by Naomi Niles
She took me up the stairs and led me past a long line of doors I could only assume were her sons’ bedrooms. She stopped at a door at the far end of the hall and held it open for me to enter. Smiling warmly, she said, "This will be your room. You're to stay here while you're working. Riverbend has a little hotel, but I wouldn't hear of putting you up in it."
The room was lovely, with the bed covered by a hand-stitched quilt made of different shades of pink that perfectly matched the flowers on the curtains. The bed was made of maple with a matching bureau and wardrobe closet.
I crossed the room admiringly to look out the window by the bed. It had a magnificent view of the ranch stretching out across the horizon. Fields of lush green pasture were surrounded by sturdy wooden fences. Wild forest land stretched out beyond into the distance, while closer to the ranch house were barns, sheds, outbuildings, and equipment. A man was walking past, leading a pair of horses by the reigns, and I caught my breath.
He was incredibly handsome, with chiseled features and a muscular physique. He looked strangely out of place amongst the rustic surroundings of the ranch, for he was wearing a dark gray suit, a white shirt, and a bright blue and green striped tie. The garment looked expensive and had been tailored to fit his body to perfection.
"I think you have company," I said to Margie. "Some kind of lawyer or FBI agent is here to see you."
She looked out the window and laughed merrily. "That's just my son, Colton. He takes care of the business end of the ranch, and all the bookkeeping, accounting, and invoicing. I'd be lost without him. He's the oldest, born right here on the ranch thirty-six years ago.
“It looks like he's coming in for dinner. That means the rest of them will be, too. Follow me down to the kitchen and help me make dinner. You'll eat all your meals with us while you're here. I'll introduce to everybody at the table tonight."
I clutched my stomach as I trailed behind Margie, down the stairs and into the kitchen, which was the heart of the ranch house. The room smelled delicious, and I stared in wonder as she began chopping vegetables for a salad, her hands moving so quick I could hardly see.
"How can I help?" I gaped, and she slid the chopping block in front of me.
"Finish making the salad. I've got to whip the potatoes and get the roast out of the oven," Margie said, and my mouth began to water as she poured cream, butter, and sprinkled some chives into a giant pot of potatoes and mashed them until they were creamy smooth. It grew even worse when she pulled a fantastic roast from the oven and slid a baking sheet of garlic bread under the broiler to toast.
"This is a far cry from the frozen meals my mother used to cook in the microwave," I breathed as I helped her set all the food out on the large dining room table in the next room.
As if they had sensed the appearance of food, the Hutchinson men entered the room like a stampede, taking their plates and piling them high with their mother's good cooking.
Growing up an only child, I just staggered back out of the way, terrified I'd be trampled to death.
"Mind your manners. Can't you see we have a guest?" Mama swatted at her sons with a dish towel, and they immediately turned their eyes on me. I stood frozen, staring back at them. It was easy to see the family resemblance. They were a handsome bunch, with tan skin, strong features, and easy smiles.
"You've met Brett. This is Travis, Thomas, Will, and Colton," Margie introduced each of her sons from youngest to oldest.
She'd spoken of them all so warmly during the tour, I felt like I already knew them, but it was still nice to be able to put a face with each of their names. They ranged in age from twenty-two to thirty-six, with a wide range of hobbies and careers, although they all still helped work on the ranch whenever they could. Margie was quite proud of them all, and rightfully so.
"And what brings a pretty thing like you out to the Hutchinson Ranch?" Brett asked, giving me a flirtatious wink from across the table.
"Your mother hired me to create some paintings of the ranch," I said, matter-of-factly.
"What for? We see enough of it every day of our lives," Brett joked, and the other's laughed jovially.
"Except for the two who have bailed on us," Travis pointed out, indicating Will, who was wearing the brown uniform of the Sheriff's office with a gold star on his chest, and Thomas, whom Margie had told me was a teacher at the Riverbend Middle School.
"I work this ranch on my days off," Thomas defended himself. "Besides, I'd like to see any of you jerks handle a classroom full of adolescents."
"No, thanks. I'll take a jailhouse full of criminals any day," William laughed.
"And, I'll take a bucking bull at the rodeo," Brett chimed in.
"Not me. I love working the ranch," Travis insisted.
"Yeah, until a call comes in from the volunteer fire department. Then you rush off to battle some blaze for free," William jeered, and all the brothers laughed and took turns jibing each other.
It was the kind of loving banter that families did around the dinner table; the kind that I always longed for growing up. It wasn't mean spirited and none of them took it that way. It was fun, relaxed teasing between men who knew each other well and clearly cared about each other.
"It doesn't sound like we need any paintings of the ranch," a hard voice spoke from the far end of the table, and I looked to see Colton glaring across at me. He was the firstborn of Margie's sons and was still wearing the tailored suit I'd seen him in from my bedroom window, although he'd taken off the Stetson and hung it on a hook by the front door. He had thick, golden-brown hair, and the most incredible hazel-green eyes I'd ever seen.
Those penetrating eyes peered harshly at me as a hush came over the room. In a gravelly voice, he said, "Maybe you should just go."
