Sweet Mountain Rancher

by Loree Lough

  “If ever you take a wife,” Phil had said at the last hoedown, “you’d better keep her out of this place, or she’ll expect the same kind of pamperin’!”

  “Take a wife?” Nate’s dad countered. “How’s that supposed to happen when this son of mine hasn’t said yes to a woman in years?”

  “Hasn’t said yes to much of anything in years!” his mom added.

  They’d been right, and Nate still hadn’t figured out if his Just Say No policy was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Instantly, Eden’s pretty face came to mind. Eden, who earned the respect of boys big enough to snap her like a twig, though none seemed to have a mind to. Nate admired her, too, for all she’d accomplished with her charges and for what she’d sacrificed to guarantee them a stable home and a secure future. He hoped the boys were mature enough to realize how fortunate they were to have her in their corner.

  When he’d overheard her tell Joe what the state paid to keep Latimer House functioning, he’d nearly choked on his coffee. With such a paltry amount, how did they expect her to do more than pay the rent and keep the lights on? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that using her own money was the only way to afford gas for the van, food and clothing for growing boys, and something other than the TV to keep them entertained and occupied.

  A good thing or a bad thing? he wondered again.

  She’d looked sad, scared and humiliated when he’d offered to front the cash for repairs at her grandparents’ place. For the past two years, he’d lived by two simple rules: “do unto others,” and his own “just say no.” How weird, he thought, that by following one, he’d violated the other. Least he could do was give her a call and apologize for putting her on the spot.

  He was about to dial her number when his foreman’s name appeared on the screen.

  “Hey, Carl,” he said, picking up. “What’s up?”

  “Found another one of your dad’s horses out in the south pasture. I sent Ivan and Seth out there to pick up the carcass. No sense encouraging more of the same.”

  “Good thinking.” Nate ran a hand through his hair, wondering which horse it had been and how to break the news to his father. “What do you reckon, bear or cougar?”

  “Cougar, most likely. Bear would have left a far bigger mess.”

  Carl was right. Bears were greedy, sloppy assassins that often began feeding before their quarry was dead. Cats, even when near-starved, preferred to kill with a bite to the back of the neck. And because the opportunistic felines didn’t like feeding out in the open, they tended to drag uneaten carcasses as far as possible from the kill site and cover them with grass, pine needles or dirt, preserving the meat for a future meal and reducing the chance that another predator might sniff it out and steal it.

  “My guess is this cat was forced into new territory by a bigger, better fighter,” Carl said.

  “Either that,” Nate said, “or those so-called animal experts captured and tried to relocate it, and now it’s scoping out new hunting ground.”

  “Well, we got plenty of pictures, in case Colorado Parks and Wildlife demands proof if we have to take drastic measures.”

  “Good, good,” Nate said. “You boys keep your wits about you and rifles and sidearms at the ready, you hear?”

  “Don’t worry, boss. We’re like that credit card company—‘Never leave the bunkhouse without ’em.’”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I CAN’T TELL you how much I appreciate this.”

  Stuart returned his dog-eared magazine to the stack on the bank’s waiting room table. “Hey, anything for my big sister. Even putting on my uniform eight hours before my shift starts.” Yawning, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So tell me again why I’m here?”

  “Moral support. No one would say no to me with a police officer present. Not even a banker!”

  “I hate to break it to you, but disrespect isn’t against the law.” He winced slightly. “Neither is turning down a borrower who has no collateral.”

  When it had come time to split their grandparents’ assets, they’d flipped a coin. Stuart called tails, giving him ownership of the condo in Vail.

  “I have Pinewood,” she countered. Eden pictured their grandparents’ house and groaned. “Then again, point taken.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Do I look as petrified as I feel? Be honest, I can take it.”

  Stuart studied her face for a moment. “Just remember what Gramps taught us—always repeat a question in your head before answering it out loud. And sit on your hands.”

  “He never said… Oh, I get it,” she said. “So Mr. Judson won’t see them shaking.”

