.”

  Linc figured his brother could handle himself pretty well. Jack had been in love with Sunny since high school—although he’d screwed up royally and lost her for ten years. Thank God he’d gotten a second chance. Jack was a different person these days, and one would never guess that Sunny wasn’t Tori’s biological mother. They were the quintessential perfect family in Linc’s eyes, and one of the major reasons he was back in Hope Valley.

  Because deep down, he wanted what Jack and Sunny had.

  He wanted a family.

  “Come here, doll.” An older woman beckoned to Tori from her wheelchair. “I’ll fix you up with this napkin. We’ll tuck it in like the Italians do when they eat their spaghetti.”

  Tori danced over to the lady and allowed herself to be bibbed. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh, what?” Linc spun around to see what was wrong now. He’d already had to hide the extra knives in his hip pocket—and had nearly forgotten once and sat down on them.

  “Sneak’s got somebody else’s slippers,” Tori said. “Sorry, Uncle Linc. I better go get them.”

  She charged off after the mischievous dog, leaving Linc at the table with four smiling grandmas breathing down his neck as they impatiently waited for their pumpkins.

  That was the third pair of slippers Sneak had stolen. Usually Dixie ran herd on the terrier, but the shepherd was busy being lavished with affection by several of the other residents. He had no idea where Buck had gotten off to, but was confident the Lab would mind his manners. Surprisingly, Simba wasn’t doing too badly either, other than knocking over a stack of folding chairs with his enthusiastically wagging tail.

  Linc hadn’t realized the dogs would have the run of the place. He’d thought Tracy Lynn and Tori would leash them and walk them from room to room, which was why he’d worried they couldn’t handle Scooby-Doo and company on their own.

  “How’s it going in here?” Tracy Lynn asked as she breezed into the kitchenette area.

  Linc whipped around and glared. It wasn’t bad enough that he was being rushed by a bunch of sweet little old ladies—now Tracy Lynn was getting in on the act? “I’m cutting and scooping as fast as I can.”

  “And you’re doing an excellent job.”

  The smile on her face flat out captivated him.

  She pushed up her sleeves and, using a long handle spoon, scooped out the insides of the pumpkin he’d just cut the top off of. “I think we’ve got enough pumpkins now. Janie—” she turned to a tiny woman wearing neon-orange exercise clothes “—why don’t you take your flowers and your group over to Alma’s table, and I’ll bring the pumpkins.”

  The ladies who’d been eagerly watching his every move—as well as the one who’d asked to see his moves—gathered their things and assembled at one of the round tables in the dining hall. Linc barely curbed an urge to sigh. This was worse pressure than supervising an expensive stallion covering a temperamental mare.

  “Thanks, Linc,” Tracy Lynn said. “You’ve been a trooper.” She shoved a green florist’s cube into the pumpkin he’d been working on and took it right out from under him.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll draw straws to see who has to pull laundry duty.”

  She gave him a seriously bewildered look. “You do your own laundry?”

  “Most of the time. Don’t you?”

  “No.” She laughed softly. “You probably don’t want me to start, either, at least not on your clothes. I’ll ask Suelinda to recommend someone.” She patted the small of his back, then frowned and lifted his shirt hem. “Linc, why do you have knives in your hip pocket?”

  “I’m saving Curtis from a trip to the hospital.” He nodded to the skinny gentleman who was now in a hot game of checkers. “The man has a thing for sharp items. Have you seen the way his hands shake?”

  She smiled. “Actually, you and Curtis have something in common. He made a pretty decent name for himself over in Fredericksburg for his carvings of mockingbirds and falcons. Not only are you a trooper, you’re a sweetheart to watch out for him.”

  “Don’t go assigning me frilly titles. My choice of hiding place is purely self-serving—I’m protecting myself from Bitsy Jeeter’s wandering hands. Every time she passes behind me she cops a feel of my butt.”

  Tracy Lynn laughed. “Linc, that’s not very nice of you to deny Bitsy the memory of a firm, sexy derriere. She’s ninety-one. I’d say she’s earned a squeeze or two.”

  “You think my derriere’s sexy?” He made a valiant effort to keep the smile from his face.

  “Absolutely.” She batted her eyelashes, her blue eyes dancing with amusement.

  He lost the battle with his smile. Sassy woman. He hadn’t expected her to admit that so openly—and she’d known it.

  “Just a friendly warning,” she said, gathering a second pumpkin in her arms, “Bitsy’s curiosity doesn’t limit itself to only backsides. So if I were you, I wouldn’t be putting sharp instruments down the front of my pants.”

  Grinning, she flitted away and left him standing there with pumpkin slime still coating his fingers, thoroughly charmed.

  He shook his head, then washed his hands and began cleaning up the mess, all the while keeping an eye on Tracy Lynn.

