by R. C. Ryan
“Now you tell me.” Ash put his arm around Brenna’s shoulders and nuzzled her cheek. “Whatever the occasion, you know I’m happy to be celebrating it with you.”
“Uh-huh.” With an impish grin Brenna smiled at Myrna, whose cap of white curls bounced with every step she took. “I suppose, if you’re feeling guilty enough, I could get a new washer out of this. Or maybe something really big, like a new truck at Orin Tamer’s dealership. But the truth is, babe, you haven’t forgotten a thing. I just thought you’d want some comfort food after dealing with all that branding for the past week.”
“Whew.” Across the table, Whit made a big production of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. “You really ducked a trap this time, bro.”
“Yeah.” Ash lifted Brenna’s hand to his mouth and planted a wet kiss in her palm. “See how she pampers me?”
“Don’t be fooled, bro.” Whit dug into his sundae. “Our Brenna’s smart. That means she’ll figure a way to get what she wants even without playing on your guilt.”
Brenna dimpled. “Better eat that dessert as fast as you can, or you may find it dumped over your very adorable head, my sweet brother-in-law.”
“That’s ‘bro-in-law’ to you, Bren.” He held up his now-empty bowl. “And you’re too late.”
Around the table, the others enjoyed the banter while they finished their desserts.
Afterward, they lounged comfortably, drinking coffee and discussing the week’s activities on the thousand-plus acres that made up the mighty MacKenzie ranch.
With the sudden, shocking murder of Bear MacKenzie, the operation of the ranch had fallen to his three sons and his widow, Willow. Since Maddock’s accident, he’d merged his ranch with that of his son and had commandeered the kitchen chores, much to Myrna’s dismay. Though the two shared some cooking skills, Mad’s overbearing personality often drove Myrna to hide out in other parts of the house. But when she did work in the kitchen, she was more than ready to stand up to the old curmudgeon. And though they enjoyed spirited arguments, there was an underlying affection that was obvious to everyone.
Ash turned to his mother. “Any news from Chief Pettigrew on the investigation into Dad’s …death?” As always, the very mention of Bear MacKenzie’s murder at the hands of an unknown coward who had shot him with a long-range rifle caused a chilling silence around the table.
Willow shook her head. “As a matter of fact, Ira called this morning just to touch base and let me know he was doing all he could. The state police crime lab has concluded the estimated distance the bullets traveled. That’s an important step in the investigation. Once they determine the exact location where the shooter was concealed, they can begin going over the area with a fine-tooth comb. Ira assured me that if even a single thread of evidence exists, they’ll find and identify it.”
Mad patted his daughter-in-law’s hand. “Keep the faith, lass. They’ll get the coward who shot Bear.”
She nodded. “I know, Mad. But every time I go into town, I can’t help thinking that someone smiling at me, talking to me, could be Bear’s killer.” She shuddered. “I can’t bear the thought that such a monster is still walking around, enjoying his life, while Bear is…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
Brady Storm, always sensitive to Willow’s emotions, quickly changed the subject. “I saw Lance McMillan fly in that sleek new plane. What did he want?”
At the mention of their longtime lawyer’s son, who had recently taken over his father’s practice, Willow sighed. “I told him his father knew better than to interrupt a rancher at branding time. And without even the courtesy of a phone call. But he said he was on his way up to join his father on a fishing trip in Canada, and it was Mason who’d wanted me to sign some papers.”
Mad looked over. “What kind of papers?”
Willow shrugged. “Lance said they were just routine documents needed after the death of a spouse. I told him to leave them for me in the office and I’d read them later, when I have my wits about me.”
“Good.” Mad nodded his approval. “Mason would have never brought documents for a signature without taking the time to explain them thoroughly.”
Willow gave a short laugh. “That’s what I said, though in truth I didn’t want to give him any more of my time. The irony is, after I took my shower I went to Bear’s office to read them, and they weren’t there. When I phoned Lance, he said he’d spotted some typos and taken them back to be corrected. He has them with him in Canada. Now he’ll have to bring them to me when he gets back from his fishing trip with Mason.”
