The Rancher's Redemption

by Melinda Curtis

  That’s how it should have been. Except it felt more like Ben had become a hired gun, one who fought on the wrong side of the law.

  Would Dad be proud of me?

  Ben thought not.

  “Ba-ba-ba-bahhh!” Poppy lunged toward Ben with a drooly grin. She didn’t care about past mistakes or that Ben could be bought. She cared about the here and now, the joy in the moment, the joy she could bring.

  Ben hoped another baby with big brown eyes, a little girl living in Long Island, was as carefree as this one.

  “Is that what you do in New York? Fight for justice?”

  “No.” Ben couldn’t afford to break her gaze. If he did, she’d know he was more interested in winning than in justice.

  And yet, the deep brown of her eyes seemed to see deeper inside him than anyone had looked before, down to the level where he stored things like guilt and regret.

  Poppy swan dove to her mother.

  Ben blinked, and his gaze dropped to Rachel’s lips. She licked them.

  Ben’s gaze flew back to hers, looking for a hint of welcome awareness, a sign that whatever was happening in his chest when he looked at her was happening to her when she looked at him. And all the while, he tried to appear like a ranch hand who was ready to do the boss’s bidding, one who wore broken-in blue jeans and boots.

  Crud. If he was going to help Rachel, he needed a pair of boots, too.

  Rachel blinked, looking confused.

  He couldn’t blame her. Ben felt confused. Why was he feeling something for Rachel when he hadn’t felt much of anything for years? He’d been happy once, working settlements where victims of negligence were just names and numbers on a list. Why did things have to unravel? Why had he rediscovered his conscience and a near-burning need to restore his honor?

  Ben needed space. “I’ll meet you at the gate on the road to the river.” He went back toward the boot display. It would take Rachel several minutes to pay for her order and get it loaded in her truck. In the meantime, he needed guilt-free air. He wasn’t in Falcon Creek to start something with Rachel. He was here to protect Blackwell interests for Ethan’s kid, even if that meant protecting the ranch’s interests so they could sell their legacy for more money.

  Selling legacies is almost as distasteful as selling your soul.

  Ben paused. That voice hadn’t sounded like his grandfather’s. That voice had sounded like his own.

  * * *

  BEN WALKED OUT to the metal gate in Ethan’s old jeans and boots. The new blue jeans and boots had felt too odd, like the impulse to kiss Rachel. They fit, but not comfortably.

  In the pasture just east of him, Ferdinand was pulling up tufts of brown grass and ignoring Ben.

  He didn’t have to wait long for her red-and-white truck to approach. He crossed the road and opened the Double T’s gate so Rachel could pull through.

  The afternoon sun was heating things up. The truck windows were down. He greeted the friendlier Thompson first. “Hey, Poppy.”

  “Ba-ba-ba-bahhh!” Little Poppy released the clear plastic dry cleaning bag hanging nearby, kicked out her feet and extended her sturdy little arms his way, fingers opening and closing as if she wanted to latch on to him.

  “That’s right, Poppy.” Ben handed her a sugar cookie he’d swiped from the guesthouse on the way over. “Ba-ba is here.”

  Rachel groaned.

  Poppy smashed the cookie into her face, cooing with pleasure.

  Ben could remember laughing with Ethan in the backyard at Tyler and Chance doing the same thing, pressing food in their mouth with the flat of their hand and wiping it all over their chubby little faces.

  Warmth spread in his chest.

  That warmth... It would disappear the moment he told Rachel about the land deed. The need to tell the truth pressed on him harder than it had the night before with his brothers.

  “Get in.” Rachel pulled the brim of her baseball cap lower. “And before you ask, my mother and grandmother went to see my sister today. And my former mother-in-law went into Livingston to watch a movie. I’m not only short ranch hands, I’m short on babysitters.”

  “Glad I could help, then.” He was grateful for the small talk. They could navigate the tricky legal waters between them tomorrow in their court attire. Blue jeans and boots seemed too intimate for that. “Before we start, I need to get this out of the way.” He reached for Rachel’s dry cleaning in the back. Poppy had been playing with the plastic covering, and he didn’t want her to choke.

