“Davey.” Franny gestured for her oldest to come closer. She leaned down and said in a low voice, “What’s the first rule of ranching?”
Davey’s smile fell quicker than a poorly thrown rock in a tranquil pond. “Safety.”
“Should you be letting Shane saddle ponies for kids to ride when it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
Davey scuffed his boots in the dirt. “No.”
“Is it safe for a pony to have a saddle put on wrong? Couldn’t she get hurt?”
“Ah, Mom.” Davey didn’t like to be schooled on responsibility, especially when his two younger brothers could hear.
Franny straightened, one hand around her son’s solid shoulder.
Shane was touched. The scene reminded him of himself and his grandfather standing similarly on a trip to the Monroe Yacht Works.
“Whatever you make in life, do it with honor and pride,” Grandpa Harlan had said.
The Clarks subscribed to the same principle.
The business-like facade fell away from Franny’s gaze, letting the vulnerability shine through. “Thanks for standing up for Davey yesterday.”
“You know—” Shane captured Davey’s eye “—I think he would have done all right without me.”
Davey’s chest swelled with pride. “I’ll help you saddle Brownie, sir.” But he paused to scowl at his younger brothers, who were giggling.
“I appreciate it, Davey. And you can call me Shane.” He waved at his nephews, indicating they should come closer. “Come over here and watch. Maybe by the time Zeke gets home we can show him what we’ve learned about caring for your ponies.” Too late, he realized. Good ol’ Uncle Shane had essentially promised he’d bring his nephews back to the ranch more than once in the next two weeks.
Davey demonstrated how to put a bridle on Stormy—bit first, then hook the headstall over her ears. “Didn’t you learn this in school when you were on the polo team?”
“It’s coming back to me,” Shane admitted. “Slowly, because I’m old.” Slowly, because he’d had no true interest in becoming a polo player back then. “I didn’t actually make the team. I fell off my horse too much when I swung the mallet at the ball.”
Laughter filled the barn once more.
“I’ve fallen off a horse,” Andy revealed in Shane’s defense. “I landed in manure.”
“Me, too,” Alex said solemnly. “Zeke says if you’re a true cowboy, when you fall off, you get back on.”
Shane’s brother-in-law would say that. He was a true cowboy.
Shane bent his knees until he was face-to-face with his nephews. “I fell off so many times I decided I wasn’t going to be a cowboy or a polo player. But... No matter what you decide to be when you grow up, I’ll always be there to support you.” That felt like a sentiment Grandpa Harlan would approve of.
No one was laughing now.
Shane rose, feeling more than a little self-conscious. What was coming over him? His father would scoff if he heard that sentimental mush.
“Do you know what people always forget to do?” Grandpa Harlan had told Shane the day he’d graduated from that fancy prep school in Philadelphia. “They forget to say they care. Or they’re proud. Or that they’ll always be there if you stumble when reaching for those stars high up in the sky.” And then, he’d hugged Shane. “Don’t you forget.”
Shane was trying hard not to.
“Some folk aren’t born to ride,” Gertie said sagely.
“That’d be me.” Shane raised a hand as if taking an oath on the witness stand. “No regrets, though. Who knows? Maybe when I’m helping out here the next few weeks, I’ll learn something about horses.”
“You don’t have to help out here,” Franny said, starch plain in her words. “We’ll call if we need you.” Which sounded a lot like never.
“But I want to ride every day.” Alex thrust out his chin.
“Me, too.” Andy looked worried, as if he might cry if told he couldn’t ride his pony every day.
Every day.
Shane looked at Franny. She returned that look with a breath-stealing stare. Not on purpose, Shane was sure. Nevertheless, Shane felt it all the way down to his toes.
Attraction. Mutual attraction.
It made the idea of “look but don’t touch” seem like a test of wills.
His.
