The Rebel of Copper Creek (Copper Creek Cowboys)

by R. C. Ryan

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Whit grinned at Griff as the two shared a laugh behind Mad’s back.

  The old man turned to give them a hairy eyeball. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Even grown men can misbehave, given the opportunity. But I do like the way Griff’s military attitude is rubbing off on you, lad.”

  Whit shot his grandfather one of his famous grins. “Now if only my charm with the ladies would rub off on Griff.”

  At Willow’s raised brow, Whit chuckled. “There were half a dozen hot chicks at Wylie’s last night, all giving big bro here that ‘let’s hook up’ look, and he spent all his time ignoring them and talking to a bunch of military guys over in the corner.”

  “Military guys here in Copper Creek?” Intrigued, Willow set down her coffee cup and turned to Griff. “There’s no military base for hundreds of miles. What were they doing here?”

  He shrugged. “They call themselves Romeos, because they’re involved in some kind of therapy at the Grayson Ranch.”

  “Ah.” Willow nodded. “I heard rumors that Buddy’s widow was living there, but I hadn’t heard any details. What kind of therapy are they involved in?”

  Griff shook his head. “I don’t have a clue.”

  Whit chuckled. “Since you’re going over there later today, Mom will expect you to have some gossip ready when you get home.”

  “You’re going to the Grayson Ranch?” Willow flushed, knowing she sounded a bit too eager. “It’s not gossip. But like everyone around town, I’m curious to know what’s going on there.”

  “We all are.” Mad wheeled closer to the table and began filling his plate as Myrna Hill passed around platters of steak and eggs, cinnamon toast, and little pots of jam.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Griff turned to Willow. “Isn’t it a working ranch like all the others around here?”

  “It was.” She tasted her steak and smiled at her father-in-law. “Perfect, Mad. How do you always manage to get my steak exactly the way I like it?”

  “I’m a genius in the kitchen.” He winked at his youngest grandson. “And don’t you ever forget it, laddie.”

  “As if you’d let me,” Whit deadpanned.

  Willow turned to Griff and picked up the thread of their conversation. “The Grayson Ranch is fairly small by Montana standards, but it used to be one of the finest around. Buddy Grayson was the last remaining member of his family. When he died, we expected the place to go up for auction. Instead we heard rumors that his widow had shown up to take over the operation.”

  “Good for her.” Griff took his time, savoring every bite of his breakfast. There’d been a time when he had only dreamed of meals like this. Now that it was a reality, he was determined to enjoy every moment. “So Buddy Grayson married a rancher. Did she grow up around here?”

  Willow shook her head. “I’m not sure, but I heard she comes from the Midwest.”

  Griff turned to Whit. “Not exactly ranching country. But then, I grew up right here in Montana, and the closest I ever came to a working ranch was on a field trip in third grade. We all got to feed some hogs and milk a cow.”

  “What?” Mad grinned at him over the rim of his cup. “Those teachers didn’t have you shoveling manure?”

  “They knew better. With a bunch of city kids like us, we’d have been holding our noses and climbing back onto the school bus, ready to hit the road at the first smell.”

  That had everyone around the table laughing.

  Griff returned the conversation to the Grayson Ranch. “So if this guy’s widow doesn’t know a thing about ranching, how does she expect to keep it going?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question around these parts.” Willow shrugged and turned to Brady Storm. “Have you heard how she’s doing?”

  He shook his head. “Word is, Jackie Turner, the ranch foreman since old Frank Grayson was running things, retired right after he heard about Buddy’s death. His heart was broken, and so was his spirit. Without somebody to ride herd on the few wranglers that are still there, the place is looking pretty shabby these days.”

  Willow pinned Griff with a look. “As long as you’re going there today, I expect a full report.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shot her a grin. “Maybe you’d like pictures?”

  “Words will be enough. At least for now,” she added with a smile. “Your father was a good friend to Frank Grayson. I think he’d be appalled at the thought of all that rich grazing land going to seed.”

