The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  But then he heard something rumble. Fast. Uneven. Angry. Like gathering thunder.

  The sky was the gentle pink-orange of approaching sunset. Not a cloud was visible. But the sound was growing louder.

  Ben glanced over his shoulder and swore.

  An Aberdeen Angus bull was barreling down on him, hide as black as night, eyes filled with a deadly rage.

  The beast was sixty feet away and closing fast. The riverbank was thirty feet ahead. It seemed like a mile.

  Ben picked up the pace. Strike that. He sprinted for all he was worth. Nothing was steady anymore. Not his stride. Not his heartbeat. Not his chances of seeing another sunrise.

  His only hope was to scramble up the nearest tree before that bull tossed him onto the rocky creek bed.

  * * *

  RACHEL’S ROAN GELDING, Utah, was ungainly but trustworthy. Nothing spooked him. Not her mother’s yappy poodle. Not Poppy pulling on his mane.

  Not even the sight of Ben Blackwell being chased by a charging bull.

  Rachel was spooked, though. Her hands trembled and air stuck in her throat. Life on the range wasn’t like living in the suburbs. She’d witnessed ranch hands gored by bulls during branding, struck by hooves while training horses, lose fingers to hay balers. Lacerations. Broken bones. Internal injuries. People got hurt on a ranch. People died.

  She might not like Ben, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to be trampled.

  On the road separating the two properties, Rachel urged Utah into a fast trot toward the gate that opened onto Blackwell land. She freed a length of rope from her saddle as smoothly as if she was reaching for her cell phone. She loosened the noose.

  Like I’m gonna rope that bull?

  She wasn’t that good with a lasso. A shiver of fear ran through Rachel, originating in concern for Ben. And then another shiver startled her, one brought on by the image of her roping the bull and watching helplessly as he bolted for the river. She’d be pulled off Utah’s back, dragged into the pasture and serve as the bull’s doormat, one that read Little Ladies Not Welcome Here.

  Little ladies weren’t cowboys. Little ladies didn’t run ranches or track down escaped heifers or save grown men. Rachel breathed raggedly as Utah carried her closer.

  Dad wouldn’t cower in fear.

  The Double T had survived generations because of strong Thompson leadership. It was why she’d come after the garden trampling, suit ruining heifer, because she was running things now and she couldn’t rely on anyone else. Although, to be honest, this little lady had eaten dinner before embarking on her heifer search. Consequently, the cow had a big head start and was nowhere to be found.

  Rachel squared her shoulders. Not that the heifer mattered right now. This rancher had other priorities.

  Ben reached the trees before the bull and swung up into the branches like a monkey. He looked more like a rodeo clown in red running tights beneath black shorts and a neon yellow nylon jacket. No wonder the bull was chasing him.

  The bull charged the tree, bumping the trunk without reaching Ben or knocking him down. He continued to patrol, clearly hoping to catch any straggling rodeo clowns.

  Erosion and the river created a natural “fence.” The pasture was about fifteen feet above the river and a narrow, rocky bank. Tree roots prevented the pasture from eroding any farther.

  Spotting Utah and Rachel, the bull took a run at the gate.

  “Whoa.” Rachel pulled up ten feet away and stood in her stirrups, twirling the rope above her head. This was her chance. Rope the bull and hold him long enough for Ben to escape.

  She should have felt confident. The animal was a big fella and there weren’t any horns to get hung up on. In short, he’d be hard to miss.

  Instead of feeling like an experienced cowboy, she felt like a first-timer, afraid to let go for fear of what she’d have to do next.

  The bull rammed the metal gate with his beefy shoulder, testing the barrier to see if it would give. It didn’t. Thank heavens Big E kept the ranch in tip-top shape. Utah pawed the ground, refusing to back down.

  Heartened, Rachel spun the rope higher. Now was the time to prove she was a rancher, not the rancher’s princess daughter.

  “Do not taunt that bull, Rachel.”

  “The superhero in red tights is giving me advice?” Rachel threw the rope.

  It landed cockeyed on the bull’s forehead and over one ear, which seemed to annoy the beast. He shook his head and pranced on the other side of the gate, snorting. The rope fell to the ground.