Franny was beautiful, with no makeup and a hoodie with a heart that was cracked down the middle. She was fragile, despite her backbone and business-like manner. She checked boxes Shane hadn’t realized he had on a list of what would account for an engaging woman, despite the fact that he and Franny came from two different worlds. Strong, capable, independent.
Their attraction had no future. In that electrifying moment, it didn’t matter.
And the scary, dizzying fact was that Franny didn’t seem to care, either. Because she didn’t look away.
“I knew it,” Gertie mumbled, a smile in her voice.
Thunder rolled closer, breaking the moment. Its sound almost putting a physical distance between them.
“Oh.” Gertie shivered as a chill breeze pushed through the barn.
Shane removed his jacket and wrapped it around the old woman.
“Charlie. Adam.” Franny had returned to ranch-owner mode. “Please help Granny Gertie back to the house.”
“Ah, Mom.” Charlie edged farther away from Franny, his brown hair ruffling in the rising wind. “I want to see the boys ride.”
“Can we ride, too?” Adam asked, trying to look angelic, which wasn’t all that hard for her youngest. He had her soft gray eyes and a pair of dimples.
“Please,” said a masculine-sounding chorus. Everyone had chimed in, from Shane and his nephews to her own sons.
He could tell that Franny wanted to refuse. It was there in her expressive eyes. “All right. All the boys can ride.”
Whooping, her boys scampered about, collecting tack and tossing good-natured taunts at each other.
“Shoot. No ride for this old bird.” Gertie wrapped herself tighter in her layers. “I never have any fun.”
“You’re cold,” Shane said. “I’ll take you back to the house. That is, if that’s all right with Francis.” Shane used the formal version of her name on purpose, intent on inserting a layer of protocol between them.
While Gertie protested being put up like a spent horse, Davey said, “Francis?” He balanced a saddle and blanket in his arms, grinning. “Nobody calls Mom Francis.”
“No one but my dad and the loan officer at the bank,” Francis murmured, meeting Shane’s gaze once more.
“I’m not here to make you a loan,” Shane murmured back with a reluctant smile. His plan to put space between them was officially over.
“Permission granted,” Gertie said with a knowing smile. “To call her.”
“I’ll watch the young riders, Shane.” Franny turned away from him. “If you watch the old meddler.”
“Meddler? Me?” Gertie harrumphed. “You two need meddling.”
Shane and Franny were quick to reassure her they did not.
CHAPTER SIX
PONIES AND PINT-SIZE horses plodded around the arena with no destination in mind.
Like my life.
Shane used to have a plan, one that involved world domination through his eventual control of the Monroe Holding Corporation.
Gertie bumped him with her elbow. “You think too much.”
“You can never think too much.” There were worst-case scenarios and permutations of possibilities to make contingency plans for. With the town. With the dissenting eight. With his father’s hinted offer. With his hunch regarding the terms of Grandpa Harlan’s will ending a year after his death.
“It’s dangerous to second-guess in here.” Gertie tapped her temple. “As dangerous as second-guessing yo
urself in here.” She tapped a spot over her heart. “You miss out on life.” She nodded toward the arena. “Take my Franny.”
Now there was a comedic opening.
Shane smiled, refusing to accept the bait.
“She’s been hiding out here on the ranch ever since Kyle died...” Grief seemed to steal Gertie’s smile. “Blaming herself. Second-guessing her management of the ranch. It’s all my fault.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Shane glanced up at the scene before him and immediately felt as if his professionalism and detachment had been stolen from him when he hadn’t been looking.
One look at Franny riding that big black horse earlier and he’d forgotten cowgirls weren’t his type. And now...
Franny stood in the middle of the arena directing traffic—congestion caused by her boys and their horses. She also corrected riding technique—sadly lacking in Shane’s nephews. Wisps of brown hair escaped her ponytail and cowboy hat and were flung about by the ever-increasing wind.
“Why don’t ponies have steering wheels?” Alex’s question elicited hoots and chuckles from the Clark boys. Alex had an insatiable curiosity, which would either lead him to become a top scientist for NASA or a crackerjack private investigator.
