The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  Rachel wasn’t the miracle worker, Ben was. She marched back into the empty courtroom and glared at him. “What was that all about?”

  “You should be thanking me.” Ben straightened his shirt cuffs. “I got your client an extra three hundred a month and by Monday, she’ll be divorced.”

  “You staged that.” Rachel shoved her folder into her leather briefcase when she wanted to shove her hands over his mouth and wipe that grin away. “Poking at him on purpose.”

  “Yes, I did.” The unapologetic grin showed no signs of diminishing.

  The feral growl she’d made earlier collected in her throat, making it hard to speak with any semblance of decorum. “In what court is goading a man until he tries to kill you acceptable?”

  “I do my pro bono work in night court. Provoking a client to show his or her true colors expedites things.” Ben patted his briefcase, which she now noticed had several other dings. “I made sure he stayed down so he wouldn’t hurt you or your client.”

  Rachel was too angry to admit how satisfying that had been. “Mr. Blackwell...” Now she sounded as old and stuffy as Judge Edwards, a thought simultaneously empowering and worrying. “There are rules in the courtroom.” She tugged her suit jacket smooth. “A code of honor to be upheld.”

  Ben’s smile fell so hard his face seemed to pale.

  Heartened, she pressed on. “The courtroom is the last bastion of civility and integrity.”

  Color returned to his cheeks. “You have no idea what happens in the legal trenches, do you?” Ben looked as if he...as if he pitied her.

  Rachel shook the feeling off and pointed at the scuffed linoleum between them. “This is where the playing field is leveled.”

  He leaned into the argument. “This is where things get dirty.”

  She leaned right along with him. “This is where dirt is revealed.”

  “Only the dirt the opposing counsel wants you to see.” His smile, the one she hated, was back—the one that said Ben knew more than she did about being a lawyer. “Admit it. You learned something today.”

  The truth rammed Rachel and her insecurities like that bull had rammed the Blackwell gate last night.

  The bailiff returned, pausing in the doorway to talk to someone in the hallway.

  “You’re wrong.” Rachel pushed her glasses more firmly in place and lowered her voice. “This is where we’re going to be reprimanded.”

  “Thompson.” Ben moved to Rachel’s side as if they were on the same team. He smelled of fresh woodsy cologne when she probably smelled like her bitter protein drink. “The judge didn’t cite us with contempt. We’re fine.”

  Us? We?

  There was danger here, perhaps just as much to her heart as to her career since her courage was bolstered with Ben at her side. “I’ve never been called back to chambers,” she admitted.

  “It’s not so bad.” Ben picked up her briefcase and handed it to her. “Sometimes you need to push the limits to get justice for your client.”

  Their hands brushed when she claimed the handle of her briefcase.

  Rachel’s breath caught, slowing her comeback. “Justice? Since when were you interested in justice?”

  “Only all the time.” He raised his brows. “It’s why I went into law.”

  “Uh...” She didn’t remember it that way. She thought that Ben, like herself, had gone into law because it was a classy means to make a lot of money. Or so she’d thought. She hadn’t taken into consideration that she’d have a limited client pool in Falcon Creek.

  “You don’t remember me whining about unfair punishments?” Ben said in mock horror. “I had four brothers and we weren’t allowed to bicker. Big E handed out edicts without regard to circumstance. I wanted a future where I won fair and square.” This last came out at a considerably lower volume.

  Was he doubting his ability to practice law aboveboard? Oh, she had him now. “If you believe in justice, then you should concede to me on the water issue.”

  Ben smiled down at her in a way that made her heart stutter. “And give you everything you want? Where’s the justice for the Blackwells? For Ferdinand?”

  His ability to make fun of himself took some of the wind out of her sails. She glanced at the bailiff, willing herself not to cave. “Your cattle have been getting fat on irrigated pastures while ours forage for dried grass, none of which was necessary.”

  “Okay,” Ben allowed, surprising her. “What we should do is sit down and figure out how much each ranch needs before the water company—”

  “Don’t try to scare me with your water company boogey man.”