“So his visit was a waste of time.”
“I don’t know about Lance’s time, but it was certainly a waste of mine.”
Willow looked up as Whit clapped a hand on the foreman’s back. “How about a beer at Wylie’s?”
Brady nodded. “I’m in.” He turned to Griff. “You joining us?”
Griff smiled. “Good idea. Willow? Mad? Ready for a night in town?”
Both Willow and Mad shook their heads.
Whit turned to the newlyweds. “Ash and Brenna?”
The two turned to one another, smiled, and shook their heads in unison. Ash spoke for both of them. “Thanks, but we’ll pass tonight.”
Whit waved a hand toward the others. “What did I tell you? The way those two are looking, I’m betting that before the night’s over my big brother will be promising his lady love that new truck she’s been mooning over.”
“Nobody deserves it more,” Ash said, stonefaced.
“Oh, man.” Whit turned away with a mock shudder. “Now I really need a beer at Wylie’s to wash away the taste of all that sugar.”
At that, everyone burst into gales of laughter. Even Myrna joined in as the men made ready to leave for town.
As the others headed outside, Mad snagged Brady’s arm.
The foreman turned back with an arched brow. “Something wrong, Mad?”
“I want your take on Griff. How’s he working out?”
“Even better than I expected. Oh, he’s green. No doubt about it. But he’s a quick study. You show him what to do, he gets it done.”
“So he’s not just coasting on the fact that he’s Bear’s other son?”
Brady chuckled. “You know how gossip spreads like a range fire on a ranch of this size. Let one person know something, all of Montana knows it the next day. So the fact that he’s Bear’s son is no secret around here. But I’ve never once seen him use it as leverage. He’s tough. This is a marine who’s seen his share of war. Now, with that life behind him, he’s ready for the next stage of his life.”
“How about Ash and Whit?” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You see any power plays between them and this newcomer?”
“Not one bit. Even though it’s been a bitter pill for them to swallow, finding out their father had another son, they’ve stepped up to it like men. I haven’t seen a trace of jealousy or animosity between them and Griff.” The foreman paused. “Bear would be proud of them, Mad. And so should you. Every time I look at Griff I see Bear.”
As he walked away, the old man blinked hard against the sudden tears. Damned dust motes. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose before turning his wheelchair toward his suite of rooms down the hallway.
Copper Creek, more than an hour’s drive from the ranch, was little more than a main street, with rows of shops and stores, a church, a school, a medical center, and a town hall connected with a jail and a courthouse. The Boxcar Inn was a real boxcar turned into the town’s favorite restaurant, and owned by a retired railroad conductor and his wife. It was no competition for Wylie’s Saloon, the official watering hole for the surrounding ranchers, who had been drinking with the owner for thirty-plus years. But the food at the Boxcar was a hundred times better than the greasy burgers at Wylie’s.
“Hey, Whit. Griff.” Nonie Claxton, a waitress at Wylie’s Saloon since it first opened, paused while juggling a tray holding half a dozen longnecks. She wiped stringy orange ban
gs from her eyes as she gave Brady Storm a long, admiring look. “How lucky can a girl get? Three sexy cowboys. Park somewhere, boys, and I’ll take your order in a minute.”
Seeing no seats left at the bar, they grabbed a table in the middle of the smoky room. Within minutes Nonie returned and set three frosty longnecks in front of them.
Griff nodded toward a noisy table in the corner. “Who’re the guys in uniform?”
Nonie glanced toward the assortment of men in wheelchairs, others balancing crutches or canes across their laps. Several wore faded military fatigues. “They call themselves Romeos.”
At Griff’s arched brow she laughed. “They’re all part of the band of veterans who spend time at the Grayson Ranch. It’s a take on the owner’s name. The widow Grayson. Her name’s Juliet. Get it? Romeos? Juliet?” She nodded toward Whit. “Your brother here could probably tell you about the place.”