“Heels down, Alex,” Franny instructed. “That’s it. Good.”
“Look, no hands.” Andy dropped his reins and extended his arms to the corrugated tin roof.
Shane was certain Andy was going to do something that involved speed and adventure—fighter pilot, downhill ski racer, human cannonball at the circus.
“Pick up those reins, Andy, or you’ll have to get off.” Franny had a way of delivering commands without sting.
Shane knew Franny’s father couldn’t do that.
Andy did as asked, looking only slightly abashed. He kicked his pony in an effort to get her to move faster. The pony ignored him.
Shane chuckled.
“Better,” Gertie said. Despite her praise, she nudged Shane with her elbow. “Hear that?”
He cocked his head. Hooves plodded on dirt. Birds sang in the rustling trees. Cattle, mothers and their calves, called to each other in the pasture beyond the arena. Thunder rumbled again and was closer than before. “Hear what, exactly?” he asked. There were too many options to choose from.
“Emily’s leaving. For work.”
The rumble of a truck engine on the other side of the barn heralded as much. Emily was going into town to open Sophie’s shop. Shane’s twin had given him a choice—run her store while she was honeymooning or watch her twin boys. He’d chosen babysitting his nephews. Just his luck that his choice put him in proximity with a beautiful woman who wasn’t in his long-term plans.
“Do you hear that?” Gertie interrupted his thoughts with the same question.
Shane dutifully listened once more and shook his head.
“Out here, you listen.” Gertie gestured toward the other side of the covered arena. “Rushing water.”
Shane heard it now—the gurgle of fast-running water in a stream or culvert.
“It’s raining in the mountains. Soon—” Gertie gave him a smile made lopsided from the half of her face that had yet to recover from her stroke “—it’ll rain here.”
“We’ll be okay, right? The arena has a roof.” At her soft laughter, he added, “Will the ponies get spooked?”
She laughed some more, shaking her head as if enjoying a private joke.
“Granny, you should go back to the house before the rain hits.” Franny spared an instruction for her grandmother. “We’ll ride a little longer and then put the stock away so the Monroes can get back to town safely.” Her gaze flicked over Shane dismissively.
He didn’t feel dismissed. He felt aware. Of her. And curious. About how she’d feel in his arms.
Franny Clark was a handful. And she had her hands full, what with raising three boys, running a ranch and caring for Gertie. Shane had his hands full, too, what with watching his nephews, worrying about his grandfather’s legacy and formulating a plan to become the leader of his generation of Monroes.
He tucked away awareness and curiosity as he stood and drew a grumbling Gertie to her feet. He helped her to her walker. She set a slow pace to the ranch house.
“What a gentleman,” Gertie said. “Harlan would be proud.”
“You three—Shane, Bo and Holden—get ice cream last,” Grandpa Harlan had said on one of his beloved road trips. “A gentleman waits until everyone he cares about has what they need before he sits down to eat.”
Cousin Holden, then seventeen, had shoved his way between twelve-year-old Shane and their grandfather. Holden was the first Monroe grandchild and thought he was Heaven’s gift to the family and the world. Cousin Bo, fourteen, had shoved his way between Holden and Shane, driving an elbow into Shane’s gut for good measure. As the second Monroe grandchild, and having hit puberty early—he’d begun shaving at eleven!—Bo didn’t let any of the remaining grandchildren forget he was the biggest.
Standing at the end of the line, Shane had been beside himself. A gentleman? Shane was just a kid. Besides, they were a party of thirteen. What if the parlor ran out of ice cream before Shane’s turn? Or cones? Shane had a sweet tooth and a bottomless pit where his stomach was supposed to be.
But year after year, trip after trip, the message had sunk in. Family first. Always before his own needs. And strangers. Strangers came first, too. On Grandpa Harlan’s road trips, they’d stopped to help more strangers than Shane could count. Flat tires. Engine trouble. People caught short, asking for gas money to get to the next town. Grandpa Harlan didn’t discriminate or judge. He treated everyone as if they were trusted equals.
