Ethan opened his mouth. But Dr. Terry pointed his fork at him and shook it until Ethan closed his mouth, having lost the urge to respond.
Nodding, Dr. Terry said, “Come to think of it, son, I don’t much like my patients these days.”
Ethan watched Dr. Terry shuffle toward the waiting area. He wondered which he should rescue first, the pastry sliding off the paper plate, or Norman. The old doctor would probably stab him with the fork if Ethan offered to help him into a chair. Still, Ethan stepped forward, prepared to intervene if the pastry, or Dr. Terry, listed too far toward the floor.
Dr. Terry dropped into the cushioned chair with only two pops and a small creak. Setting his plate on his lap, he looked up at Ethan. “You’re welcome to all my patients.”
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. He’d come to discuss buying into Dr. Terry’s practice and a finance contract for the purchase. He hadn’t come to take Dr. Terry’s patients. “I don’t have a license, or practice in the state of Montana.”
“You passed the veterinary board exam?” Dr. Terry stabbed his pastry and lifted it up like a massive lollipop.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
Dr. Terry took a bite of his pastry and considered Ethan while he chewed. “Then you’ll work under my license until you get your Montana one.”
Ethan stomped down the jolt of excitement. “You want me in your practice?”
“Heck, I’m giving you my practice.” Dr. Terry slapped the pastry on his plate, tossed his fork on the chair beside him and used his hands to pull it apart. “I’ve lost my patience for all the complaints. You can’t imagine what people find to complain about. Last I heard I ate too many apple turnovers, so I switched to bear claws. Although, I’m not sure what my taste in pastries has to do with my skills at treating animals.”
Ethan interrupted the doctor’s pastry quandary to get him to focus on what mattered. “You can’t give me your practice.”
“Why not?” Dr. Terry shoved a piece of bear claw into his mouth and studied Ethan as if Ethan could solve the local pastry debate.
Ethan wasn’t exactly sure why Dr. Terry couldn’t give him his practice. He just knew that the older doctor couldn’t.
“I don’t have any heirs.” Dr. Terry wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, seeming to have forgotten his napkin. “But I’ll warn you, the clinic could’ve used an update more than two decades ago.”
Ethan wondered if he should step outside and walk in again. Surely, then, this would all make sense. “You’re serious?”
“I don’t joke about whiskey, or my practice. Ever.” Dr. Terry finished his pastry and set the plate on the other chair beside him. He pushed himself up and shuffled into the kitchen, motioning for Ethan to follow. “But I’ll be checking in daily. I don’t want the folks in town to think I’ve abandoned them and their pets.”
“I have really poor credit.” He felt like he had to say something. Anything.
“And I’ve got arthritis and bone spurs.” Dr. Terry glanced at Ethan over his shoulder. “What’s your point?”
“I can’t buy into your practice.” Ethan followed Dr. Terry into what would’ve been the master bedroom originally, but had been converted into an office.
“I’m not asking you to.” Dr. Terry shuffled around the desk and opened several drawers. “I’m asking you to take over the practice once you get your license.”
“But you need to get something out of your practice.” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and waited in the doorway. “You’ve been working in this town for more than fifty years.”
“Been a good run. A very good, but a very long run.” Dr. Terry moved over to a three-drawer filing cabinet and opened each drawer. “Got very few complaints until recently. Hopefully you can say the same when it comes time to hand off the practice to the next generation.”
“Was the clinic given to you?” Ethan asked.
“Nothing is ever free, son.”
“What’s the catch?” Ethan eyed the older gentleman. He’d always believed in too-good-to-be-true. In his experience, there was always a catch. A but. A however.
“Simple.” Dr. Terry pulled an envelope out of the bottom drawer in the filing cabinet and straightened. “You promise not to move your practice out of Falcon Creek.”
“I want to open a large-animal clinic out at the Blackwell Ranch.” As long as the brothers agreed not to sell the Blackwell Ranch. But he’d deal with his brothers later. Right now he needed to know the real catch to Dr. Terry’s offer. The I-am-giving-you-my-practice-however phrase.
“I can’t wait to see that.” Dr. Terry’s eyes opened behind his thick glasses and something cheerful colored his voice. “The townsfolk will be happy to have those services here finally.”
“I have to buy into your practice.” Ethan stepped into the office, closer to Dr. Terry. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“You remind me of myself, son.” Dr. Terry smiled as if he enjoyed the memory of the man he used to be. “I might’ve used those very same words back when I stood in your place.”
“Then we can work out a price?” Ethan asked.
“We’re going to use the same price that Dr. Vincent Reid gave me over fifty years ago.”
Finally, Ethan had a price. Something to work with. He wasn’t sure how he’d get a bank loan, but he’d figure that out later. For now, he wanted to make a deal with Dr. Terry. “That seems fair.”