  He was amazed at her gentleness with the elderly. Because she came from a wealthy, prominent family, sometimes people made the mistake of judging her by the outside package—a pampered beauty queen with a dynamite body who caught the eye of every man she passed. Hell, even he’d been guilty of type-casting her.

  But he was b
eginning to see that she had much deeper layers.

  Not wanting to appear so obvious about watching her, Linc cut the pumpkin remains into squares and sketched the outline of a turkey on each one.

  He reached into his pocket for his knife, then sat facing the dining room and began to shave and shape the orange squash, his gaze alternating between his project and Tracy Lynn. She’d always been a fantasy, but now she was like a drug in his system. He was hooked.

  He listened as she discussed recipes and memories of Thanksgivings past with Alma and Janie’s group, her hands busily arranging fresh flowers in the pumpkin centerpieces. With grace and poise, she moved around the room, stopping to help with a crossword puzzle, cheering over a game of dominoes, sitting in on a hand of bridge when someone had to use the rest room.

  There was something enchanting about the way she tossed her head when she talked, like a colt who was enjoying life.

  One of the ladies noticed Tracy Lynn’s wedding ring, and the conversational noise level in the room increased to an excited buzz. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife as her gaze connected with his.

  For an instant she appeared worried.

  And then she smiled. A smile so inclusive, so intimate, it settled against his heart like a loving caress.

  Which was really stupid. They were in a public place. Both were honorbound to play the role of newlyweds.

  She looked like a supermodel, yet she had old-fashioned ideas and miles of compassion. Honesty and being a truly genuine person came naturally to her. So he knew how hard it was for her to lie to all these good people.

  Unable to hold her gaze, he looked away and saw that Curtis was no longer playing checkers. Instead, the man was watching him. Longingly.

  Linc tossed his head in a gesture that invited the man to join him.

  “I heard you carve birds,” he said when Curtis drew near.

  Curtis pulled out a chair across from him and sat down. “Used to before I had me a stroke and my hands took to shakin’ like a hound dog passin’ a peach pit.”

  Linc winced. “Man, I’ve seen that before. Your hands don’t look quite that bad to me. You still do any carving?”

  Curtis shook his head. “My girls took away my tools, scared I’d cut off a finger or somethin’.”

  Ah, hell. “What do you think?”

  “They’re worrywarts. ’Course, I don’t really have the strength anymore to work with hardwoods. What are you makin’ there?”

  “Turkeys. Figured the ladies could stick them in their flower arrangements.”

  “How’d you reckon on makin’ ’em stand up in the flowers?”

  Linc shrugged. “Maybe a fork. I’m not sure. You have any suggestions?”

  “Hmm. We’ve got some of them long matchsticks in the drawer over there. Use ’em to light the stove when the propane runs low, but I don’t reckon anybody’d get too riled if you borrowed a few. Be sturdy enough to stick in the pumpkin meat, and the other end’d poke down real good in the florist’s cube.”

  “There you go. How much trouble do you suppose we’ll get in if I turn you loose with a knife?”

  Curtis’s eyes lit up. “You look like a fella who could hold his own pretty good if somebody kicked up a fuss. Me? I’ll just put on a blank stare and let you take the fall.”

  Linc grinned. Figuring there’d be less chance of bloodletting if he was the one who made do with the kitchen paring knife, he passed his own pocketknife to the older man along with a block of pumpkin. A master carver deserved a topnotch tool.

  “Watch yourself, now. I’m liable to pass out at the sight of blood.”

  Curtis laughed. “You just tend to your own whittlin’. And don’t be rushin’ the job, neither. Long as you stay busy, won’t nobody rope you into readin’ to the folks whose eyesight’s poor. Boy, you don’t want to go there.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “’Cuz your wife’s got her own ideas on reading material, and you only get three choices.”

  Your wife. Linc’s insides jolted and the paring knife slipped, barely missing his knuckle.

  “Romance novels,” Curtis continued, “because she says they give hope and always have a happy ending.”

  “She’s a ‘glass half full’ kind of gal,” Linc said.

  “I reckon she is. Poetry and the Psalms are the other two, because they’re beautiful, accordin’ to Tracy Lynn.” Curtis laid down a perfectly carved turkey and picked up another block of pumpkin.

  “I can’t see what all the fuss is about,” he continued. “’Course, them poems aren’t exactly my cup of coffee. ’Bout get the hang of that rhymin’ business, then they go and toss in a sucker line that fouls up the whole works. I get so durn caught up in the last word on each line to where I’ve got no idea a’tall what the blazes I just read. And the Psalms…seems like every time I’m pressed into reading service, it falls durin’ a week I missed church. Just pickin’ up that Bible tends to make me feel like a sinner.”

  Linc smiled. He figured Curtis hadn’t had a chance to air out his thoughts in a while. And even though the man’s hands trembled, he was whittling three turkeys to Linc’s one.