“Keep up.” Gertie’s words brought Shane back to the present. She returned his jacket to him and pointed at a nearby tree. “Here.”
“Am I supposed to listen to the tree?” Shane gave it a cursory glance.
“Pfft.” Abruptly, Gertie sat on the part of her walker that acted as a seat, fingering something inside the pocket of her thin jacket. “Look up.”
He did, sliding his arms into his jacket as the first raindrops began to fall. He nodded and then spotted what she was actually referring to.
An old photograph in protective plastic had been placed in the trunk of the tree, and the tree had grown around it until only a few inches of the couple in the picture was showing.
He moved closer and ran a hand over the bark, which acted as a sort of frame for the picture. “Is that a photograph of you?”
She smiled. “That’s my husband, Percy, and me. In our prime.” She blew out a breath, clearly challenged by the amount of words she wanted to say. “This darn cold wind...steals my breath. We were going to a dance. In Ketchum.”
He should get her inside, but there was something unusual about a photograph in a tree. “Why did you put your picture in the bark?” She didn’t do that with all photographs. He’d been inside the ranch house once before and had seen her wedding photo on display.
“We all did it. Young couples. Family. Friends. We put them near our homes and other important places.” She frowned slightly, fingering whatever it was in her pocket.
Above them, a bird sang at the top of his voice as if doing so would keep the dark clouds away.
“If you all did it...” Shane tried to process her point. “Does that mean my grandfather has a picture in a tree somewhere, too?”
“Yes.” She pushed herself to her feet impatiently, as if she’d been waiting for him to put two and two together the whole time. She headed toward the ranch house. “Harlan had many.”
Shane snapped a picture of the photograph with his phone, planning to show it to Cousin Laurel when he returned to the inn. “Was that because he was a ladies’ man?” Many female residents of the town, who’d known him, had told Shane as much.
“No. His pictures lead to Me
rciless Mike Moody.” Gertie paused and peered at Shane as he caught up to her. “Do you believe me?”
“You’re talking about Merciless Mike—the stagecoach robber?” Shane didn’t so much as crack a smile. If the desperado had existed and she knew more about him, he could use that to protect and preserve the town. “Do you have any proof?”
Before she could answer, thunder boomed, rolling across the valley.
Gertie cocked her head. “Hear that?” she asked when the sky quieted.
Shane listened. “No. Everything is quiet.”
“Exactly. No birds.” She stood and aimed for the house. “Best get inside.”
Once Gertie was seated in a living room chair with a cup of tea and Shane had a cup of coffee, she twisted her face into a frown. “Promise me that you’ll help Franny.”
“Of course.” Not that he thought he’d be called upon for more than bringing them groceries or unstopping a clogged toilet. Even those things he imagined Franny could do just fine on her own.
“She’s in over her head.”
Shane found that hard to believe. “I’ll help any way that I can.”
Gertie studied him before nodding, satisfied.
Boisterous voices mingled with laughter and the heavy raindrops falling outside. Feet pounded up the porch. Franny and the boys were back.
“I’d like to talk to you more about my family’s history.” Who knew what else he could learn from Gertie besides how sentimental photographs were left in trees?
“When you’ve seen more of the pictures, you can ask me.” An odd stipulation.
The door banged open and five wet boys tumbled in. They talked and laughed over one another as they shed wet boots, jackets and hats. Franny brought up the rear, hanging her hat on a hook near the door before organizing the discarded outerwear.
Davey ran over to Gertie. “Mom taught us how to ride in a horse parade. Five across. I had to rein in Yoda.” He leaned forward and whispered, “He doesn’t like to parade with ponies.”
“Me, neither.” Gertie glowed at her great-grandson. “You rock, kiddo. Fireworks?”
Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance Page 6