Lassoed by the Would-Be Rancher--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  Shane went to put his arm around Franny, but she shrugged him off. “You’re no better than Gertie. You want to go up there and risk your life for nothing.”

  “You...” Gertie’s hand, the one clutching the handkerchief, shook. Her face was red and streaked with tears. “You think I’m old and dotty? You think something in here isn’t right?” She tapped her temple. “You think I’d send Kyle on a fool’s mission? My own grandson?”

  “Yes,” Franny whispered.

  “I am not delusional,” Gertie said through a throat choked with tears. “I’m not a liar.”

  And then she opened the handkerchief and held out her hand, revealing a gold coin.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FRANNY SAT ON the couch, wrapped in an afghan, unable to get warm.

  The Monroe men bounced plans back and forth about retracing their grandfather’s steps and following the picture trail.

  I used to love Gertie’s stories.

  Kyle had loved Gertie’s stories.

  Kyle.

  She’d lost him over a quest for gold. She held Gertie’s gold coin pressed between her palms. Holding the thing her husband had coveted didn’t make her feel better.

  Kyle, why didn’t you tell me?

  She kept the gold tight in her hand as she clutched her aching stomach.

  I used to have faith in happy endings.

  In justice being served. In the sense of rightness that came with tales of the Old West.

  My father was right.

  It didn’t pay to believe in fairy tales. It didn’t pay to cut corners. To dream of a different way of life. This was karma circling back around and taking its due.

  The Monroes wanted to dig up the northwest corner of the cemetery, as did Gertie. The last time Franny had been up there, she’d laid her husband to rest. Her father had kept watch with a rifle. Back then, shock and disbelief had bent Franny nearly to the breaking point. She couldn’t go through that again.

  “No one’s going after that gold,” Franny said in a hard voice that even she didn’t recognize.

  Shane sat next to her and drew her close. “That money will make things easier on you and the boys. It could save your ranch.”

  I bet Kyle believed that, too.

  “No one else is going to die for money they didn’t earn.” The words felt hard and sharp in Franny’s mouth.

  “What if we round up all the feral bulls in the woods first?” Bo suggested.

  “What if you die trying?” Franny stood. The room seemed to be spinning. She tossed the gold coin onto the coffee table and immediately felt better, steadier, lighter.

  “We have to find the truth,” Shane said. “I don’t care about the gold, if there’s any left. But if this legend has merit, it could help the town stay afloat.”

  “Please don’t try and turn this into a charitable expedition.” Franny still couldn’t bear to look at Gertie. “If you choose to believe there’s more gold where this came from, then I choose to believe it’s blood money and going after it will only bring more heartache.”

  Jonah knelt beside Gertie. “Why did you wait so long to tell your story?”

  “Percy died.” Gertie shifted awkwardly in her seat. There would be no comfort found anywhere today. “I thought it would help Kyle, and then he died. I had a stroke, and then Harlan died. I wanted someone to know before it was too late. And I wanted the chance to tell Franny that I’m sorry about Kyle.”

  Franny stiffened her spine. She knew she needed to accept Gertie’s apology, but it was too soon.

  It might always be too soon.

  * * *

  NO ONE TALKED as Shane drove himself and his cousins back to the inn.

  They passed sweeping vistas, but Shane didn’t see anything.

  Was there gold? Wasn’t there gold? Was it in the cemetery or somewhere else?

  Should they respect Franny’s wishes and stay away, despite what it might mean to the town and Shane’s status with his family? Should he respect Franny’s wishes and keep his distance, despite wanting to comfort her?

  Shane didn’t have an answer to anything.

  “There’s a new car in the lot.” Jonah pointed to an expensive sedan parked in front of the Lodgepole Inn.

  Bo groaned. “Please don’t tell me a new visitor is one of your horror-story plots.”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” Jonah said. “But it sounds like an idea for consideration.”

  The trio traipsed inside the inn. Dusty, dirty and dejected.