  Mad nodded. “While some outsider turns the place into a spa.”

  Griff was quick to defend, even though he knew it was useless. “I don’t think it’s a spa. It’s a place for some kind of therapy.”

  “Massages. Therapy.” Mad scowled. “Same thing in my book. It’s probably some fancy dude ranch and spa.”

  Brady pushed away from the table. “I’m heading up to the highlands today. Whit, you coming with me?”

  “Yeah.” Whit turned to Griff. “I wrote directions to the Grayson Ranch. The far end of their ranch butts up to our north ridge. Take the interstate and you’ll be there in an hour. If you use the back roads, it’ll take closer to an hour and a half. But if you’d like to take the Cessna, you could be there in no time. I don’t know if their airstrip is still in good repair, but I know that Buddy used to keep a single-engine plane in one of the barns.”

  Mad’s head came up sharply. “You licensed to fly in Montana, lad?”

  Griff nodded. “After flying with Brady for the past month, I went to the county offices a couple of weeks ago and took the test. The formal documents came in the mail the other day.”

  The old man gave him a long look. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  Before Griff could respond, Mad’s mouth curved into a wide smile. “I see you play your cards close to the vest. Just like your pa.”

  Griff had no words.

  It was, he realized, the highest compliment Maddock MacKenzie could have paid him.

  It was a perfect day for flying. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. A gentle breeze was blowing in from the west.

  Griff had thoroughly enjoyed being tutored by Brady, who had regaled him with hair-raising stories of the early years working with Bear MacKenzie. During those long airborne hours, Griff and Brady had formed a bond, discovering that they both preferred reading biographies to fiction, watching suspense movies over outrageous comedies, and both had grown up without a male role model in their lives.

  Griff could see, through Brady’s eyes, the sort of man Bear MacKenzie had been. Blunt, hardworking, driven to succeed. A tough, demanding taskmaster who saved his harshest criticism for his own sons, believing it was the only way to assure that they would be able to survive in this unforgiving land.

  Maybe, Griff thought, he was lucky to have been spared that part of his education. Military school had been bad enough. He’d been forced to fight his way through the first couple of years. Growing up under the thumb of Bear MacKenzie would have been a lot tougher. Which explained why Bear’s son, Ash, had left in a rage after a particularly unjustly earned tirade, returning only after his father was dead.

  Griff adjusted his sunglasses before peering at the land below. Just as Whit had promised, it was easy to discern where MacKenzie land ended and Grayson land began. The undulating hills of MacKenzie land were black with cattle, with dozens of capable wranglers to tend the herds. The sparsely populated hills to the north were nearly barren, with only the occasional small herd grazing. Griff saw no sign of horsemen below.

  As the plane drew near the Grayson house and barns, the distinction was even clearer. There were gaps in large portions of the fences. The roofs of the buildings appeared worn and shabby, the barns were in need of paint, the sprawling house sported a sagging porch, and shingles were missing from the peaked roof.

  A couple of trucks and a shiny new bus were parked near one of the barns. After circling the barn and concluding that the asphalt strip looked safe e
nough, Griff brought the little Cessna in for a smooth landing.

  He was smiling as he opened the door and stepped down.

  “I hope you have a good explanation for making me wait a whole week.”

  The feminine voice was low, the words spoken in a tone that left no doubt that the one speaking was furious.

  Griff turned to see a slender girl in torn denims and a skinny T-shirt standing just inside the doorway of the barn, hands on her hips, dark eyes barely visible beneath a faded baseball cap, spitting daggers at him.

  His own eyes, hidden behind the mirrored sunglasses, widened in surprise.

  He stepped closer, his tone lowering to a growl to reveal his annoyance at this unexpected greeting. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You’d better beg my pardon. You were supposed to be here last Monday. You know how critical your equipment is to my operation. I can’t believe I haven’t heard a single word from you. And after you promised to repair that lift as soon as possible.”