  Rachel sat back in the saddle and coiled the rope for another try. “My mother would say you’re in a pickle, Blackwell.” Her mother would tell Rachel to get her sweet patooty out of there and get help.

  Rachel might have done that a year ago, before Dad died, but now things had changed. She’d changed.

  “It’s June,” Ben griped from his position in the tree. “This pasture should be empty. The cattle should be over on higher ground across the river.”

  Hearing Ben’s voice, the bull turned and charged the trees. He wasn’t the brightest steak-on-a-hoof. He slammed into the wrong tree.

  “Quit taunting the bull.” Rachel’s heart was having palpitations to rival the ones that killed her father. “A true cowboy would’ve asked where the livestock was before he took off in his pretty running clothes.”

  “I’m not a cowboy anymore. I’m a lawyer.” Ben clung to the tree trunk and shouted at the bull, “A lawyer!”

  “Calm down, Blackwell. You’ll be reduced to bits of superhero tights if that bull has its way with you.” If she rescued him, maybe he’d be so shaken up he wouldn’t show up in court tomorrow.

  A girl could dream.

  But this girl had a former cowboy to save first. How was she going to get him to safety?

  Roping the bull was too much of a crapshoot (she wasn’t that great of a roper). Riding into the pasture to Ben’s rescue was too risky (for her and Utah). She tugged her cell phone out of a pocket, but there was no signal. They were in a dead zone. Literally.

  She laughed. Somewhat hysterically, if truth be told.

  “Go ahead,” Ben said. “Have your fun.”

  Rachel wasn’t going to explain she was losing her composure. “I’ll keep him distracted and you shimmy down that tree and jump to the bank below. Chances are, if he notices you, he won’t want to leap down a fifteen foot cliff.” Not unless he had a very big grudge against Ben. “From there you can walk to the road.” The one she and Utah were on. “And I’ll escort you back to safety.”

  Oh, this was good. Ego-bruising good. Almost as good as the day Zoe had jilted Ben at the altar. For which—sometimes, late at night—Rachel was sorry.

  But not sorry. He’d undercut the Double T’s livelihood.

  On Ben’s wedding day, Rachel had come out of the bridal vestibule at the back of the church, wearing a red satin gown so tight she could barely breathe. Or maybe she hadn’t been able to breathe because she’d lost her court case the day before to Ben.

  Looking sophisticated and handsome, Ben had walked down the aisle toward Rachel, ignoring the murmurs and stares of his patiently waiting wedding guests. “Have you seen Zoe? I’m worried. She should have been here by now.”

  At the altar behind him, his brothers hung back in their black tuxedos. Cowards. At least two of them knew where Zoe was. Rachel had sworn to keep her friend’s elopement a secret for as long as she could. Did she need to postpone things any longer?

  “Rachel?” Ben had bent to peer into her eyes when she didn’t answer. “Are you okay?” Here was the Ben she’d grown up with, always watching out for Zoe and Rachel, so unlike the heartless man she’d faced in court over the past few weeks.

  Rachel had tried to tug Ben away from prying eyes. “Ben, I want to renegotiate the water rights.” She sounded desperate, maybe because she was. He
r father hadn’t spoken to her since the verdict came in.

  “Not now, Rachel.” Ben glanced over her head, clearly searching for his bride.

  “Yes, now. This can’t wait.”

  “Rachel.” In the middle of the aisle, in the middle of the church, Ben blurted, “If you have to ask now, the answer is no.”

  “You’re an idiot.” Rage as red as her dress pummeled Rachel’s veins and caused her to raise her voice. “Zoe eloped with Big E an hour ago!”

  The assembled gave a collective gasp. Ben paled.

  Only then did his brothers move, rolling toward them like a fast, incoming tide. They swept Ben out the door, leaving Rachel to face the crowd alone.

  “Go get help!” Interrupting Rachel’s thoughts, Ben settled into a sitting position in the tree by the river. His red-clad legs dangling down from the branch he’d chosen. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Where’s your backbone, Blackwell?” She urged Utah closer and leaned over to rattle the gate to get the bull’s attention. Reluctantly, the bull ambled toward Rachel, huffing unhappily.