  Ben ripped the plastic bag off the suit Rachel had worn to court the other day and stuffed it far away from inquisitive Poppy and potential suffocation. Satisfied the little tyke couldn’t get into more trouble, he climbed into the passenger seat.

  They set off. The pasture was bumpy and Rachel’s shocks were too old. The truck creaked, groaned and bounced like an unsafe ride at the fair.

  In the back seat, Poppy gagged.

  Ben turned. “Are you okay?”

  Her little face was red and her big brown eyes watery. She wheezed and choked.

  “Poppy?” Rachel stepped on the brake and rammed the truck into Park as Ben twisted around, reaching for the baby.

  Poppy shook her head, strained against the straps of her car seat, and then turned sideways, projectile vomiting right on Rachel’s suit.

  * * *

  “THIS CAN’T BE my fault,” Ben said for the umpteenth time.

  “You took the protective bag off my dry cleaning.” Rachel was down to one suit. At this rate, she’d be showing up to court in her mother’s poodle-embroidered overalls. “You gave Poppy the cookie she choked on.”

  “Your daughter’s fine, by the way.” Ben leaned out the truck window. “If it upsets you so much, I’ll buy you a new suit.”

  Rachel twisted the steering wheel the way anger twisted her insides. “I can buy my own suit, thank you.” In a year. If she won the water rights, she could plant feed crops in the far pasture and buy pregnant heifers this summer.

  “I’m just saying, given that you said you were on the brink of ruin.”

  She hated that he was right. She hated that she’d been unable to think of little else but Ben since yesterday. It was easier to declare Ben off-limits—repeatedly—than to deal with increased cable bills and collapsed riverbanks.

  Setting aside the fact that he’d just built forty feet of fence for her and was offering to help defend the Double T’s water rights, Ben wasn’t the man she should be interested in. Ben’s kiss had been a wow. But she couldn’t trust Ben even if he was helpful, so she needed to keep him at a distance.

  They reached the gate to the road separating their family properties. Ben got out and opened the gate so Rachel could drive through.

  She was tempted to keep driving, but he’d been nice the entire day. He hadn’t mentioned that kiss other than to apologize. Nor had he suggested another.

  She suspected his friend-zoning was part of the reason she was cranky.

  You can’t have it both ways, remember?

  After he latched the gate, Ben approached her window. “Why don’t we meet at your office tomorrow? Say noon? We’ll hash through a water deal for Judge Edwards and we’ll review our options to defend against any water company challenges.”

  Rachel had to say yes. She had no other choice. “Sounds good.” Ted was scheduled to come by around eleven to sign the custody papers. He’d be long gone before Ben got there.

  Ben glanced at Poppy in the back seat—maybe wanting to say his goodbyes?—but she was asleep. “See you tomorrow.”

  Rachel nodded and drove on to the Double T, reciting her long list of mantras.

  Win back the water rights.

  Set the ranch to rights.

  Get a signed custody agreement.

  Learn how to be a better lawyer.

  Learn how t
o be a better rancher.

  Try to be a better mother.

  And then she added a new one.

  Find a new man who isn’t Ben Blackwell.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RACHEL STOOD IN the open doorway of her law office, waiting for Ted to arrive. She was wearing her last court suit and her hands shook.

  Par for the course.

  She hoped to get the custody agreement signed today, crossing a mantra off her list.

  Poppy was awake, playing with her blocks on a little carpet in Rachel’s office.

  Ted pulled up with a squeal of tires. He was thirty minutes into his lunch hour, which meant they had thirty minutes to conduct their business before Ben was due to arrive at noon.

  Rachel stepped inside, letting in her ex-husband, who did his best not to look at their daughter. Was that a good sign?

  Rachel squeezed the door shut, no thanks to the warped frame, and hurried to put the custody agreement in front of Ted. “I added the clause about raising Poppy in Falcon Creek. We won’t move.”