  “Or those raggedy cuticles.”

  Eden gave Stuart’s shoulder a playful poke. “Thanks, Stewie. That’s the way to show support.”

  “Hey, what do you expect from a sleep-deprived, overworked, underpaid cop?”

  The door beside them opened, startling them both.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Quinn kids,” the banker said, extending a meaty hand. “Good to see you. How long has it been? Ten, fifteen years?”

  “Too long,” the siblings harmonized as he ushered them into his plush office.

  Mr. Judson’s black leather chair squealed when he filled it with his considerable bulk. He spent a few moments catching up, asking what they’d been doing in the years since losing their grandparents. He was semiretired, he told them, and spent as much time as possible skiing in Aspen or sailing at Tahoe. And then he sat back and smoothed the nonexistent hair on his shiny head.

  “Now,” he said, flashing a salesman-like smile, “what can I do for the two of you?”

  Eden sat up straighter. “As I told the receptionist when I made the appointment, I’d like to discuss a loan.”

  Frowning, he adjusted his black-framed glasses. “Yes, yes she did make note of that.” He grabbed a sleek silver pen from the marble holder on his desk and glanced at Stuart before meeting Eden’s eyes. “My goodness, dear girl. How much do you need that you felt it necessary to bring a gun-toting companion?”

  While he laughed at his own joke, Eden remembered Stuart’s advice and repeated the question internally. “Twenty thousand,” she said, tucking her fingertips under her thighs.

  The gleaming ballpoint went click-click as Judson raised one bushy eyebrow. “More than I expected. What, exactly, is the loan for?”

  Eden kept her explanation brief and to the point: Pinewood’s tenants had left behind a lot of damage, which had to be repaired before it would pass a city inspection in the event the sale of Latimer House forced her and the boys to relocate.

  “For the most part,” she concluded, “the money will buy paint and replace missing appliances and light fixtures.”

  Click-click. “With twenty grand, you can buy a lot of lamps.”

  Judson slid open a desk drawer and removed a manila folder labeled Quinn.

  “I had a feeling Pinewood might have prompted this meeting, so I drove by the house on my way home last evening. And the minute I arrived this morning, I perused your file.” Removing his glasses, he opened the folder. “As I recall, your grandfather’s will specified that upon his death, his life insurance was to pay off the mortgage, so that your grandmother would never have to worry about keeping a roof over her head.”

  “And we abided by his wishes to the letter,” Stuart said. “So your point is…?”

  The banker ignored Stuart’s impatient tone. “I understand you hired Templeton Property Management to oversee the house and grounds?”

  “Yes…”

  “That’s odd. He made no mention of damage to the house or grounds.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “Well, of course I spoke with him. It’s my job to gather all the facts to look out for our investors’ and depositors’ best interests.”

  I’ll bet Joe didn’t tell you what he promised—in writing! “And did Joe provide any helpful facts?”

  “No, not really.” Judson s
mirked. “He didn’t say much of anything, except that you threatened to sue him.” Click-click.

  Eden’s pre-meeting jitters had turned into full-blown panic. “I didn’t threaten to sue. Exactly.”

  “If we can arrange a loan—and at this stage, I can’t promise that—what collateral can you present? Property? Vehicles? Investments? Savings?”

  Since every penny to her name was right here in his bank, Judson already knew the answers. Eden decided his questions were rhetorical, and felt no obligation to reply.

  Click-click. “Says here that numerous complaints were registered against the boys who reside at Latimer House. Litter, noise ordinance violations, lack of attention to the home’s exterior…” He met Eden’s eyes. “If you were to move the youngsters to Pinewood—if you can bring it up to the city’s code requirements, that is—what assurances can you offer that the boys won’t cause the same problems in your grandparents’ neighborhood? Continued bad behavior will impact property values, you know, and since the house is your collateral…”

  “How did all of that end up in the Pinewood file?” Eden glanced at Stuart, who merely shrugged.