  With Ben safe, Rachel’s gaze drifted toward the river. How many memories did she have at the end of this road with Ben? Too many to count.

  This was where Rachel came to sort out her feelings. It was where Ben came to escape his large family. By unspoken agreement, this was where they weren’t Thompsons or Blackwells. This was where they could just be Rachel and Ben. This was where they could be friends without Zoe being jealous or his brothers teasing him. This was where—

  Ben began to climb down the tree, quiet, like a rainbow-clad ninja.

  The bull didn’t notice.

  This is going to work.

  The light dimmed as the sun disappeared on the other side of the mountain range, leaving the world in a blue-gray twilight. Rachel needed to pick up Poppy and put her to bed or she’d be a bear tomorrow, worn out from lack of sleep. She needed to prepare the quarterly tax paperwork. She needed to refill Nana Nancy’s weekly pillbox. She needed to read through her brief for court tomorrow because solid preparation was going to make her a better lawyer.

  She rattled the gate some more.

  A few minutes later, Rachel’s rope was secured on her saddle, the bull fidgeted on the other side of the fence, and Ben stood in front of Utah, stroking the gelding’s neck. “Hey, what’s that platform for?” Ben gestured toward a wooden structure by the river. It looked like a dock built too high above the water.

  “Zoe calls it the observation platform. It’s on the website as being ideal for watching the sun rise or doing yoga.” Rachel doubted Zoe had done any of those things, either. And as far as Rachel knew, Zoe didn’t understand the significance of the end of this road to Ben and Rachel.

  “Zoe built it?” Ben studied it with more attention than Rachel thought it deserved.

  She wondered which memory came to his mind first. For her, it was always senior prom. He’d been out riding the morning after that dance and had found Rachel huddled on the bank wearing baggy sweats and no makeup with a nose stuffed with tears.

  “Andy broke up with me.” Rachel hadn’t been able to look at Ben when she’d said it.

  He hadn’t said anything in response. He’d just settled down beside her, slung his arm over her shoulder and watched the sun come up over the Rockies. Back then, she’d thought he was the best Blackwell ever.

  It had taken nearly a decade to prove that wasn’t the case.

  “The platform was Zoe’s idea.” Best make that clear. “She paid a ton to have it built.” Rachel turned Utah toward home, pausing to add, “And you can thank me for saving you and letting you traverse Double T land without having you arrested for trespassing.” The ingrate.

  “Actually, this part of the road belongs to the Blackwells,” Ben said in an odd voice. And then he ran a hand over his hair and jogged ahead of her.

  On the other side of the fence, the bull trotted next to him, like a loyal two-ton dog.

  Dismissed, Rachel held Utah back, casting one last look over her shoulder toward the river, glimmering in the sunset. Now that Ben was safe, she could think about the rescue with more detachment. Replay Ben running from a raging bull as if he was running with the football, a pack of defenders at his heels.

  In high school, Ben had played all sports. He was still in good shape and looked as if he could pick up where he’d left off on any playing field.

  The playing field will be my courtroom tomorrow.

  Rachel smiled. Now was the time to get into her opponent’s head. “Do you really go out looking like that back east?”

  “Yep.” He was pulling away from her in an easy stride.

  Down here, the road wasn’t overgrown the way it was on the section from the Double T to the first Blackwell gate. Traffic from Blackwell ranch hands, and now ranch guests, kept the weeds to a minimum.

  She kicked Utah into a trot, bringing them alongside Ben. “Must be a city thing.”

  His white teeth flashed. “You mean my running clothes don’t do it for you?”

  “No.” Couldn’t he have developed a tick? Grown straggly gray hair? “I’ve seen people dress in tights before.” She let that sink in before adding, “Ladies doing Zumba at the community center in Livingston, for instance.”

  “You’ve spent a lot of time commenting on my legs.” He sent her a sly glance. “The only reason I can see is that they must please you.”

  “Still got that ego, I see.”

  “I call ’em as I see ’em, Thompson.”