Dr. Terry handed him the envelope he’d pulled out of the bottom drawer in the file cabinet. “Inside you’ll find the contract and buy-in price. After you’ve looked over the paperwork, come find me at Misty Whistle.” Dr. Terry tapped on the glass of his large round watch. “It’s time for my afternoon coffee and bear claw.” Never mind that Dr. Terry had already polished off a bear claw not five minutes earlier.
The older gentleman tapped Ethan’s shoulder on his way out of the office. “Feel free to look around and take stock. I’ve not changed much since I moved in. I’m not much for this computer age stuff. I still prefer a firm handshake and looking a person in the eye when you make a deal. But you’ll bring some much-needed youth to the place. Building’s got good bones. Have to respect that when you update. Honor the past, but build for the future.”
Dr. Terry waved and shuffled out to the waiting room. Several minutes later, the front door slammed. If Ethan was buying into this practice and if this was all on the up and up, he’d fix that door first. He didn’t want any of his already nervous patients becoming even more jumpy with a slamming front door.
Ethan opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers held together with a binder clip.
The top page was a blank contract, listing the buy-in price as twenty-five US dollars.
Ethan dropped back onto the desk and skimmed the contract. Dr. Terry had been right. The catch was that the signee couldn’t move the practice out of Falcon Creek. The second stipulation referred to the buy-in price. The buy-in price would be calculated on how long the signee agreed to run said clinic. The buy-in price was set at one dollar per year. The last stipulation required the signee to agree to find a suitable replacement and run said clinic until such time that a suitable replacement could be located. Further, the signee agreed to offer his, or her, replacement the same deal and contract.
Ethan flipped through the rest of the paperwork and discovered Dr. Terry’s notarized original contract, as well as Dr. Vincent Reid’s. The contracts extended back generations. It was a tradition. One that Ethan was more than happy to continue. He’d just found his own legacy outside of the Blackwell Ranch, yet he didn’t have to leave home to build it. And if it all worked out as he’d hoped, he already knew a special little girl that might one day want to step in to run the clinic with her uncle Ethan.
Ethan explored the place, noted some of the changes that needed to have happened yesterday and hurried back to Brewster’s.
He fou
nd Grace in a rocking chair on the front porch with Pops and Whiskers. Her eyes were closed, but her smile gave her away. She was only pretending to rest, whether to appease her grandfather, or her parents, or Ethan, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care. As long as she took a break every once in a while.
Ethan strode up the stairs and crossed the porch. “Grace, can I borrow twenty-five dollars?”
She never hesitated. Never opened her eyes. “Sure.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” Ethan stood in front of her rocking chair, his hands on his hips as he tried to contain the frenzied buzz inside him. How had he won the love of this woman? He didn’t deserve her, but he wasn’t letting her go either.
She opened her eyes and peered at him. “You’re buying me and Pops lunch from Clearwater Café.”
Pops chuckled and picked up his water glass. “If you are buying lunch, son, I’ll take the burger and sweet potato fries.”
“Consider your order placed, Pops.” He opened the main door for Pops and returned to Grace. She hadn’t moved from the rocking chair. She really was taking her rest seriously. He liked that, but he wanted her attention.
“Can I place an order too?” she asked.
“It’ll take another twenty-five dollars.”
Grace stopped the rocker and finally looked at him. “What happened to the first twenty-five?”
“I’m using it to buy into our future.” He adjusted his baseball cap backward to make sure she saw him. To make sure she understood he was serious. “By way of Dr. Norman Terry’s practice.”
“You can’t be serious.” Grace jumped out of the rocking chair. “What happened?”
Ethan handed her the thick envelope Norman had given him. His hand shook. “It’s all in there. I’m still a little stunned myself.”
Grace opened the envelope and read through the papers. “This actually looks legit.”
“We’ll need to have Ben check it over, but I think it’ll pass.” Ethan set the paperwork on her rocking chair and took her hands in his. “So, what do you say? Can I borrow twenty-five dollars?”
“For our future, I’ll give you everything,” Grace said.
“You already have.” He couldn’t imagine what more she could give him. “Now it’s my turn to give you everything too.”
Ethan dropped to one knee and kept his gaze fixed on the woman who’d taught him to believe in the impossible. He’d give thanks to her for that gift every day. “Grace Gardner, you have my heart and all the best parts of me. I can’t promise our life will be easy, or lucrative. But I can promise I’ll be by your side every moment and every step of the way.”
Her big smile disrupted the tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t let go of Ethan’s hands.
He squeezed her hands and said, “I love you, Grace. Will you marry me?”
Grace lunged toward him, tackling him backward onto the porch. Her reply came in between their kisses, broken only by the laughter and cheers from their family and friends looking on from inside Brewster’s. Ethan Blackwell was truly happy to be home.