  Ben’s arm swung wide, encompassing the empty courtroom. “You don’t see him here, do you?”

  He couldn’t be right. And yet...the man he’d pointed out in the hall had only watched their proceedings.

  “Sir? Ma’am?” The bailiff gestured them closer. “The judge will see you now.”

  The heat of the unknown made her palms sweat. Rachel hurried to follow the bailiff, unsteady in her heels.

  Judge Edwards was turned sideways at her desk, typing, when they came in. “Sit down. I’ll be done in a moment.”

  Rachel took a calming breath and made the mistake of looking at Ben, who was smiling. Smiling! Did nothing throw the man off his game?

  Judge Edwards faced them. She’d smoothed her hair into place since the events in the courtroom. “Ms. Thompson, I don’t think well of lawyers who allow themselves to be manipulated by the peanut gallery.”

  Rachel threw herself on the mercy of the judge. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

  Judge Edwards measured Rachel’s sincerity before nodding and fixing her gaze on Ben. “You were Day Three, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” For once, Ben’s smile seemed forced.

  The elderly woman leaned forward, her gaze narrowing to small dots again. “Do you have any idea how much heartache you and your brothers caused with your shenanigans?”

  Rachel was at a loss. She looked between the two, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “In my defense, Your Honor,” Ben said evenly, “I was twelve and grieving.”

  “What are we talking about?” Rachel blurted.

  Ben spared her a glance. “Myrna—”

  “Judge Edwards to you.” The judge looked down her nose at Ben, no small feat considering how short she was and that they were both sitting.

  “Judge Edwards—” Ben corrected with a nod to the older woman “—married my grandfather a month after my parents died.”

  Rachel knew about Big E’s numerous marriages, but had forgotten about this one, perhaps because she’d been so young when it happened.

  “And...” Judge Edwards prompted.

  “And we facilitated her release.” Ben lowered his voice, as if they were in a crowded room, not a judge’s chambers. “You know, Your Honor, that marriage of yours wasn’t meant to last.”

  “Grow up!” the judge snapped, gripping the edge of her desk and rocking back in her seat. A lock of white hair fell onto her forehead. “Just because your marriage never got out of the starting gate doesn’t mean all marriages fail. I was in my fifties. Of course, I wanted to believe it was true love.”

  Perhaps this had nothing to do with the spectacle associated with the O’Ryan case. Perhaps this was about the bad blood between Judge Edwards and the Blackwells. In which case, Rachel was at risk of being collateral damage. She tried to make herself invisible.

  She shouldn’t have worried. Judge Edwards was on a roll. “The five of you boys railroaded me out the door. And then none of you were brave enough to drive me off the land.” When Ben opened his mouth to speak, Judge Edwards waved him to silence with more irritation than a traffic cop outside the final night of the annual rodeo in Bozeman. “You think I don’t remember you stranding me at the ranch when I had to be in cou
rt? You think I’ve forgotten what it was like to drive a tractor while wearing a suit and heels?”

  After a year of balancing a legal life with ranch management, Rachel felt a sudden kinship with Judge Edwards. Driving a tractor in heels would suck.

  “A stolen tractor,” Ben unwisely pointed out.

  Judge Edwards tsk-tsked as if she were exasperated with him.

  “The facts are, ma’am, that my parents had just died, it was too soon for me and my brothers to accept another mother figure into the house, and I was a twelve-year-old boy. It’s well documented that twelve-year-old boys make at least ten stupid mistakes a day.”

  If the expression on the judge’s face was any indication, she thought a lawyer in his thirties made at least as many mistakes per day as twelve-year-old boys.

  Rachel waited for Ben’s comeuppance with bated breath.

  “Mr. Blackwell.” Judge Edwards’s words weren’t just chilly. They were hard chunks of ice. “You aren’t twelve anymore. If you want to continue to practice in my courtroom, there will be no more shenanigans. Understood?”

  Rachel sat back in her chair. Stunned.