"Colton! I raised you better than that!" Margie was aghast, and his brothers had turned dead silent as they stared from one to the other and then back at me.
Colton didn't flinch. He turned his gaze to Margie and explained quietly, "I just don't want to see you wasting your money on frivolous things like paintings."
"It's not a waste. Bethany is a fine artist. The best at landscapes that I've seen. Besides, how I spend my money is my business. If I want to buy an iceberg in the desert, then I'll do it."
"I'm not telling you how to spend your money, Mama; it's just I don't know if this is the best time to being doing a thing like that."
"Why not?" Margie insisted on knowing.
Colton looked down at his plate for a long time before breathing in a heavy sigh. Then he looked back up into her eyes and said quietly, "You know why, Mama."
"Well, if things are as bad as you say they are and I'm going to end up having to sell the ranch, then that's all the more reason to do what I'm doing. I hired Bethany so that when the Hutchinson Ranch is gone, each of you boys can have a painting of it to keep with you."
A lump caught in my throat knowing that was reason I was there. I hadn’t known any of these people before this day, but I could feel the weight of emotion in the air. I could tell that selling the ranch would be a serious loss to them all.
Colton rose from the table. "Damn it, Mama! You don't have to do that. I'm going to do whatever it takes to save this ranch."
He turned on me with anger flashing in his eyes, and I feared he would kick me out, but he didn't. Instead, he turned on his boot and stormed from the dining room.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I'd never witnessed that kind of exchange before. Things had gone from teasing to tense in just seconds.
Brett put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. With a smile and wink, he said, "Welcome to Hutchinson Ranch."
Chapter Two
Colton
"God damn it,&quo
t; I muttered to myself as I got out of bed the next morning. It was a new day, but I was still angry about last night.
Out of habit, I looked back over my shoulder to make sure Mama wasn't there to catch me swearing, but of course, the room was empty. She didn't approve of bad language, and as far as she was concerned, taking the Lord's name in vain was the worst kind.
I felt like a complete heel for the way I'd acted at dinner last night, fighting with Mama and being rude to Bethany Foster. It had just caught me by surprise to see her pull up on the ranch yesterday in her little blue hybrid car with all her college stickers plastered all over it. At first, I thought maybe she was a colleague of Thomas’ coming to talk to him about work. Then, when she stepped out of the car, it made my heart skip a beat and I had smashed my thumb inside the stapler on my desk.
Her golden, shoulder-length hair shimmered in the sun, and her eyes were as blue as the sky above. She was tiny with a petite frame, but her breasts were full and round, and I’d felt a stirring I hadn't felt in a long time. I had wanted to go out to greet her, but of course Brett beat me to it. He may be the baby of the family, but he was always determined to do things first, like he had something to prove.
It was all for the best. I was up to my neck in bookkeeping and couldn't really afford to leave the office out by the barn just to shake hands with a girl, no matter how pretty she was.
So, I buried my head in my work and forgot all about her. That was until I headed into the house for dinner and heard the sweet sound of her voice at the dining room table.
I hung my Stetson up on the hook by the door and smoothed my hands over my hair. A quick glance in the mirror across the room disappointed me, and I struggled to straighten my tie and button my jacket. My brothers got to enjoy the comfort of wearing jeans all day, but I had a lot of meetings with important bankers, investors, and clients. I'd discovered that I got a lot more respect when I met with them looking like a businessman, rather than a cowpoke.
That's why it had been so important to Dad that I get a degree in business to hang on the office wall.
"Times are changing, son," my father, James Hutchinson, had said to me before he died. "Men no longer conduct business with a handshake in the back of a barn. Now it's all done on computer by executives who have never even stepped foot on a farm. They take one look at a man like me and think I'm a know-nothing, redneck, hillbilly fool.
“You're going to end up running this ranch one day, and you need to be able to negotiate with them on their terms. Go to college, get a degree, buy a fancy suit, and show them that Hutchinson men are as good as anyone else."
So I had, and when I came home, Dad and I ran the business side by side while my brothers worked outside with the cattle. It was terrific, and the Hutchinson Ranch thrived – until the day someone shot Dad in the chest. It had been two years ago, but it still felt like yesterday. The pain, the shock, the horror, and the heartbreak were all still raw and fresh, although nobody talked about it.
Instead, we worked the ranch, raising Angus cattle and selling them by the pound to some of the top meat processing companies in the country. Things weren't the same without Dad, though, and about eighteen months ago, the ranch started losing money. I found bigger buyers and made better deals, but the ranch still wasn't showing a profit. In fact, this last quarter, we lost even more money than the one before.
It wasn't making sense, and worrying about it kept me awake at nights. There was something I was missing. Some important detail that was slipping past me; or maybe the market had turned and a cattle ranch just couldn't be as profitable as it once was.
It didn't matter why. The fact remained that if I couldn't turn things around and get this place to start turning a profit, the Hutchinson Ranch wouldn't be able to sustain itself.
I had talked to Mama about it. I didn't want to, but she caught me pacing in the night and forced me to confess.
"What's wrong, Colton?" She'd crept up on me in the kitchen around 1:00 a.m.