  A blonde with thick, black-rimmed glasses sat near the fireplace talking to Laurel and Odette. “Ah, you’re back.”

  “Dr. Carlisle.” Shane didn’t know how he should react to her presence. The last time they’d been in the same room together, she’d threatened to report him to the authorities.

  Introductions were made and then the doctor asked Shane to share a meal with her at the diner.

  They took opposite sides of a booth and sized up one another.

  Dr. Carlisle adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  Shane nodded, not that he thought she was here to accept the position of town physician.

  A smile passed fleetingly over her features. “Holden told me you’d ask me to reconsider the job up here. He said you’d come up with an excuse to try and get me to visit one more time.”

  “Ah, the consultant gig regarding the clinic.” Shane wondered at the audacity of his cousin. “Technically, I didn’t ask you about it. I asked for a recommendation.”

  She cleared her throat. “Holden told me not to come, regardless.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because he told me not to come,” she said again, gaining steam. “He told me so many times that I wanted to know why.”

  Shane knew why. His cousin didn’t want the town to get a doctor, to succeed, especially if Shane was involved.

  “Holden is somewhat competitive,” Shane allowed diplomatically. “But still, I wouldn’t have expected him to focus conversation on Second Chance the few nights you saw each other.” Here and in Ketchum last weekend.

  Her slender eyebrows disappeared behind the top rim of her black glasses. “I’ve seen him several times.”

  A cold feeling came over Shane. But it wasn’t the cold of slow-falling snow on a winter’s night. Instead, it was a skittering anger, like freshly sharpened blades on ice.

  “Holden sent me flowers after we first met.” Dr. Carlisle’s cheeks pinkened. She adjusted her black glasses and studied the photo of loggers on the wall.

  Shane decided to make it easy on her. “Of course he did. And then there’d be lunch.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “How did you—?”

  Shane held up a hand. “Lunch is less threatening than dinner. And Holden can be larger than life.” Shane thought that was his cousin’s appeal. Women saw him as a powerful man, a challenge to bring to heel. “And then there’d be an outing somewhere classy, like a museum, a sail on a harbor, or a ski trip.” Shane would bet on the latter given they were surrounded by several ski resorts. “Finally, there’d be dinner. White tablecloth. Candlelight.”

  Dr. Carlisle’s mouth dropped open.

  “Holden has a method of operation.” Shane tried to break it to her gently, tried not to touch the scar on his chin.

  She gathered her big black purse to her side. “It wasn’t a game.” But something in her eyes recognized the truth.

  “Of course not. I’m sure he cares about you. I have to believe he has a heart since he was married once before.” That might be a bit cruel, but it was honest. Shane was willing to wager Holden hadn’t told her about his previous marriage.

  It meant she wouldn’t just be mad at Shane. She’d be mad at Holden too.

  Her hands fisted aro
und the supple leather of her bag. “I hadn’t heard about an ex.”

  “I didn’t tell you to hurt you.” Shane leaned forward. “I told you because this town needs a doctor and he’s interfering with my search. And in the meantime, an old man had a heart attack last month and nearly died. I was out at a ranch today where my cousin got thrown by a bull and I was nearly run over by the same animal. This town needs a doctor.” He slumped back in his seat.

  “I don’t want to work here. Not with—”

  “I’m not asking you to be our doctor.” He knew that ship had sailed. “But if you can help us update the clinic so we can entice a doctor to take the job, I’d appreciate it.”

  Her grip loosened on her purse. “Do they serve alcohol here?”

  “No. And frankly, the food isn’t as pleasurable as wherever Holden took you to dinner.”

  Ivy chose that moment to appear at their table with her ordering pad and a frown.

  “But the burgers are good,” Shane said, hoping for a quick recovery. “And if you help with the clinic update, I’m buying.”

  * * *

  “WHY DID SHANE say Merciless Mike’s gold would save our ranch?” Davey asked Franny at dinner.