Whit shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know that much about it, except that when Buddy Grayson’s widow came back to Montana to take over the ranch, she offered to turn it into some kind of therapy place for wounded vets.”
“How can a ranch be a therapy place?” Brady asked.
Again that shrug as Whit said, “I don’t have a clue. I’m thinking it’s like a dude ranch. All phony, and not a working wrangler in sight.” He turned. “Maybe we ought to ask the Romeos about their Juliet.”
Just saying those names had him grinning, and Griff and Brady chuckled at the joke.
A short time later Griff felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see a bearded man in a faded denim shirt and torn jeans, seated in a wheelchair and grinning from ear to ear.
“I thought that was you, Captain. What in hell are you doing in Copper Creek?”
It took Griff a moment to place the face, but the gravelly voice was unmistakable. “Jimmy? Jimmy Gable?” He was up and leaning over to grab the bearded man in a bear hug.
When the two had stopping punching one another’s shoulders, Griff stood back. “I thought your home was somewhere back East. What are you doing way out here in Montana?”
“Wanted to see how the other half lived.” The man chuckled at the look on his old marine buddy’s face. “Okay. Truth. After my little…accident…”
He looked down at his empty pants legs before smiling. Griff was forced to fight back a rush of sudden emotion, seeing the young marine who’d always been a whirlwind of activity now confined to a wheelchair.
“…a guy I met at the VA hospital invited me to join a group called the Romeos,” Jimmy continued. “They spend a lot of time at some ranch.”
“Playing cowboy?” Griff asked drily.
Jimmy shrugged. “Something like that, I guess. And since that was just about the best excuse I could think of to get away from my doting family, I jumped at the chance.”
With a grin, Griff turned to introduce Jimmy to Whit and Brady. After a round of handshakes, Griff took a seat beside the younger man. “I thought you were leaving the Corps when I did.”
“I planned on it. I had only another month when my luck ran out.”
“How bad is it?”
Jimmy’s voice lowered. “I won’t be running any marathons.” He brightened. “But then, I was never much of a runner anyway. The doctors think I’m a good candidate for prostheses.”
“That’s great. How long will you have to wait?”
The younger man shrugged. “I’m working with a doctor who is hooking me up with a guy he calls a genius at these things. But it all takes time. And while I’m waiting, I thought I’d take a break from my family. Ever since I got home, they’ve been all over me. Won’t let me do a thing. Running ahead to open doors, picking up anything I drop before I even know I dropped it.”
Griff chuckled. “Don’t fault them, Jimmy. You know they love you.”
“Yeah. And they’re smothering me with all that love.”
He studied Griff, whose already muscled body was now honed to perfection, his skin tanned from weeks in the hills with the herd, and nodded at his wide-brimmed hat hanging on the back of his chair. “Something tells me you’ve turned into the real deal. A cowboy.”
Griff couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his features. “Guilty.”
Jimmy nodded toward Whit, seated across the table. “Did I hear you call him your brother?”
Griff chuckled. “You did. And yeah, before you ask, I’m as new at this family thing as I am at being a rancher.”
Jimmy looked at Brady, whose handsome, tanned face and white hair, along with a perfectly toned body, made him look like a poster boy for the State of Montana. “And is this your long-lost father?”
That had all of them chuckling.
“Brady is the foreman of my father’s ranch.”
“Okay.” Jimmy rubbed his hands together. “Now tell me about your mysterious father.”
With a glance at Whit, Griff was quick to say, “Maybe some other time. Right now, tell me about those Romeos.”
“Better than me telling you, why don’t you join us?”
Griff shrugged. “Join you for what?”
“A military reunion. We’re heading over to the Grayson Ranch tomorrow. Want to join us?”
Griff was already shaking his head. “Maybe, after chores—”
Brady interrupted. “After the week you put in, I think you deserve a day off. Grab it while you have the chance.”
