The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  The diaper bag fell to the porch. Poppy wailed louder. “Bye-byeee!”

  Rachel bent to pick up the bag in an ungainly high-heeled bend just as Poppy was plucked from her arms.

  “Hey, pumpkin.” Ben’s voice was sugary sweet and kid-friendly. “I bet you didn’t get your nap today.”

  Mom and Nana Nancy’s eyes widened.

  Rachel supposed hers did, too. Ben was talking to Poppy as if he had experience with babies.

  Rachel stood and pinned him with her gaze. “Explain your Mrs. Doubtfire skill there, cowboy.”

  “I’m rather good with babies,” Ben said, jiggling Poppy and holding her hand.

  “Since when?” Did he have kids of his own? Had he been married? Rachel felt hotter than the heat index.

  “Sometimes my assistant has to bring her kids to work. And sometimes she needs help.” He swayed back and forth as if dancing with Poppy, who giggled. “Babies like me.”

  “Of course they do.” Because the universe had to make things that much easier on Ben and that much harder on Rachel. She reached for Poppy, nearly toppling over the diaper bag she’d neglected to pick up.

  Poppy put a chubby arm up to her wet cheek and shrank deeper into Ben’s embrace.

  “I’ve got her.” Ben walked past Rachel, scooped up the diaper bag and opened the door. “Come inside. It’s hot out here.”

  Rachel followed them on sulky heels.

  “Ben Blackwell.” Mom sat in Dad’s brown recliner, which still rocked slightly from how quickly she’d leaped into it. “This is unexpected.” She studied Rachel’s face, mostly likely to see if she should be angry or welcoming.

  “Hi, Mrs. Thompson.” Ben set the diaper bag down on the floor by the door, in the same spot that Rachel usually dropped it. “I gave Ms. Nancy a ride home.”

  From the couch, Nana sniffed and patted her hair but said nothing, perhaps also waiting for Rachel’s cue. Sitting next to her, Fanny was curled in a fluffy white ball. She stared at Ben but didn’t so much as growl.

  What was wrong with everyone? There should be shouts of trespassing and growls of boundaries breached.

  “Ga-gah,” Poppy murmured in a tired-out voice.

  “There’s my girl.” Mom reached into the covered Cheerios bowl and then reached for Poppy.

  Poppy didn’t lunge out of Ben’s arms for her grandmother, not even for her favorite cereal. She tucked her head in the crook of Ben’s neck and sucked on her fingers.

  Unwilling to give up, Mom waved the small treat back and forth like a hypnotist. “Don’t you want one of these, sweetie?”

  “No.” Rachel’s daughter waved her hand with more fervor than Mom had.

  “Ted’s mom probably fed her early,” Rachel said, taking pity on her mother.

  Ben sat on the arm of the couch and rubbed Poppy’s back. “It smells as if dinner is in the oven. I’m guessing it’s not chicken casserole since you had that last night.”

  Mom gasped. “How did you—?”

  “Rachel told me.” At their blank stares, Ben added, “I was out running by the river and was surprised by a bull, who wasn’t supposed to be in the pasture. Rachel rescued me. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “No.” Nana gave Rachel a speculative look and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Couldn’t Ben keep a secret? Rachel wished she could call on attorney-attorney privilege, not that such a thing existed.

  “Rachel had to listen to me reminisce about the wonders of your chicken casserole.” How did Ben’s smile look so sincere when he was such a horrible suck-up? “I remember it would always be gone first at the school potlucks.”

  “That’s true.” Mom preened, finger-combing her short blond hair forward.

  First, Ben had sweet-talked Judge Edwards, Nana Nancy and Rachel’s baby girl. And now her mother? Rachel stood in the center of the room but felt as if she was outside the window, peering in and fogging up the glass.

  “What was a bull doing in the lower pasture?” her grandmother asked. “He should be up in the high country with the heifers making hay.”

  Ben kept rubbing Poppy’s back and added rocking side to side. “He slipped away from Katie Montgomery.”