  That’s it? A warning?

  Rachel’s neck twinged. If that was Ben’s punishment, no wonder he was so bold in the courtroom.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben said, as contrite as could be. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The judge turned her attention back to Rachel. “Ms. Thompson, you have to ask for what your client needs.”

  “And then some,” Ben added.

  Judge Edwards frowned at him. “Mr. Blackwell, you are dismissed.”

  The twinge in Rachel’s neck spread into her right shoulder. Why was she being asked to stay?

  Ben stood. “I apologize, Your Honor.”

  The judge stared at him over the top of her glasses. “For...?”

  “For what happened all those years ago.” He reached for Rachel’s hand and drew her to her feet. “When I mixed your whites with your colors on day three of your marriage.”

  “You went through my unmentionables.” Judge Edwards cleared her throat and smoothed her hair back in place. “No lady should be subjected to that. It’s not an honorable thing to do.”

  Maybe it was Rachel’s imagination, but Ben seemed to draw back when his honor was impinged.

  “Again, I’m sorry.” Ben was like a soldier, unwilling to leave a man behind. He towed Rachel smoothly toward the door. “And I apologize for my behavior today. It was unbecoming of a lawyer in your court.”

  Stunned by the events of the morning, awed by Ben’s diversionary tactic, Rachel allowed herself to be led.

  “It’s a red letter day.” Judge Edwards waved them toward the door. “So many Blackwell apologies. That’s more than I got from your grandfather.”

  “I’m sorry for that, too.” Ben gripped the door handle.

  Rachel imagined she gripped his hand just as tightly.

  “Ease off the sucking-up pedal, Mr. Blackwell.” The judge didn’t say any more until he opened the door. “Oh, and Mr. Blackwell. Some advice? There’ll come a day when that banged-up briefcase is going to fail you. And then you’ll have to rely on the law.”

  Ben had nothing to say to that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I LIKE MY odds in this case,” Rachel said to Ben as they stepped out into the bright summer sunshine. She switched her eyeglasses for sunglasses.

  Your odds stink.

  Ben held the response and his pride in check. Mediation. A summons to judge’s chambers. Had he come out ahead? He’d have to say yes. But the game was still in play. He couldn’t blatantly rub it in Rachel’s face. “We need to meet and hash things out.”

  “My calendar is filled for the rest of the day,” Rachel said.

  It was lunchtime. The courthouse parking lot was empty. Rachel headed toward a red-and-white double-cab truck that was so old, it could have been her purchased new by her grandfather.

  Thankfully, the spell she’d cast over him earlier with her beauty seemed to have worn off. Gone was the urge to hold, to touch, to kiss.

  Well, almost.

  He caught her arm. “You think Judge Edwards will be happy next Friday if we haven’t made any progress? You think maybe—just maybe—she was going to tell you not to blow our court-ordered mediation time like you did on some other case?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk about it.” Rachel yanked her arm free and kept walking. “I said I was busy today. I’ll call you.”

  “You don’t have my number.” Ben reached for his wallet and his business cards and then stopped. All the contact information except his cell number was outdated. He didn’t want Rachel to know he’d been fired. “Give me your card.”

  Rachel jerked open the truck door, which stuck as much as the door to her office, tossed her briefcase inside and then rooted around her purse for her business card. “I’ll call your house when I find time for you.”

  Which he bet would be never.

  She got in and slammed the truck door, started the engine with a roar and backed out, rolling down her window with a hand crank.

  Ben walked slowly to his Mercedes. He didn’t need to be a stalker to compile information about Rachel. That old truck needed a new starter and lacked air conditioning. Rachel still had an above average level of pride and a lead foot. The trick was to use the information about his opponent to his advantage.

  Ben took the time to remove his jacket (Rachel hadn’t) and loosen his tie before getting in to the car. He turned on the air conditioner full blast and thought about the case.

  Rachel had the ranch’s water information. Advantage: Rachel.

  Judge Edwards held a grudge against Ben. Advantage: Rachel.