  “Stuff like that is part of the public record,” Stuart said. “Just a matter of typing some basic information into the state’s court records files, and voila.”

  So Judson had looked for reasons to turn her down, even before hearing how much she wanted to borrow? But why?

  “First of all,” Eden said, “lack of proper supervision by the former administrator was to blame for everything on your list. And since your research is so thorough, you’re no doubt also aware that since I took over, the house has been well-maintained, and there hasn’t been a single complaint.”

  “True, but…” Judson tapped the file entry. “With kids like that, you can’t guarantee continued good behavior. Uprooting those boys, in and of itself, could spark a rebellion and who knows what else.” Click-click. “I personally approved the mortgage on your grandparents’ home, so it pains me that I can’t help you out now.”

  Not can’t, Eden silently corrected. Won’t. “It isn’t fair to judge the boys based solely on what happened in the past, or to punish them for their parents’ mistakes, or for the former director’s neglect, for that matter.”

  Judson closed the file and got to his feet, a not-so-subtle indication that the meeting was over.

  “It was good seeing you both, truly.”

  Stunned and disappointed, Eden felt her mouth go dry. Returning his half-baked compliment or offering her hand seemed beyond hypocritical, but she did it anyway.

  “Wish I could say the same,” Stuart growled, taking her elbow. “Sorry we wasted one another’s time.”

  Halfway across the parking lot, he said, “If I had the money, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

  “I know.” She side-bumped him. “Ya big softie.”

  He feigned pain and rubbed his biceps. “Sheesh! Have you been working out?”

  “Oh, right. Like I have the time and money for a gym membership or exercise equipment.” Instantly, she regretted her brusque tone. “Sorry, little brother. You’re not to blame for any of this mess. I should have barked at that tightwad, instead of taking my frustrations out on you.”

  He stood between his pickup truck and her van. “Meet me at Tom’s. My treat.”

  “Your treat? I thought I promised breakfast would be my treat.”

  “You don’t have money for a gym membership, remember?”

  “Ah, I see. It’s pity food.”

  He produced a ten-dollar bill. “Found this last night in the precinct parking lot.” He returned her halfhearted grin. “Do you know how to get there from here?”

  “I was a little beside myself for a minute in there,” she said, “but I think I can find my way to our favorite diner.”

  Thanks to their crazy work schedules, getting together was a challenge, so they met at Tom’s once a month to catch up. Eden considered passing on his offer, but she didn’t want to go home just yet. One look at her worried face and the boys would want to know what was wrong. They would also know if she was lying, so she needed time to collect herself.

  “I’ll follow you over there,” she said. “But just so you know, I’m not in my usual chatty mood.”

  Stuart unlocked his pickup truck. “You won’t hear me complaining. You talked enough when we were kids—and ever since—to tide me over till retirement.”

  She opened the driver’s door, grimacing when the rusty hinge groaned. “I hear they’re looking for comics over at the Bug Theater. In case you ever decide to switch careers, that is, wise guy.”

  He slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll keep that in mind, if you’ll be my straight man.”

  During the short drive, Eden thanked her lucky stars for that brother of hers. He’d made it easier to cope with the brutal loss of their parents. Made it easier to adjust to relocating from Baltimore to Denver after the funeral, too. They’d always been close, but over the years, they’d also become best friends.

  Friends. She steered into Tom’s parking lot, wondering why the word brought Nate to mind. Had his offer to finance repairs at Pinewood been genuine? Or was he cut from the same cloth as Jake, whose every action had been carefully calculated to ensure complete control?

  *

  NATE’S SISTER LEANED around their cousin and his new wife. “Just look at you,” she said, “hoggin’ the biscuit basket, again.”

  Zach and Summer sat back to give the siblings a direct line of sight to each other.

  “Poor Henrietta,” Nate said, “never has figured out the difference between biscuits and rolls.”

  Her wadded-up napkin flew past the newlyweds and landed in Nate’s mashed potatoes.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Hank, not Henrietta.”

