Sweet Mountain Rancher

by Loree Lough

  “When we were discussing Thomas’s dad, and you said you didn’t always do the right thing—what did you mean by that?”

  Suddenly thirsty, Eden took a sip of her lemonade. “Let me see if I remember the rules correctly. Either I answer your question, or I have to accept your dare?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I choose Dare.”

  Nate was a good man. A loving son and sibling. A loyal friend to his cousins. And generous to a fault. What did she have to fear from any dare he might issue?

  A wicked grin crept across his face. “All right, I dare you to tell the whole, unvarnished truth about the time you didn’t do the right thing.”

  Shoulders slumped, Eden hung her head. “Well,” she began, stalling with another sip of lemonade, “it was early September. A Tuesday morning. Bright. Sunny. It was my six-month anniversary on the job, but I had nothing to celebrate. I’d been haggling with my supervisors, trying to convince them the boys would be better off if I hired an assistant, so I could homeschool them to spare them all the smug attitudes and nasty looks and snide remarks they were getting at school, from students and teachers alike.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a degree in education.”

  “For your information, Mr. Suspicious, I double-majored. Not that it mattered, because they said no.”

  “Why?”

  She rubbed her thumb across her fingertips, the universal sign for money. “I didn’t fight them because…well, why rock the boat? I was new, one of the first and only female group home administrators, and I didn’t want to risk being demoted. So on this beautiful September Tuesday, after I’d fed the boys their breakfast, I said all the expected things when they listed their fears—about undeserved detention, locker room brawls, teachers who turned a blind eye to it all—and I put them on the school bus.”

  “Look,” Nate said, pointing skyward, “a shooting star. Make a wish.”

  “Okay—I wish you’d stop changing the subject.”

  “You know what they say…speak the wish aloud and it won’t come true.”

  “Something tells me that even if I believed in wishes, that one wouldn’t come true.”

  “Ha. Very funny. But you were saying. So on that beautiful September day…”

  “Malik was a high-functioning autistic kid. Chubby. Afraid of bugs and strangers, and he hated noise. It broke my heart to see him crying when those doors hissed shut. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I told him. ‘Just give it a couple days.’” She let out a long, shaky breath. “The bus rolled away from the curb, and I never saw him again.”

  Nate took her hand again. “I never should have forced you to tell that story.”

  “You didn’t ask. I volunteered, remember?” She sat up straighter. “Besides, you can’t take back a dare. Rules are rules, right?”

  His sympathetic smile almost broke the last strand of her control.

  Almost.

  “His father had been out of jail for a few weeks, and the department approved regular visits. He picked Malik up from school that day, and he never came back to Latimer House.”

  “Oh, Eden. I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “The officer assigned to the missing child case told me that Malik’s father was a major player with a Denver gang.”

  “And the cop thought that’s where the kid ended up?”

  Nodding, she bit back tears. “So there you have it. Self-centeredness, pride, survival instinct—whatever you want to call it—I put my needs and fears of being demoted or losing my job ahead of the kids’ well-being. If I hadn’t given up so easily, if I’d fought for them, instead of—”

  “What happened to Malik is on his father, not you.”

  “There you go, giving credit where it isn’t due. Again.”

  “You want to know what I think?”

  She’d just confessed her ugliest truth, and dreaded the answer.

  “You’re beating yourself up over something you couldn’t control. Even if you’d been able to take the boys out of public school sooner, that’s no guarantee Malik’s dad wouldn’t have found another way to take him.”

  She hadn’t allowed herself to cry, not once, since Malik disappeared. But when Nate’s arms went around her, she more than made up for lost time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NATE HADN’T MEANT to upset her, but when Eden insisted on shouldering the blame for Malik being swallowed up by his father’s gang, well, words exploded out of him.

  “Why are you so determined to be a martyr!” he demanded, letting go of her hand. “Not smart, kiddo. Not smart at all.”

  Eden branded him with a flinty glare, and he prepared himself for the tongue-lashing that would follow. He could take it…if it helped him figure out why she ran hot and cold with him.

  “I know what I’m talking about,” he continued. “My family spent hours—years—trying to convince me the accident wasn’t my fault.”

  She turned away from him. “Apples and oranges.”

  That stung, but he wouldn’t admit it. He’d used the same tactics, facing his parents, his cousins and Hank. They hadn’t given up on him, and he wouldn’t give up on Eden.

  “You had a tough childhood,” he said. “It makes you mistrustful. Just tell me one thing, and I’ll back off.”

  She met his eyes. “What?”

  “Don’t you trust me by now?”

  “I’m a guest in your house, or I’d…” She bit her lower lip.

  “You’d what?”

  “I’d say you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

  Oh, she was a force to be reckoned with, all right. But Nate’s patience was growing thin and he was growing tired of being her scapegoat.

  “Okay. You’re right. You’re an enigma. So help me understand you.” He leaned into the space between them. “I want to understand you, Eden.”

  “Why?”

  An easy question. Too bad he didn’t have an easy answer.

  “Look, I want to help you. But how can I do that when you put up roadblocks at every turn?”