  Nana snorted, startling Poppy out of near-sleep. “Everyone knows that girl is better with horses than cattle.”

  “We have a stray down here, too,” Rachel felt compelled to point out. “A heifer who likes our vegetable garden.” She hadn’t seen the picket fence repaired when she’d driven up. She needed to check on Henry and his list of things that needed attention.

  Ben frowned. “If your heifer is in season, Ferdinand will charge through every fence to get to her.”

  Rachel hadn’t thought about that. Had Henry caught her today? Is that why the fence wasn’t fixed? Did everything around here require her supervision in order for it to get done?

  Rachel caved in to mommy fatigue and removed her heels, putting them next to the diaper bag. For a moment, she froze by the door, struck by the thought that she’d removed a piece of her feminine armor too soon.

  “The last thing we need is Blackwell blood in our herd,” Mom said, seemingly recovered from Ben’s praise of her cooking, perhaps because he’d temporarily usurped her role as Poppy’s favorite person. “You have Black Angus and we have Herefords.”

  Rachel nodded. Black Angus and Herefords were like apples and oranges.

  “Not always,” Nana said in an unusually sage voice. “Everyone knows inbreeding means low numbers at calving time. Used to be the ranches in the valley would trade bulls for the summer to strengthen the lines.”

  Apparently, Rachel wasn’t everyone. She hadn’t known that fact. Add reading up on cattle-breeding practices to the list of things she needed to do, along with comparing calving numbers over the years by digging in her father’s dusty file cabinet. Had she updated the file last year? Her neck twinged with the weight of self-doubt.

  Did she have time tonight to flip through file folders? She’d much rather flip through a magazine with fall fashions, like the one her mother had on the coffee table.

  Speaking of fashionable... Holding a baby while wearing a dress shirt and trousers, Ben looked like the kind of guy some women might dream of.

  Not that Rachel was one of those women or even admiring him in any way.

  Ben’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. “My older brother Jonathon is experimenting with crossbreeding.”

  Should I have known that?

  Sadly, Rachel assumed the answer was yes. Jon’s property bumped up against the Double T in spots. She needed to up her game where ranch management was concerned.

  “Oh, Rachel. Before I forget, the doctor’s office called today to remind you Poppy’s shots were due last week.” Mom stroked Poppy’s sock-covered foot, unwittingly triggering Rachel’s growing set of mantras.

  Win back the water rights.

  Set the ranch to rights.

  Get a signed custody agreement.

  Learn how to be a better rancher.

  Learn how to be a better lawyer.

  Try to be a better mother.

  Rachel wanted to get out of her court clothes, crawl into bed and forget about all her mismanaged responsibilities and her unachievable list of mantras. At the very least, the universe should align, and Ben should leave so she could tackle the ranch’s long to-do list.

  As if reading her mind, Ben stood. “This little one is asleep. Do you have a place I can put her down?”

  The answer was a resounding, whispered yes.

  Rachel led him down the hall to her old bedroom, where she kept a portable crib set up. Ben transferred Poppy to the crib with ease. Her daughter sighed and rolled over. Rachel covered her with a light blanket and then straightened, cheeks heating from the embarrassment of Ben in her childhood room.

  “There’s a shrine
to our high school days,” Ben whispered, peering at Rachel’s bulletin board. He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “Look at the three of us.” He pointed to a photograph of him, Zoe and Rachel on graduation day. Ben’s arm was slung across each girl. “We were like the three musketeers.”

  Past tense. Rachel was a team of one now. Zoe was either busy with the Blackwell ranch or traveling with her husband.

  Ben took in her bright leopard-print bedspread, blue cheerleading pom-poms in the corner and her debate team trophies. “You don’t live here, do you?”

  “I haven’t lived here since I went away to college.” Before Zoe’s marriage, she and Zoe had shared a small house in town, one Rachel still rented. She edged between him and the bulletin board where a pinned picture of Tommy Whitehall had a heart sticker in the corner. “Every once in a while, I stop and look at those photos and wonder why you put up with me back then. I was always the third wheel.”