  Rachel wasn’t willing to risk it all to win. Advantage: Ben.

  He needed Katie to verify the water usage figures and he’d have to project out how the guest ranch would impact water use in years to come. The sooner he had data to work with, the sooner he could pin Rachel down to a meeting, negotiate terms and leave.

  Thanks to a quick call to Ethan, Ben tracked Katie to Brewster Ranch Supply. The afternoon was warm. Ben removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

  He jogged up the steps to the long wooden porch that ran the length of the store, planning to dart inside past the old man sitting in front of a chessboard.

  “Not so fast.” Pops Brewster had looked ancient to Ben twenty years ago. Not much had changed since then. Flyaway white hair. Sun spots and wrinkles. And a grin that welcomed anyone with a buck to spend at the family feed store or a minute to spare over his chessboard. “No one goes inside dressed like that without having to play a chess move.”

  Ben was used to strategic games of a different kind, but Pops had always been kind to him when he’d come to the feed store. He surveyed the board. “Who’s been playing with you?” Usually there were a handful of old coots hanging out with Pops. He was alone today.

  “Whippersnappers on school break.” The old man scoffed. “They don’t know what they’re doing. Put you in a bit of trouble, I reckon.”

  Ben moved the white queen diagonally across the board. “Checkmate.”

  “What the...?” Pops peered at the board, rubbing a hand over his grizzled chin.

  Ben hurried inside, craning his neck to see above the high shelves and between ranchers wearing cowboy hats. The feed store smelled of hay, leather and new clothes. He spotted Katie’s red hair in the back. She was at the counter settling up a bill. Her blue-gray heeler sat obediently at her feet. Ben complimented Mrs. Gardner on her tamales, patted Katie’s dog on the head and pulled Katie aside, explaining what he needed.

  “Ben.” Katie looked pained as she brushed flyaway red hair behind her ears. “I’ve got a gazillion things to do when I get back, including interviewing new ranch hands. Can it wait? I plan to catch up o
n paperwork this weekend after the Ziglers check out.”

  “I have to have an agreement on the judge’s desk in seven days.” At the latest. He wanted an agreement Monday, if possible. His reaction to Rachel unnerved him. He’d been pitted against attractive legal adversaries before, but never ones he wanted to kiss. It only added to his resolve to leave. “Do you want me to negotiate with Rachel blind? Are you willing to accept whatever terms she tosses my way?”

  “No.” Katie knelt down to stroke her dog’s velvety ears, eliciting an enthusiastic tail wag. “I file the meter readings monthly along with the bills. I need time to pull all the information. I suppose we can check the readings on the water pump on Sunday to get an estimate of future use, but it’ll only be based on the guest ranch being open a week.”

  “This needs to be high priority, Katie.” Opening the safe hadn’t been. “I can sort through your files myself if you need me to.”

  “No.” She got to her feet so fast, her dog stepped out of the way. “I mean, my dad...” She looked uncomfortable. “He doesn’t like anyone but me going through the ranch’s paperwork.”

  If Ben was running things, he’d straighten out the situation between Katie and her dad, at least from a ranch management perspective. Katie deserved the title of foreman considering she handled the bulk of the work. And Lochlan... He was like family, but Ben hadn’t seen him since he’d arrived. If Lochlan was too old to handle the job... “I can get the pump reading myself, but it’ll mean nothing to me without the history.”

  “Okay.” Katie seemed grateful for the concession. When he turned to go, she grabbed his arm. Lines of worry framed her blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben. You’ve come back to a mess.”

  He patted her hand. “It’s okay. I know what to do.” His stomach growled. It was long past lunchtime. Maybe it was time to cave to nostalgia and have a pot pie at the Shiny Spur.

  As he stepped outside, he spotted Rachel driving by in that red-and-white boxy pickup truck, windows down. She turned right, toward the center of town, rather than heading toward the Double T. Ben knew he should wait before trying to talk to her again, but his feet were moving and he reached for his car keys.