  Ted’s smile was slow coming, but he did smile, and took a seat in the chair opposite her desk. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  Poppy began babbling happily at Ted, offering him a block, which he ignored.

  The jerk.

  “Ted, you’ve got everything you wanted,” Rachel said evenly. “It’s time to sign.”

  Outside, a car door slammed. Rachel didn’t get much foot traffic, probably because she didn’t keep reliable office hours. That would have been impossible, what with her responsibilities at the Double T. Was the feed store parking lot full?

  Poppy crawled to the edge of the desk and babbled some more, holding out the block to her father.

  “What about support?” Ted reclined in his chair.

  “I didn’t ask you for any child support.” Were those steps outside?

  The front door was shoved open. Ben stood there, looking up at the offending door frame. He wore a dark suit and carried his dented briefcase, but her mind took liberties and pictured him in his blue jeans and chambray shirt, riding that big black stallion to her rescue.

  Which was ridiculous. Nobody ever rescued Rachel. It was why she had so many mantras.

  Poppy spotted Ben. “Bahhh!” She crawled toward him, carrying the block in her fist.

  “I meant, what about support for me?” Ted laced his fingers over his chest, not bothering to look around to see who might have come in or who his daughter was beelining toward. “I should be kept in a style I’m accustomed to.”

  Rachel couldn’t afford to pay Ted a penny. She couldn’t afford a new suit for court. “Ted, you signed a divorce agreement that did not include spousal support. We’re talking custody only.” There was no reason this argument should make her hands shake harder. On this point, she had the upper hand.

  She didn’t need to dwell on Ben, to spot the worry shadowing his blue eyes, or watch him pick up Poppy with one arm and marvel at the red block she offered him. She did not need to call in reinforcements. Rachel had Ted right where she wanted him. She held the pen out to her ex.

  But just like a sidewinder, Ted came at Rachel broadside. “How badly do you want custody of that kid?”

  “That kid?” If Rachel had been a man, she’d have gotten up, grabbed Ted by the neck of his T-shirt and tossed him out the door. As it was, she threw the pen on the desk and said, “Do you mean that adorable, loving little girl you can’t bring yourself to look at? If I had my way, you’d never see her again.”

  Ted’s eyes narrowed and he drummed his fingers on his chest. “You’re getting upset. You know what I want.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Ben set his dented silver briefcase on the desk and handed Poppy to Rachel.

  Her ex-husband sat up and scowled. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Rachel’s divorce attorney.” Ben didn’t say his name. He smoothed his expensive red power tie and returned Ted’s scowl. “Given the custody agreement hasn’t been finalized in a timely manner, Montana law allows Rachel to bring you back to court and sue you for alimony and child support. If she wins—which she will, because Montana is a mommy-friendly state—she can have your wages garnished going back in time to the date of separation.”

  “Is that...?” Ted perched on the edge of his seat and looked from Rachel to Ben and then back again. “Is that true? I mean, how can that be true?”

  It wasn’t true. Even saying it was unethical. But Rachel kept her mouth closed.

  “Would I be here if it wasn’t true?” Ben drummed his fingers over the top of his silver briefcase, an earnest look on his face so unvarnished it would have won him a best actor award. “I bill by the hour, my friend. And every hour I bill Rachel gets added onto your tab.”

  Ted laughed uncomfortably, his gaze swinging around the room but not quite finding a target. “So...” He cleared his throat. “I should sign?”

  “Consider this your last chance. Rachel’s been kind to you, handling the proceedings herself.” Ben took the pen and placed it in front of Ted. “Or don’t sign. In which case, I won’t quit until I’ve found every spare penny you have and obtained legal permission to take it all. That means you won’t have a dime to spend in the bar you like to hang out in. You won’t have a nickel to bet on football. You get the point.” With every statement, Ben’s expression darkened and his words sharpened, until even Rachel believed him. “Now sign.”

  Ted gulped and scribbled his name on every red-flagged line. All three copies.

  Just like that, Rachel had a signed custody agreement and one less mantra to remember.