  Thompson. He’d called her that in the seventh grade when he’d accepted her invitation to the Sadie Hawkins dance: Okay, Thompson.

  “Okay, Thompson. Let’s do this,” he’d said again, as he led her to the dance floor, his tone as serious as if they were heading into battle against overwhelming odds.

  She felt the same tummy shimmy now as she had then. Of course, years ago her nerves were from not knowing what would happen next. Would he accept her invitation? Would they slow dance? Would he try to steal a kiss?

  A kiss...

  She watched Ben’s athletic stride, thinking about how much she missed kissing and being held in a pair of strong arms. His arms looked rather strong.

  Ridiculous.

  Rachel put a halt to her wandering thoughts. She wasn’t interested in men right now or Ben ever. She had a ranch to save and a baby to raise. Not to mention Ben was opposing counsel at their hearing tomorrow, her best friend’s ex and completely off-limits. Her mantras echoed in her head:

  Win back the water rights.

  Set the ranch to rights.

  Get a signed custody agreement.

  Learn how to be a better rancher.

  Her excuses didn’t make a difference. The tummy shimmy persisted.

  Ben and Utah kept pace with one another. Neither was winded. If their situations had been reversed and Rachel had been jogging, she would’ve quit by now, clutching a deep stitch in her side. The last time she’d gotten her heart rate up in the red zone, she’d been in labor.

  “Speaking of fancy dressers...” Ben half glanced Rachel’s way. “I see you’ve got your Montana date clothes on.”

  “Date clothes?” Rachel had forgotten she was wearing her mother’s overalls. They were too short and hit the top of her mother’s fancy boots. Not to mention Mom had embroidered white poodles on the bib. Très chic.

  “Are you planning to escort me to my door and kiss me good-night, too?” Ben laughed.

  Laughed! Rachel sputtered.

  The bull huffed, as if he couldn’t believe Ben’s ego either. Utah just kept trotting. He had a smooth gait, which probably prevented Rachel from falling off in shock.

  Ben stopped jogging. “Why don’t you give me a lift?”

  “A lift?” Rachel squeaked. She’d barely touched the reins and Utah plant
ed his hooves. Traitor. She would’ve liked to have kept right on going.

  “Or you could hurry on home to your Mama just like you did that time we stole some beer from Big E on the Fourth of July.” Ben gave Rachel a wry half smile that pressed in on her chest like a hot humid day.

  “We weren’t alone.” She huffed, at a loss as to why Ben was having such an effect on her. “I was with Andy, and you were with Zoe.” There. Reminding him of Zoe ought to burst his bubble.

  Or not.

  Ben continued speaking as if she hadn’t brought up his ex. “But if I get lost, or Ferdinand here breaks through the fence and tramples me, you’re going to have to explain to the judge why I didn’t show up for court in the morning. And if I don’t show, there will be a continuation, and you’ll look heartless for having left me out here in the cold, possibly injured.”

  “Geez, Blackwell.” She sounded as if she was enjoying their banter. Rachel regrouped with her most serious tone. “I know this line of yours doesn’t work on women in New York City.”

  “It could.” His grin was classic Ben, delivered with intent to charm. “I haven’t met many horseback-riding women in Central Park, particularly ones wearing such stylish poodle-trimmed overalls.”

  Rachel’s cheeks heated. “And you wouldn’t. Not wearing those superhero tights of yours.”

  He glanced down. A rumbling sound rippled through the air between them. It was so loud, even Utah turned his head toward Ben.

  “Was that your stomach?” Rachel laughed. Why was she knocked off-kilter by Ben? He was a thirteen-year-old jokester in a grown man’s body.

  “I’m hungry. There was nothing to eat in the ranch house.” He tried to look forlorn.

  “You’re pathetic, Blackwell.” And harmless. Rachel took her booted foot from the left stirrup and held out her left hand. Ben clasped her wrist, put his sneaker in the stirrup and swung up behind her, settling on the saddle blanket.

  Utah didn’t even look back to see what was happening.

  Ben placed his hands on Rachel’s hips, which was so unexpected she nearly jumped out of the saddle. Instead, she heeled Utah forward and lurched against Ben’s solid chest.