Griff looked pleased. “You’re sure?”
When Brady gave a quick nod, Griff didn’t take any time to consider. “Why not? If it’s got something to do with veterans, I’m intrigued. Just tell me where and when.”
“We’ll be heading over around noon. I’m told it’s somewhere out in that vast expanse of wilderness folks around here call a hop, skip, and a jump from town.”
Whit was smiling as he added, “I know where it’s at. I’ll give you directions before you head out tomorrow, bro.”
Jimmy drained his beer. “I’d better get back to my buddies. Nice to meet you fellas. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain. We’ll reminisce about the good times we had in the hills of Afghanistan.” He turned to Whit and Brady. “That’s where the captain got that pretty scar.”
The others glanced at the thin white scar that ran from below Griff’s ear to disappear below the collar of his shirt.
“An insurgent breached our security while we were all sleeping, and slit the captain’s throat. He’d planned on wiping out our entire company with the explosives he was wearing. Though he nearly bled to death, the captain saved our entire company. A grateful military awarded him a Purple Heart. So I have him to thank for still being around.”
With a twinkle in his eye Jimmy turned his wheelchair and returned to the table in the corner, where the voices grew louder with each round of longnecks.
Whit narrowed his gaze on Griff. “‘Purple Heart’? ‘Captain’? ”
Griff tipped up his longneck. “Not anymore. Now I’m just a ranch hand learning how to shovel manure.”
“And doing a damned fine job,” Whit exchanged a look with Brady, who gave a quick shake of his head, discouraging any further questions. It was obvious that Griff was reluctant to talk about himself.
Whit then caught Nonie’s eye and lifted his empty bottle. Within minutes she’d brought them another round of drinks, and the talk turned, as always, to the daily grind of running a ranch the size of Rhode Island.
Chapter Two
Summer had settled in to Montana, bringing with it hot, sunny days and warm nights perfumed with bitterroot. The pale pink blossoms covered the hills around the MacKenzie Ranch.
Griff leaned against the sill and stared at the scene outside his window. Everything on this vast ranch seemed more. More space to roam. More cattle than any one man could count.
An eagle soared high above the herds that darkened the landscape. For as far as he could see, this land belonged to the MacKenzie family. His family now. The thought had him frowning. It didn’t seem possible. After gro
wing up dreaming about the father he never knew, he’d now acquired a grandfather, two half brothers, and a stepmother who still looked more like the model she’d once been than the rancher’s widow she was now.
What was even more impossible to process was the fact that before his death, Bear MacKenzie had not only accepted the truth that Griff was his son but had included him in his will, leaving a portion of all of this to him if he decided to stay and become a rancher. If Griff chose instead to walk away, he would relinquish his share but would find himself a very rich man.
He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. How could anyone starved for family turn his back on all this for mere money? What Bear had offered, and what Willow MacKenzie had agreed to when she’d learned of her husband’s will, was worth so much more than wealth. She and her family had accepted him as one of them.
He’d arrived here an angry, bitter man, war-weary from three tours of duty, expecting to resent the sons who had been privileged to grow up alongside their powerful rancher father. Instead he’d been made welcome, and was learning, by trial and error, to become worthy to be called Bear MacKenzie’s other son.
It was proving to be a difficult transition. He’d been a loner all his life. Tough, angry, and always fighting against the rules. Now he’d acquired a big, noisy family that worked together like a well-oiled machine. He found himself working overtime just to keep up, and wondering if he’d ever fit in.
“Hey, bro.”
Outside in the hallway, Whit pounded a fist on the closed door as he headed for the stairs. “If you’re late for breakfast, I get your steak.”
Griff was still buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his jeans as he made a wild dash to the kitchen. “If Mad’s making steak and eggs, you’ll lose your hand if you even think about touching mine.”
The old man looked up from his wheelchair positioned in front of the stove, where he was flipping steaks onto a platter. “Any fighting at the table, the two of you will be shoveling manure for the rest of the day.”