  “Look.” Griff reached out a hand. “I don’t know who you think I am, but—”

  She was too busy chastising him to hear a word he said. “Just take a look at the mess I’ve been dealing with.”

  She turned away and stalked into the barn, expecting him to follow.

  He did, reluctantly, and was forced to remove his glasses in order to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. As he did, he became aware of a cluster of men in wheelchairs, all watching him in sullen silence.

  A movement to one side of the barn had him looking over at two little boys, cowering in the corner, staring wide-eyed at him.

  Sensing their alarm, he immediately tamped down on the angry words he’d been about to unleash. At least now, having met his new family, he understood why he’d spent a lifetime fighting that hair-trigger temper. It was a legacy from his father and grandfather, and he was determined to curb it before it took control of him.

  The girl snapped on a series of lights before pointing to the ceiling. “I hope you’ve brought all the right parts. I don’t want to hear that after keeping me waiting all this time, you can’t get this lift up and running properly without another holdup.”

  Using these moments to cool off, Griff studied the track that had been mounted to the ceiling, forming a circle around the midsection of the barn.

  Though his tone was still gruff, the words were muted. “I’m sorry about the missing parts, but you’ve made a mistake. I’m not the person you were expecting.”

  She spun around to face him. “Don’t tell me…” Her look went from fury to bewilderment. “You’re not here from Endicott Medical Supply?”

  “I’m here because a marine buddy of mine invited me to stop by and see the Romeos in action today.”

  For just an instant Griff thought she might break into tears. Then she composed herself. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been waiting…” She turned away and stuck her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans before shaking her head and kicking at a clump of dirt. “It doesn’t matter…”

  “Captain?” said a voice from the group of men.

  Griff turned. “Jimmy.”

  He watched as one wheelchair separated itself from the others, and Jimmy Gable rolled forward, his face wreathed in smiles.

  “Hey. You came to see us. I was engaged in a serious poker hand with my pal Hank when you came in. Since I figured it was the medical supply guy, I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

  “I said I’d come, so here I am.” Griff reached down to clap a hand on his friend’s back.

  Jimmy turned to the young woman. “This is Griff Warren. He and I served in Afghanistan together. He left shortly before me. Who’d have believed we’d run into each other here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Griff smiled at the young woman. “I’m from the MacKenzie Ranch just over those hills. I guess I’m looking for your mother.”

  Her head came up sharply. “My mother?”

  “Jimmy said this place belongs to Juliet Grayson.”

  “I’m Juliet.”

  At her words he couldn’t hide his surprise. “But I thought…” He swallowed and decided to try again. “Sorry. I was expecting someone—”

  “—older?” She nodded. Though she was trying for sarcasm, her voice betrayed a deep pain. “I guess ‘the widow Grayson’ confuses some people.” She turned away. “You’ve come all this way for nothing. I was just telling the Romeos that today’s therapy session is cancelled. In fact, it remains cancelled until I get this lift repaired.”

  Now that Griff had time to study the lift, he understood. “So this device is used to lift the men from their wheelchairs—”

  “—into the saddle. Exactly. Until this machine is repaired, everything grinds to a halt.”

  “And the repairs aren’t handled locally?”

  She shook her head. “The company is supposed to be flying the parts in from Helena. At least that’s what they’ve been telling me for the past week. But every day they come up with another excuse to put me off. When we spotted your plane, we thought we’d finally had some good luck.”

  “I’m sorry to get your hopes up and then dash them. How about your wranglers? Any of them know a little about electronics?”

  She gave an expressive lift of her shoulders. “I didn’t think to ask. The few wranglers left are so overworked, they can barely keep up with the day’s chores as it is.” She turned to him hopefully. “I don’t suppose you…?”

  “Sorry. I’m pretty good with my hands. But my specialty is woodworking.” He glanced at the ceiling, considering. “Besides, this isn’t something that can be done on a ladder. In order to take a look at that track, the company will need to send along a bucket lift for the repairs.”