  * * *

  BEN ESCORTED TED OUT, nearly slamming the door after him.

  Ben had arrived early for his meeting with Rachel after having spent most of the morning at the county recorder’s office doing title searches on both the Double T and the Blackwell Ranch. The clerk had only managed to pull information back to the 1950s. Ben was going back again tomorrow.

  He’d walked in, managing to get by the sticking door, ruing the fact that he’d forgotten to bring a planer to fix it, regretting he couldn’t fix more for Rachel when he heard a man’s voice. He’d seen the concern on Rachel’s face, the strand of blond hair that hadn’t been captured in her hair clip and the gummy smile of Poppy as she motored his way at a fast crawl. And then he’d listened to Rachel’s ex-husband try to blackmail her into a bigger settlement. This, he could help her with.

  The custody agreement had been signed and the ex was driving away. Now was the time for truth.

  Ben’s blood was still pounding when he approached Rachel, swept Poppy up high in his arms and tried to calm down.

  “Thank you.” Rachel had been standing front and center in her office, arms crossed over her chest as if that alone was holding her together. She wore a cream-colored suit and a teal blouse that matched the color of her high heels.

  “Anybody would have stepped in.” Emotion made Ben’s words suddenly thick.

  “Not anybody.” Rachel hurried across the room, past the receptionist’s desk, past Ben’s briefcase on the floor. By the time Rachel reached Ben, she was practically running. She crashed into him, put one hand on his shoulder and reached up on her toes to kiss him. Just a peck on the lips.

  Except...somehow...when she pulled back to look in his eyes, her arm wound around his neck and his free arm circled her waist, and they weren’t exchanging a friendly thank-you kiss anymore. They were kissing like it was Saturday night and he’d walked her to her door after the most fantastic date in the history of dates.

  A large truck—sounded like a semi—downshifted somewhere outside, brakes squealing in protest. The feed store across the street was probably getting a delivery.

  Rachel eased back but kept her arm around Ben’s neck. Color blossomed in her cheeks. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Ben straightened b
ut kept his hand at her waist.

  Poppy chuckled from her perch on his chest.

  Ben drew the baby closer. He wanted to kiss Rachel again. He wanted to talk openly about her water options. He wanted to apologize for withholding information five years ago. He wanted to admit he was falling in love with her. But mostly, he wanted to kiss her again.

  “Bye-bye,” Poppy said, falling into what little space was between them.

  Rachel nestled her daughter in her arms, the weight bringing her hand from around Ben’s neck.

  A door slammed outside, metal on metal, a semitruck door, for sure.

  “Thanks for nothing,” a woman shouted.

  Cradling Poppy, Rachel moved to the window. Ben followed her.

  A reedlike woman stared at Ben’s Mercedes. She had limp blond hair and wore a frilly, wrinkled white dress with purple and orange polka dots. She carried a thin yellow bag and a large, white floppy hat, the kind women wore at royal weddings and the Kentucky Derby. It was accented with purple and orange feathers reminiscent of the chandelier back at the ranch. She turned to the offices of Calder & Associates.

  “Zoe?” Ben breathed.

  This woman looked nothing like his former fiancée. She was too thin, too hard, too rumpled.

  The semitruck that had dropped her off jerked into first gear and drove away.

  Rachel’s gaze darted to Ben’s face, dropping briefly to his lips. The softness in her eyes disappeared. She squared her shoulders and walked around Ben, yanking the door open so hard she almost flung it against the wall. “Zoe.” Rachel’s gaze slid Ben’s way one more time before she added, “You’re back.”

  “Bye-bye.” Poppy waved to Ben.

  Zoe hobbled up the steps. One of the high heels on her bright pink shoes had snapped off. She crossed the threshold without hugging Rachel. “I’m back. No thanks to that idiot husband of mine.” Ignoring the baby, she tossed her bag and hat on the receptionist’s desk, put one hand on Rachel’s shoulder and slid off her shoes one at a time. “I just want a long soak in a hot bath and my own bed.”