  “Does Tracy Lynn come here often?”

  “Yes siree. Every week. We wouldn’t know what to do without her. That girl’s one that keeps her promises, too.”

  Linc’s heart squeezed. Her dedication to the seniors was another reminder that her roots were firmly planted in Hope Valley’s soil. Technically, his were, too, but they were damaged. Which didn’t bode well for happy endings. At least not for him.

  He didn’t know why he was wasting his time thinking about this, anyway. Jerald Randolph was being released from the hospital tomorrow and Tracy Lynn would likely move back home to take care of him. In which case, she’d have ample opportunities to level with her father about the baby, and there would no longer be a reason to stay married.

  His paring knife sliced right through the pumpkin and lobbed off the turkey’s head.

  “Don’t look down, son,” Curtis said. “Your turkey’s done had its neck wrung, and I’d sure hate to see you pass out on the floor and embarrass yourself. Especially in front of the pretty ladies that just walked in the door.”

  TRACY LYNN WAS DELIGHTED to see Linc spending time with Curtis. She wasn’t sure what they were carving, but she hadn’t seen Curtis this animated in the entire year he’d been living here.

  She’d started to wander over in their direction when Donetta breezed through the door, hauling a suitcase that Tracy Lynn knew contained hair and fingernail products. Right behind her was Abbe Shea, holding the hand of her three-year-old daughter, Jolene.

  “Good thing I’m not fixing Thanksgiving dinner,” Donetta said, flicking her long red hair behind her shoulder. “I’d never get the preparations done in time.”

  “Today’s Tuesday, Donetta.” Tracy Lynn and Linc’s one-week anniversary. “Thanksgiving isn’t until Thursday.”

  “Obviously you’ve never cooked for a crowd. Anna said to tell you she’ll be bringing the meal and the guests over to your daddy’s house since he probably won’t be up to traveling.” Donetta’s gaze shifted. “Hey, handsome.”

  Tracy Lynn gave a start when she realized Linc was standing behind her.

  “Hey, yourself, Donetta. Hi, Abbe.”

  “Oh, Lordy. Abbe, get up here. You’re so quiet, I nearly forgot you were here. Abbe had the misfortune to be my last customer before lunch,” Donetta said, looking at Linc. “Tracy Lynn called me in such a panic I twisted Abbe’s arm and dragged her along to paint fingernails.”

  “Thank you for coming, Abbe,” Tracy Lynn said. “You look fabulous as usual.” Abbe Shea was a truly stunning woman. She wore her blond hair in a short, sassy style that accentuated her high cheekbones and large eyes.

  And she was a puzzle, as well. Tracy Lynn wasn’t sure if it was shyness, or if Abbe just liked to keep to herself, but no one really knew much about her except that she’d left town years ago, then q
uietly reappeared with a child a few months back.

  “And, Jolene,” Tracy Lynn said, “you sweet thing. Who put those cute puppy-dog ears in your hair?”

  “They’re pigtails!” Jolene giggled and hopped from foot to foot. Not a shy bone in her body.

  “Donetta said you had an emergency?” Abbe asked.

  “A slight one,” Tracy Lynn confirmed. “Last week I asked Donetta to come out here and fix up the ladies’ hair and nails—just as a favor to me. I thought it’d be a treat. I guess they got the impression it was a new weekly event, and there’s already been two shoving and hair-pulling incidents over the sign-up sheet.”

  Tracy Lynn looked at Donetta and continued, “I’m sorry, Netta. I had no idea. I’ll be forever indebted to you both if you’ll help me out of this bind before one of the ladies ends up in a brawl.”

  “I love it when you’re indebted to me,” Donetta said cheerfully. “Maybe we should start a tab. First you conned me out of my dogs—Where are they, by the way?”

  “The last time I saw them, they were down the hall with the residents in skilled care.”

  “Actually,” Linc said, “I was just on my way to check on them. Sneak seems to have developed a slipper fetish.”

  “Oh, isn’t she the cutest thing?” Donetta laughed, unconcerned that her dog by marriage was showing serious signs of kleptomania. “Come on, Abbe. Let’s go referee these feisty gals and pull Tracy Lynn’s fat out of the fire.”

  “Let’s don’t get started on anybody’s fat,” Tracy Lynn warned.

  Donetta just laughed.

  As soon as the residents spotted Donetta and Abbe, they abandoned flowers, cards and dominoes in a mad rush across the room, a couple of them even breaking into a run.

  “Honestly,” Tracy Lynn said. “The sign-up sheet determines the order of the appointments. You’d think they were all competing for the last box of oatmeal on special at the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “Crazy,” Linc agreed with a chuckle. “Did you just see Bitsy throw out an arm block and cut in front of Janie?”