  She nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  He turned to the two little boys, who hadn’t moved. “Yours?”

  She beckoned them closer, and when they hurried over to stand on either side of her, she gathered them close and hugged them.

  Getting down on her knees, she said, “This is Ethan and this is Casey.”

  Griff followed her lead and knelt down so that his eyes were level with theirs. He turned to the older one. “Hey Ethan. How old are you?”

  The boy buried his face in his mother’s arm.

  Jimmy Gable said in an aside, “The kid doesn’t speak.”

  “Efan’s six.” The younger one held up six fingers. Then he held up three fingers. “And I’m free.”

  Griff’s smile grew at the little boy’s attempt to speak clearly. “Three? And your brother is six? I bet you two are a big help to your mom.”

  The younger one nodded. “Efan can pour the milk on our cereal. Mom won’t let me ’cause I spill it.” He looked down for a moment while he considered his own skills. “Sometimes I feed the chickens, don’t I, Mama?”

  “Yes, you do. And you both do a fine job of helping.”

  When she got to her feet, Griff noticed that Ethan clung tightly to her leg and refused to look up. Little Casey, on the other hand, was content to stand beside her while he studied Griff with a look of open curiosity.

  Casey tipped his head back to peer up at him. “Are you a giant?”

  That had Griff laughing. “No. Sorry. I’m just a man.”

  The little boy pointed to the Cessna. “Is that yours?”

  “It belongs to my… family.” The word still caused him such a jolt, he had to give himself a mental shake.

  “My daddy flied planes,” Casey said proudly.

  “Flew,” Juliet corrected.

  The little boy nodded. “My daddy flew planes.”

  “Did you ever get to fly with him?”

  The little boy’s eyes grew round with surprise. “I wasn’t borned yet. But Efan got to watch, didn’t you, Efan?”

  The older boy buried his face in his mother’s frayed denims.

  Juliet turned to the group of men, who’d been watching and listening in silence. “I guess you all know what this means. No lift, no ridin
g. I’m sorry. Whenever Endicott gets this up and running, I’ll contact Heywood Sperry, and he’ll let the rest of you know. But at least we got in a little talk about exercise and nutrition.”

  As the men began moving toward the bus parked outside, they paused beside Jimmy to introduce themselves to Griff.

  “Hank Wheeler.” The heavily tattooed man gave a smart salute. “Any friend of Jimmy’s is welcome here.”

  “Stan Novak.” Rail-thin, head shaved, the man maneuvered his wheelchair close. “Did four tours of Afghanistan. One too many,” he added as he passed with a wave of his hand.

  “Billy Joe Harris” came a Southern twang. The young, bearded man had a face so round it resembled a basketball. His stomach protruded over the waist of his tattered shorts. “I saw you with Jimmy last night at Wylie’s.”

  “Yeah. Hey, Billy Joe.” Griff shook the man’s hand.

  A big man in a muscle shirt in red, white, and blue stripes started past Griff in his electric scooter until Jimmy Gable stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Hey, Sperry. Take a minute to say hi to my friend Griff Warren.”

  From the waist up, the man looked like a bodybuilder, with bulging muscles in his arms, and a lean, chiseled face that might have been handsome if it weren’t for his dark, glaring frown. He looked Griff up and down before dismissing him completely. “What’s he doing here, Gable? He doesn’t look to me like he needs therapy.”

  “The captain and I served together in Afghanistan. I invited him to come here and meet my…”

  The scooter rolled away before Jimmy had finished talking.

  The young veteran shot an embarrassed look at Griff. “Sorry. As you can imagine, there are a lot of angry hotheads in the group.”

  “No need to explain that to me. I served with guys like that. Remember?”

  Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah. I’m just glad you were the one who had to deal with them and not me.” Hearing the sound of an engine roaring to life, he turned his wheelchair away and headed out of the barn. “Gotta go. It’s Sperry’s bus, so he gets to call the shots.”