  “Zoe didn’t want you to be sitting home alone on Friday nights and I didn’t mind.” He frowned. “I suppose that should tell me something about the depth of my feelings for Zoe.”

  Rachel hid her surprise by inching closer to the door. “It wasn’t until you asked Zoe to marry you that I realized I wouldn’t be going to New York with the two of you.” She’d been torn. Happy for her friends, but sad to be left behind. And then she’d been alone in that little house after Zoe had eloped, and eventually she’d met and married Ted.

  Ben was still frowning. “Zoe chose to stay in Falcon Creek. She chose you.”

  “She chose your grandfather, not me.”

  Poppy murmured and shifted positions.

  Rachel hustled Ben out before he woke Poppy.

  He stopped her in the hall after she closed the door, and repeated, “Zoe chose your friendship and Falcon Creek over me.”

  “You say that like it makes you feel better about her marriage to your grandfather. I told you they love each other. It’s true.” She tried to get past Ben, but he stopped her with a light touch on her arm.

  “Think about it.” His voice was low and husky. Most of the curtains in the house were drawn to keep the house cool. They stood in intimate shadow in the hall—the two of them and his husky bedroom voice. “You told me on my wedding day that there was no way Zoe would have moved away from her family and friends to be with me. You were right.”

  “I don’t know why I said that,” she admitted with a twinge of that old guilt. “I was angry about the court decision.”

  “I suppose I don’t regret Zoe changing her mind. Without having a wife in New York, I devoted all my energy to my career and it soared.” His hand dropped away. “And Zoe was here when you needed a friend to lean on through your father’s death and your divorce.”

  In a way, Ben was right. Zoe had been there when Rachel needed her most.

  During those early days when Rachel had taken a beating in court, she’d gone straight to the Blackwell Ranch to vent to her best friend. Before Rachel got pregnant, she and Zoe had spent weekends shopping in Bozeman or Missoula, collecting design samples and firming up plans for the guest ranch. In the days after Dad died, Zoe hadn’t left Rachel’s side as Rachel dealt with grief, a failing marriage and the burgeoning realization that Mom and Nana Nancy couldn’t run the ranch without her.

  Rachel lifted her gaze to Ben’s handsome face. “You’re right.” Her voice sounded young and wondrous, more like the girl she’d once been, sitting next to Ben, thinking parents never died and friendships lasted forever.

  Ben had a faraway look in his eyes. “Our marriage wouldn’t have lasted. I work long hours and Zoe always had to come first, even when other things were important, too.” And then those sharp blue eyes came to rest on Rachel and didn’t seem so sharp.

  They stood close enough to touch. She could smell a hint of his woodsy cologne. She could imagine his arms coming around her—supportive, comforting, energizing. And instead of jumping back to the friendship zone and rejecting images of his warm embrace, every cell in her body seemed to be pressing forward...toward Ben.

  What was going on here?

  I’m sleep deprived and stressed. Get over it.

  “Blackwell.” Rachel swallowed and put more oomph in her words. “This is one big overshare.” She tried to slip past him, flattening herself against the wall.

  He turned, too, so they faced each other. This time when he reached for her, he claimed both arms. “Things have changed. I know that now.”

  Things? What things?

  His hold was tender. His hands moved upward, toward her shoulders. His gaze dropped to her lips.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  Thoughts of Zoe and friendship boundaries flitted through her short-circuiting brain. She should give him a gentle push, make a crack about things staying the same and show him the door.

  His touch was so light she might have been dreaming it had she not been looking at him. Or had those blue eyes of his not been staring into hers.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  Curiosity, loneliness, longing. Rachel couldn’t move.

  “Dinner!” Mom called from the kitchen.

  Ben leaned back, but his hands remained on her shoulders. They traced along her neck. His fingers were warm on her skin.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  Her knees felt weak with uncertainty.

  Ben cleared his throat and straightened the collar of her jacket. “This has been flipped up since you came in.”