  She licked her lips, and he thought, what a weird time to remember those kisses. Then she blinked, and he noticed that her thick eyelashes were still damp and spiky from the tears she’d shed just moments ago.

  “I think I’ll turn in,” Eden said.

  Halfway between the fire and the house, she turned to face him.

  “Good night, Nate. I’ll see you in the morning.” And without another word, she went into the house.

  Hot and cold. Should have kept your distance. Should have stuck to the rules: Do Unto Others and Just Say No.

  By morning, she’d pulled herself together so well that, all through breakfast, he thought maybe he’d dreamed the argument.

  She disappeared as he helped the boys load their duffel bags into the van and said his goodbyes. They made their way to the corral to watch the new horses, and she was still nowhere to be seen.

  Just as well, because Nate was in no mood to pick up where they’d left off last night. He went around back and popped his truck’s hood. Changing the oil was a messy job, but it beat saying an awkward goodbye to Eden.

  It was quiet down here under the truck, just his own thoughts and the quiet splat of oil draining into the pan. He heard footsteps. One of the kids, he hoped. But one glance at those snow-white sneakers and he knew luck wasn’t on his side this morning.

  She got down on both knees. “There you are.”

  Nate slid out and got to his feet.

  “Hey,” he said, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

  “We’re leaving in just a minute, and I wanted to say bye. And thank you.”

  Thank you? Nate drove a hand through his hair. The woman was going to drive him crazy.

  “For being a man of your word,” she added. “I know you meant it when you said ‘no strings attached,’ and what happened last night doesn’t change that. So…” Eden shrugged. “So thanks.”

  What was he supposed to say? A halfhe
arted You’re welcome or a phony Don’t give it another thought?

  “I talked with your mom about Thanksgiving. She wants us to get here a day early, so the kids can goof off and I can help in the kitchen.”

  Great. More opportunities for her to vent her frustrations in his direction. But, “Still a long way off,” is what he said.

  “Gives me time to get the boys settled and find my grandmother’s pecan pie recipe. Your mom says it’s one of your dad’s favorite desserts.”

  She did you a favor, he thought, squinting into the sunlight. If she hadn’t flown off the handle, he might never have gotten back on track.

  “So the contractor starts on Wednesday…”

  Ah, that explains the ‘no strings’ reminder.

  “Give me five minutes,” he said, tossing the rag to the ground, “to grab that envelope.”

  She looked hurt and surprised when he turned on his heel and left her standing there, alone. Guilt squeezed at his conscience, and it riled him. He hadn’t done anything wrong—unless offering her a helping hand was wrong—so why did he feel like such a heel?

  The boys were in the van when he returned, and Eden stood beside it.

  “I didn’t want the boys to know,” she said when he held out the envelope.

  “Why? There’s no shame in admitting you need help. No shame in accepting it when it’s offered, either.”

  Nodding, she tucked the money into her purse.

  “The boys would love it if you’d stop by Pinewood on Wednesday.”

  But would you, Eden?

  He liked those kids, so Nate said, “Sure. I’ll bring fried chicken.”

  She smiled, but only a little. “Sounds good.”

  Nate leaned on the gate, watching as she climbed into the van and fired up the clunking engine. The boys waved, and he waved back.

  Then she drove away…

  …and he let her.

  *

  A DOZEN TIMES a day, Nate checked his phone, hoping to see her number in the missed calls list. It was just as disappointing to discover that she hadn’t left a message on his home answering machine, either.

  He’d spent another restless night tossing and turning, then pacing the quiet house in the hope of figuring out why, despite her mood swings and stubbornness, he missed her like crazy.

  Unfortunately, every room held reminders of her. The way she’d refilled, then repositioned the canisters to make more space on the kitchen counter. In the now-spotless fridge, condiments, jellies and dairy products were grouped together. She’d karate-chopped each throw pillow on the family room sofa because “that’s what the designers are doing these days.” And alphabetized the fan-shaped array of outdoors and sports magazines on the coffee table.

  He liked being surrounded by her womanly touches. Was he crazy to feel this way?

  It only took an hour or so of aimless wandering before he surrendered and got into the shower, and as the steamy spray hit his face, Nate admitted he didn’t like the distance between them.

  “So what are you gonna do about it?” he muttered.

  He lathered his face, and peering into the mirror, decided he couldn’t just stop by or pick up the phone.

  Unless…

  She still hadn’t given him a precise arrival time for the Thanksgiving weekend. Yes, it was still a long way off, but he couldn’t think of a more reasonable way to break the ice than to ask.

  Distracted, Nate nicked himself with the razor. Muttering to himself, he plugged the small leak with a patch of toilet tissue and returned to the kitchen for coffee and a bowl of cereal. He’d no sooner stuffed his mouth with corn flakes than he heard footsteps on the back porch. He knew by the silhouette—and baseball cap atop a mass of curls—who’d come calling.

  “Make a wrong turn on I-70?” he asked, opening the door.

  In place of an answer, she stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. “Do I smell fresh coffee?”

  Nate returned to the table. “Help yourself. You know where things are.” He hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, and her stance told him nothing about her mood. Guess you’ll just have to wait to find out why she’s here.