  “You may be Hank on the barrel-racing circuit,” he told her, calmly buttering his roll, “but you’ll always be Henrietta to me.”

  “Nate,” his mother scolded, “don’t taunt your sister. You know as well as anyone that her name change is legal.”

  “Legal or not,” his dad muttered, “I’m sticking with my initial opinion— it’s ridiculous. The name Henrietta was good enough for your grandmother, and I’ll never understand why it isn’t good enough for you.”

  Hank sighed. “Dad, please. We’ve been over this a dozen times. It was a business decision, pure and simple. The name gives me a psychological edge over my competition. No one would fear a barrel racer named Henrietta.”

  She’d probably taken this guilt trip often enough to earn frequent-flyer miles, and Nate felt bad about stirring things up again, especially over Sunday dinner at Aunt Ellen and Uncle John’s house.

  “You still planning to change it back once you’re married with kids?” he asked. With a little luck, she’d agree, at least for the moment, and put an end to the whole name-change discussion.

  Zach laughed. “Don’t do it, cousin! I can hardly wait to introduce our young’un to Auntie Hank,” he said, patting Summer’s round belly. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to quit the rodeo circuit and settle down. I can almost hear your kids’ kids calling you Granny Hank. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Your grandmother might not agree.”

  If their father noticed Hank’s second heavy sigh, he hid it well. Nate heard it, though, and he didn’t need to look up to know she’d branded him with a blistering glare. After dessert, he’d take her aside and apologize. She’d always had a fiery temper, and if things ran true to course, she’d make him prove how sorry he was…with dinner at Shanahan’s, her favorite restaurant. Hank sure did know how to get her way.

  “I thought you gave up sucking your thumb when you were three, Nate.”

  It took a second to figure out what his mother was talking about. Laughing quietly, Nate put down the butter knife and wiped his glistening thumb on a napkin.

  “I know that googly-eyed look,” Hank said, smirking. “I’d bet my Gre
eley Stampede barrel champion buckle on it. He was off in la-la land, daydreaming about some woman.”

  Time and again, he’d told well-intentioned family members that he wasn’t ready for another relationship, not with the cultured young women who volunteered with his mom and aunt or the flirty rodeo gals Hank tried to set him up with. His sister knew the reasons better than any of them, so her wisecrack made no sense.

  Zach piped up. “You know, Hank, I think you’re on to something here.” Leaning around Summer, he added, “All right, dude. Out with it. Who is she?”

  Nate’s ears and cheeks went hot, and he hoped they hadn’t turned bright red. Why hadn’t any of the other Marshall men been cursed with the tendency to blush like schoolgirls?

  Don’t overreact, or you’ll play right into their hands. “There is no ‘she.’”

  His mom’s eyebrows disappeared behind dark, silver-streaked bangs. “Oh, my,” she said, drawing out the word. “This one must be a real doozie if he feels the need to hide her.”

  Et tu, Mom?

  He could easily take the spotlight off himself by directing the conversation back to the Hank v. Henrietta thread, but throwing his sister under the bus wouldn’t solve anything. “If there isn’t a ‘she,’ then it stands to reason there’s no one to hide, right?”

  They weren’t convinced. He could tell by their sly grins and winks.

  “Sheesh. Guy can’t even butter his thumb around here without everybody jumping to conclusions.”

  While they laughed, Nate decided to keep them distracted by reporting the latest ranch news.

  “Carl found another horse yesterday.” He kept the description vague, as much for his nieces’ and nephews’ sake as his dad’s. “We got plenty of pictures. Near as we can tell, it was a cougar attack.”

  His mom gasped softly. “Oh, I hope you’re mistaken. There hasn’t been a cat sighting since…” Maeve faced her husband. “How long has it been, Royce?”

  “Five, six years? I’d have to check my log books.” He looked grim. Concerned. “Are you sure, son?”

  “Positive.”

  “So the boys found tracks, eh?” Zach said.