  He’d held her like that to correct a wardrobe malfunction?

  Her single-lady sensors were on the fritz.

  Rachel darted down the hall on legs that threatened to buckle. There was no way he could have misread the signals she’d been sending about being open to a kiss. To his kiss.

  He had her on the run. She only hoped that wouldn’t extend to their battle in the courtroom.

  “Dinner? So early?” Ben was behind her, but Rachel could tell he was grinning, she could hear the amusement in his voice. “It sure smells good.”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze and tried to seem unaffected by his presence. “Are you trying to mooch food off my mom?” Are you trying to stupefy me with the promise of sweet kisses?

  “Yep.” That grin.

  Rachel’s heart beat faster. She was in trouble. Big, big trouble.

  And she couldn’t think of another mantra to guide her to safe waters where Ben was concerned.

  Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be safe. Ben made her feel alive, mentally stimulated and pretty. Ted had had no patience for her talk of legal strategy. Zoe’s eyes glazed over when she tried to discuss a case. Her mother and grandmother didn’t care to hear much beyond whether she won or lost.

  Ben was infuriating and invigorating. Handsome and tricky, and yes, sexy.

  And Rachel was going to beat him in court. She was going to beat him and he wasn’t going to hate her for it. He was going to look at her with more than speculation in those blue eyes. He was going to look at her with respect.

  Right before he kissed her.

  Rachel sucked in a breath and moved toward the kitchen. Clearly, her mother and grandmother weren’t the only Thompsons who watched too many romantic movies.

  “Set another plate, dearie,” Nana said, shuffling into view. “The Blackwell is staying for dinner.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I ALMOST KISSED RACHEL.

  What right did Ben have to kiss her after he’d taken her water?

  Ben sat in his car in front of the Blackwell ranch house and rubbed his hands over his hair. The contact didn’t wipe away the shame he felt for not doing the right thing all those years ago.

  Rachel was making do with the hand she’d been dealt—a ranch with a limited water supply, a legal practice without an experienced senior partner, a family who depended on
her, including a sweet little baby.

  Her situation wouldn’t have been near as bad if Ben had lived up to the ethical oaths he’d taken as an attorney. Now he wanted nothing more than to make things right for her.

  What good would giving them the aquifer land do now, boy?

  Ben shut out his grandfather’s voice in his head. He didn’t—couldn’t—agree with him. The damage was done. And state water boards showed no mercy or do-overs. The truth for Rachel was grim and upheld by several cases settled within the past few years in Montana. Agricultural water rights were based on the most recent years of use. The Double T wasn’t using water to irrigate its pastures now, therefore the ranch wouldn’t be granted the right to irrigate it. Ever. It wouldn’t matter if the Double T won first position river rights. Rachel would still be water poor. All Ben had to do was present the previous cases to the judge and her case would be dismissed.

  Still, the nagging feeling that justice hadn’t been served persisted.

  Ben got out of the car.

  “Where’ve you been?” Ethan sat on a bench on the porch. “You didn’t answer your phone. You said you’d tell me more about what happened in court when you got home.”

  Home? Ben bristled. Home was New York and an absence of Big E’s problems. “I was at the Double T.”

  “Working out a deal?” Ethan hurried down the steps. “I knew you’d get results right away. What should I tell Jon?”

  “Nothing.” Ben hated to disappoint his twin. Ben’s conscience was getting in the way, just like it had on his last case at his old firm. And look where that had gotten him. Fired.

  “So...” Ethan stopped. “No deal?”

  “I’ve got six more days to hammer one out.” Ben explained how he was waiting on Katie to give him the detailed information on the ranch’s water use so they could calculate future projections. “Did you know Myrna—as in Big E’s ex-wife—is the judge in this case?”

  “Yeah.” Ethan shivered dramatically. “She made me suffer when I requested upping my signature limit on the Blackwell accounts and when I asked for more time for you to get here. Payback is the worst.”

  “You might have warned me.” Ben climbed the steps, hoping there was still beer in the fridge.