EPILOGUE
Dutch Country, Pennsylvania
ELIAS BLACKWELL PUSHED on the yarn mane of an oak rocking horse and shook his head. He’d run around as a kid with a broomstick for a horse. Until his father had discovered him and dropped him on his first live pony. He’d been four years old. He’d rarely left the saddle since then. He’d rarely left the Blackwell Ranch since then.
Until recently, when his regrets and mistakes had finally overtaken his pride. Ironic that he’d had to leave his home of more than seventy years to right his world.
“Big E, you’ve got to see this,” his wife called. “It’s the most adorable thing.”
Big E weaved through the collection of handmade furniture. Each piece had been created by an Amish craftsman skilled in the art of woodwork. There wasn’t a detail that the craftsman had overlooked.
Big E could’ve used such a keen eye during his selection of wives over the years. Perhaps if he’d been more adept at the details he’d have chosen differently. For instance, he might’ve fallen for a woman more thoughtful and less frivolous than his current wife, Zoe.
As it was, he had no trouble locating Zoe in the crowded outdoor furniture market, what with her two-foot-wide, polka-dot floppy hat adorned with purple and orange feathers. The wide brim cast a shadow over her matching polka-dot dress and bright pink heels. She’d adored her Preakness attire so much, she’d worn it again today.
Zoe beamed and ran a manicured nail over the top of an oak bassinet. “Isn’t this precious?”
Not that he was well-versed in nursery furniture, but he could appreciate the quality. And thanks to an early-morning text, he knew exactly who could use such an item. He motioned for assistance and strode off to pay for the bassinet to Zoe’s delighted claps.
Zoe continued her browsing, calling out every other minute about a lovely table, or the perfect chair, or the most delightful bed frame. Big E waved her on with a smile and a nod, encouraging her to drift farther and farther down the roadside mart and away from the parking lot.
One of the younger workers loaded the bassinet into the RV and Big E loaded himself into the driver’s seat.
He pulled the RV out onto the road, honked the horn and waved goodbye to a shouting and cursing Zoe Petit. He grabbed her yellow tote bag, tossed it out the window and kept on driving.
After all, he wasn’t completely heartless.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
The Rancher’s Redemption
from USA TODAY bestselling author
Melinda Curtis.
Ben, the next Blackwell brother,
has finally met his match!
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The Rancher's Redemption
by Melinda Curtis
NEVER LOOK BACK.
That’s what Ben Blackwell’s grandfather, Big E, always said.
At least, that’s what he used to say. Back when he and Ben used to talk. Back before Big E eloped with Ben’s fiancée. Back before Ben left trail dust, worn boots and Montana behind to be a top public utilities lawyer in New York City.
And now, Ben was doing more than looking back, he’d gone back. Home to Falcon Creek and the Blackwell spread, which had been a cattle ranch for five generations, but was now also a dude ranch.
“Big E wants us to call it a guest ranch,” Ethan, Ben’s twin, had corrected him when he’d muttered something about dudes on the phone last week.
Seemed like Ben had been muttering ever since—about his bossy older brother, Jonathon, who wanted him home ASAP. About his younger twin brothers, Tyler and Chance, who couldn’t seem to be bothered to help at the family homestead. About the grandfather whose picture was in the dictionary under selfish. And about the small-town attorney who was suing the ranch for water rights.
At thirty-two, Ben was too old to be again dragged into the family drama that orbited Big E and the Blackwell Ranch.
Too big for your city britches, more like.
That was his grandfather’s voice in his head. That voice had been talking nonstop since Ben had agreed to return to Falcon Creek.
You have arrived, big shot.
And he had.
Ben got out of his Mercedes, punched his arms into his suit jacket and tried to ignore the stifling feeling from being buttoned-up in the afternoon heat. He’d just flown from New York to Montana, and then driven to Falcon Creek without stopping. He didn’t plan to stay more than a few days, a week, tops.
Across the street, Pops Brewster glanced up fro
m his chess game on the porch of Brewster Ranch Supply to get a good look at the city slicker. Annie Harper slammed too hard on her truck brakes as she pulled up to the stop sign, gaze ping-ponging between Ben and the intersection. In the Misty Whistle Coffee Shop parking lot, Izzy Langdon tipped his straw cowboy hat up, the better to ogle Ben’s ride.
Rachel Thompson opened the door to the law office of Calder & Associates, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ben. “Late, as usual, Blackwell.”
“Welcome home,” Ben muttered, walking around a knee-high weed bending over the sidewalk that led to the steps of a white clapboard shack. What was now a legal office had been built over a hundred years ago probably, not long after the town had been founded. “Traffic was gridlocked getting out of Bozeman.” Which was like saying traffic in the Mojave Desert was bumper-to-bumper.
Overexaggeration. Hyperbole. Sarcasm.
It was completely lost on Rachel. She spun on her high heels without so much as a roll of her eyes.
Copyright © 2018 by Melinda Wooten
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The Rancher's Rescue Page 24