  The bowl of green beans clattered on the table, having slipped through Franny’s fingers.

  “Are we going to lose the ranch?” Charlie asked, wide-eyed.

  “But...” Adam’s eyes teared up. “This is where we live.”

  “What nonsense,” Emily said, a reply that went unnoticed.

  “Pfft.” Gertie couldn’t quite remain silent, although she hadn’t said a word to Franny since Shane had left.

  “We’re fine, boys. The bulls are in the pasture. The heifers are dropping calves. We’re going to be fine.” Franny gave Gertie a hard stare. “Everything will be fine without tales of Merciless Mike’s gold.” Franny had hidden the gold coin in a jar that she used to save all of her spare change.

  Davey stared at his wrist. “I don’t need to go to camp this summer.” His lower lip trembled. “It’s just kids and sleeping bags. I can skip rocks and ride horses at home.”

  Franny felt awful. Davey loved that camp. “You’re going to camp, Davey.”

  “But, Mom. It’s so expensive.” Her oldest sounded like he might cry.

  “It’s worth every penny.” Franny sat down hard, trying not to look at anyone or she might cry, too. “Why is no one eating?”

  “Because we need to get the gold.” Davey pounded the end of his fork on the table. “Then you won’t have to worry and Aunt Em won’t have to work in town and I can go to camp.”

  Charlie and Adam joined the raucous chorus.

  “Do you see what you’ve started?” Franny said to Gertie. “Now they want to risk their lives like Kyle did.”

  Gertie pressed her lips together, but her brow was furrowed.

  “Hey, little man.” Emily tapped Davey’s shoulder. “I’m not working in town because I need the money.”

  “Are you working for free?” Adam asked.

  “No, I...” Emily squared her shoulders and blew out a breath. “I’m looking for a husband.”

  “But you’re so old!” Charlie’s mouth dropped open.

  “Ha-ha, squirt.” Emily served him string beans. “I’ll remember that remark.”

  “Are husbands hard to find?” Adam stole a green bean with his fingers and took a bite. “Mom doesn’t have one, either.”

  “She could go anywhere in the world and find one if we had that gold,” Davey mumbled.

  “Enough.” Franny stabbed a pork chop with her fork. “Gertie, the least you could do is give them the gold-is-cursed speech.” Although, that hadn’t worked on the Monroes. Franny took out her aggression on the pork chop, hacking at it with a dull knife.

  “Will I have to sell Yoda when we move?” Davey’s lower lip trembled.

  “We’re not moving.” Franny’s head pounded.

  “But you asked Zeke to come home early because of an emergency.”

  “I need him and Emily to help train the bulls.”

  “But we did so good today with training.” Charlie nodded vigorously. “Except for Mr. Bo. He probably has an owie somewhere.” He paused to join his brothers in the giggle department. “But he should be better next time.”

  “You let Bo Monroe ride a bull?” Emily laid down her utensils with a clatter. “Was he hurt? Franny, what were you thinking?”

  “He offered. He said he’d done it before...in Texas. How was I to know it was when he was a kid?” And that he’d suck at it.

  Emily pushed away her plate. “You should have called me. I should have been here.”

  “To take his place?” Gertie asked, grinning.

  “To tend to his wounds.” Franny grinned right back, disputes over myths, gold and Kyle temporarily on the back burner. “Bo had the wind knocked out of him is all.”

  “He stopped breathing?” Emily lowered her voice and scowled. “Did he need CPR?”

  “No.” Franny made sure that was clear.

  “Is Mr. Bo your future husband?” Adam picked up another green bean with his fingers. Butter dripped into his lap. “I like him. He doesn’t know how to play poker.”

  “He played poker?” Emily looked heartsick. “You should have told me, Franny.” She dumped her untouched green beans back into the bowl and excused herself.

  “Hey,” Franny called after her. “I didn’t plan their visit, any more than I planned on Gertie sharing that fable about Merciless Mike Moody.” She narrowed her eyes, hoping to cast doubt on Gertie’s story. “It was a very tall tale.”