  Eden pulled out the chair nearest the head of the table and pointed at his bowl. “Got any more of that?”

  “Sure.”

  While she rummaged for a bowl, a spoon, cereal and milk, Nate wished she’d just get to the point. Why did she seem to delight in his misery? Then again, he thought, remembering what she’d said the night of the pizza party, maybe it was good that she’d decided to draw things out. At least this way, he had a few minutes to steel himself, in case she’d come to finish him off.

  “You were right about your contractor. He’s great.”

  “I’ve always said he’s worth double what he charges.”

  “You should stop by Pinewood, see how much progress Max has made.”

  If he could get her words out of his head, he might not feel uncomfortable in his own house. I need the money, but I don’t need you. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here, alone, so early on a Saturday.”

  Nate didn’t trust himself to meet her eyes. “The thought crossed my mind,” he said, lifting his mug.

  “I was going to call, but decided it would be cowardly, considering…” She took a deep breath. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

  When Nate met her eyes, he half hoped to see bitterness or anger, anything that would make it easier to ignore the fact that he’d fallen boots over Stetson for her. What he saw instead—no emotion at all—hurt almost as much as what she’d said that night.

  “So? Why are you here?”

  Was it his tone or the words themselves that made her flinch?

  Nate didn’t like the person he was turning into, and he knew that this…this thing between him and Eden was behind it. His surly mood had put him in the position of having to apologize a dozen times over the past few days, to his family, to Carl and the rest of the ranch hands, even to Patches.

  Eden wrapped both hands around her mug. She’d barely touched her cereal, but for a second there, she looked like his old Eden, sweet, sensitive, caring. Nate clamped his teeth together. She’s not your Eden, so get your head on straight.

  She rose slowly, carried her mug and bowl to the sink, and stood with her back to him for what seemed like a full minute. Nothing was stopping him from walking over there, taking her in his arms and telling her how sorry he was that he’d stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. Now he wished he hadn’t offered her that money. He should have given it to Cora; the woman would have understood, and he could have trusted her to get it to Eden. But he couldn’t help wondering if she would have found some other excuse to keep him at arm’s length.

  “I think maybe the sages are right,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

  She took a few steps closer. “About?”

  “Money is the root of—”

  “Please.” Eden held up both hands. “Don’t say it.”

  Was he imagining things, or were there tears shimmering in her gray eyes?

  “You need to know,” she began, struggling to keep that full lower lip from quivering, “I was wrong to fly off the handle at you. It isn’t your fault that I shirked my responsibilities at Pinewood, allowed the Hansons to destroy the place. If I’d taken the time—and mustered the nerve—to do my job, the boys and I could have moved right in. And you wouldn’t have felt cowboy-bound to rescue me.”

  Nate watched her, standing as tall as her five-foot-two frame would allow, doing her best to sweeten a sour situation with a halfhearted smile.

  “Well, I should go,” she said, opening the back door. “I just wanted to apologize in person—and in private. Besides, you probably have a million things to do today.”

  “Give me a heads-up next time you bring the boys to Pinewood. I’d like to see what Max has done with the place. I’ll bring pizza or burgers.”

  “Will do.”

  She fired up the van’s rumbling, pin
ging motor.

  Take a good long look, he thought, waving as she drove off. This is what saying yes cost you.

  *

  “TRAVIS? HEY, YOURSELF, KIDDO. How are things going in Fort Collins?”

  The boy gave him a quick rundown, which included tutoring a cheerleader who thought he had beautiful brown eyes.

  “Look, Nate, real reason I’m calling is, I just talked to the guys. They’re all worked up over this move to Pinewood, and I thought maybe if you went over there…”

  Eden probably hadn’t even made it back to Latimer House yet, so their brief, awkward meeting was still raw in his mind. “I, ah, I’m not sure when I can get away.”

  “Yeah, I heard about the fight.”

  “Fight? What fight?”

  “Between you and Eden.” Travis sounded uncertain about how to continue. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know any of the details. They only said that you two haven’t talked in more than a week.”

  Until this morning. “It wasn’t a fight. More like a misunderstanding. But it’ll work itself out. Sometimes it’s best to let the dust settle.”

  “And sometimes, it just gets redistributed.”

  Very astute for an eighteen-year-old. “You worry about school, and let me worry about dusting.”

  Travis told Nate about his ethics class, the only one that had been a struggle so far. “The professor is like…like this burned-out hippy. He says the course is designed to help us develop our own theories and opinions, but he wigs out any time we don’t agree with him. Either his brain is completely fried, or he grew up in a bubble, because the guy has no clue! If I didn’t need an A in his class, I’d tell him that life is rarely just black or white, right or wrong. Even I know it’s mostly gray, and I don’t have a PhD.”

  “Right on, man!”

  Travis laughed, and Nate added, “I know you didn’t ask for my advice, but here it is, for what it’s worth: you’ve already figured out what you need to do. Keep giving the guy what he wants and everybody will be happier.”

  “Really.”

  A statement, he noticed, not a question.

  “Gotta go. Thanks, Nate. Tell everybody I’ll see ’em soon.” And he hung up before Nate could reciprocate, or confirm that he’d deliver the message.