"Nothing. I just thought I heard a noise," I’d lied.
"Yeah, I did, too. Turns out it was you pacing a hole in my floor."
"Sorry." I smiled with chagrin as I looked down at the old worn hardwood floorboards.
"I know when something's on your mind, and you've been walking this kitchen floor every night for the past two weeks. When are you just going to fess up and tell me what's bothering you? You know I'll find out, anyway."
"Nothing, really," I’d lied again, even though I knew it was futile. She'd get the truth out of me just like when I was a kid and had broken the window of Dad's truck with my B.B. gun.
Still, I felt an obligation to protect her from the truth. Mama would be devastated if she learned I had run the family ranch into the ground. Dad had entrusted the administrative side of the business to me, and I had failed him. We were deep in debt, and soon we would have to sell everything off bit by bit just to survive.
Mama had given me that look of hers – the same one she used on all us boys when we were being less than honest about something. I’d cracked immediately and told her the whole ugly truth.
"Well, if we have to sell, then we have to sell, but there's still time. If anyone can find a way out of this, I know it's you." She'd kissed my cheek, like I was still a little kid.
Now, just a couple of weeks later, she's hired an artist to paint pictures of the ranch so we always have something to remember it by. What a huge waste of money at a time when we needed to watch every penny. What's worse is Mama did it as a safeguard for when I fail. Talk about a slap in the face. It was hard not to feel pissed off by such a betrayal. Did she have faith in me or not?
The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I felt. I needed to get away. Passing through the house, I searched for my hat so I could make a hasty retreat.
"You're in a hurry. Don't you want something to eat first?" Mama called out to me from the kitchen. She was holding a coffee pot in her hand and my favorite mug in the other.
My brothers were all seated at the dining room table, piling bacon and eggs onto their plates from the platter Mama had set in the in the center, while Bethany sat between them, looking like a delicate flower in the middle of a bramble bush. Our eyes locked for just a moment, and I had to turn away.
"No thanks. I've got an early phone call I have to make." I spotted my Stetson on a hook and grabbed it on my way out the door.
I headed to the office Dad had built next to the barn, picked up the phone, and got right to business. We needed more supplies, and I wanted to get the order in.
The call really could have waited, but I needed an excuse to get out of the house. I couldn't sit at a table with everyone staring at me after what had happened last night, least of all the pretty blonde artist.
No sooner had I hung up the line than Brett came in with a mug of coffee in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. He set them both down on my desk and then plopped himself down in the chair I kept for guests.
"Mama says you've got to eat," said he announced, as if I didn't already know that's how she'd react. There was no passing on a meal as far as Mama was concerned, no matter what the excuse.
My stomach rumbled at the smell of her cooking, and despite myself, I picked up the eggs, bacon, and cheese on toast and took a hearty bite.
Brett propped his feet up on the edge of my desk and said, "That Bethany Foster sure is hot. Did you see that dress she's wearing today?"
In fact, I had. Despite my attempt to exit the house quickly, the sight of her sitting at the table had been impossible to ignore. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a sexy ponytail, and she'd been wearing a pink sundress with lace around the neckline that framed her cleavage to perfection. Everything about her was feminine, delicate, and sweet.
In answer to Brett's question, I just took another bite of my sandwich and acted like I hadn'
t heard. In typical fashion, my baby brother just kept on talking, listing all the physical attributes he liked about her best. Finally, it was more than I could take.
"Aren't you going out with the pastor's daughter?" I asked pointedly.
"Nah. Things with her are moving too slow. Bethany's from the city. Those girls know how to have good time, if you know what I mean."
Irritated, I knocked his boots off my desk, and his feet fell to the floor with a harsh thump, making him sit up in his chair.
"You can't try to have sex with someone Mama hired to work here," I glared.
"It's not like she's an employee of the ranch. She's a freelance artist with a mind of her own. Mama said she needs someone to guide her around the ranch so she can pick the most scenic views, so I volunteered. Now, if she should develop feelings for me during her stay here, what kind of host would I be if I turned her down?"
The implications of Brett's warped fantasy were clear, and for some reason, it pissed me off.
"Shut up, and get out of here," I barked at him.
"Okay, don't be jealous. She's my age, not yours," Brett said with a cocky grin. "No way would she be interested in a stuffed shirt like you when she could have a real cowboy like me."
"I'm not jealous. I don't have time to hit on women. I just have a lot of work to do, and you're in the way."
"All right. Well, since you're not objecting, I'm going to go check on Bethany and see if she's ready for her tour." Brett winked to make sure I got the gist of his intentions and left.
Frustrated, I grabbed the papers in front of me on my desk and crumpled them into an angry wad before throwing them across the room. The paper ball rebounded off the closed office door and rolled back to land at my feet. I picked it up and threw it in the trash can by my desk with a defeated sigh.
Brett was always hitting on women and blustering about his conquests, so why was I so irritated? He was right. Bethany would never be interested in a guy like me, and even if she would, I didn't have time for a girlfriend. I had too much work to do. The fate of the farm was on my shoulders, and I was letting everybody down.