  Gertie harrumphed. “Except for that gold coin.”

  The boys gasped.

  It was all downhill from there.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JONAH POUNDED AWAY on his keyboard.

  Bo paced.

  Laurel’s knitting needles clacked.

  Even Mitch, sitting at the check-in desk, wasn’t silent. He kept staring at his fiancée and heaving heavy sighs.

  Shane wanted peace and quiet. His head hurt. And his brain was muddled.

  He’d blown it with Franny. And maybe it was for the best.

  His heart ached, refuting that thought.

  He felt like he was blowing his chance to save the town.

  His head pounded harder.

  “Is there more I should be doing for our side of things. I mean, about keeping the town?” Shane asked Laurel, because she was the one family member present who’d come with him to Second Chance in January.

  “That depends, doesn’t it?” Laurel lowered her knitting. “On what’s needed.”

  “He should be doing more around town,” Mitch said, taking a break from heavy sighs.

  “Dude, you almost got trampled by a bull.” Bo stopped pacing and shook his head. “Seriously, Shane. That’s enough volunteering for you.”

  “Likewise,” Shane murmured, turning to Jonah.

  His goateed cousin didn’t stop pounding on the keyboard. “I can’t answer, or I’ll lose my train of thought.” His fingers stilled. “I lost my train of thought. What was the question?”

  “Shane volunteering,” Laurel prompted.

  “Clearly, he’s not doing enough,” Jonah teased. “Or the inn would be full and there would be a line of folks clamoring to eat at the diner.” He had the most annoying grin. It got under Shane’s skin. “But never fear. Once my movie is made, the town will be filled with people searching for the elusive and unlucky gold. In the meantime, keep stepping up to the plate, buddy.”

  “But not when it comes to ranches or ranching because you’re not good at it.” Bo resumed pacing. “You should leave that serious stuff to the professional cowboys.”

  “Like you.” Shane snorted.

  Bo twisted his neck to the side and back, filli
ng the room with cracks. “You know, I could be out on an oil rig in the Gulf Coast making good money right now. Instead, I came here to contribute. If we find that gold—and we will, with or without Franny’s permission—that’s my contribution.”

  “And if we don’t find it?” Shane played devil’s advocate. “I’ve seen one of those feral bulls in the wild. He was huge.”

  “How huge?” Jonah asked. “Purely for research purposes.”

  “As-long-as-a-minivan huge.” Shane blew out a breath, making a decision. “I don’t care if we don’t have confirmation if Merciless Mike Moody existed or not. I’m taking the idea of a festival to celebrate the Old West and running with it.”

  “Is that because you want to stay in town longer and get to know a certain rancher?” Bo waggled his dark eyebrows.

  Shane let that question go unanswered. He wasn’t about to tell Bo he was staying because he wanted to prove to his father and his generation of Monroes that he could make lemonade out of any lemons someone threw his way.

  Because that would be lying to himself.

  * * *

  “EMILY?” FRANNY CALLED to her from downstairs. “Shouldn’t you be leaving for the trading post soon?”

  The front door banged open and closed. Emily figured Franny was taking refuge in the barn.

  Her sister-in-law was in a mood. It had something to do with Gertie and her love affair with Merciless Mike. The tension was thicker at the Bucking Bull than any time before, even when Emily had first put forth the idea of working in town.

  “I should have left five minutes ago,” Emily muttered, as she gritted her teeth and continued wrestling her hair with the flat iron. She’d run out of her special conditioner a week ago and with everything going on, she hadn’t had time to drive to Ketchum to buy a new bottle.

  Her hair refused to be tamed.

  “I have feral hair,” she mumbled.

  But at least she had on her favorite black blouse. If Bo came by the trading post today, she’d toss her hair over her shoulders—because it looked halfway decent that way—and let the blouse do the talking.

  I’ll have more things to say to him today.