He’d received a hardship discharge from the Army and came home to take care of his brother and two sisters, even sending them all to college, just like his folks would have wanted. Now, to save the ranch, he’d had to go along with his siblings. He hated to do it, but his gallery sale wasn’t scheduled until six months down the road. He’d tried to stall things until then but was overruled, and the wheels started moving even before Karen had placed that call to Meredith. His sisters and Ty didn’t want to wait until the sale.
“Why bet against a sure thing?” Karen had asked.
The Rattlesnake Ranch was going to become the Rattlesnake Dude Ranch, and Buck was powerless to halt things at this point.
Porters had ranched this land since after the Civil War. He’d die before he sold to that lunatic Russ Pardee, who made him periodic lowball offers. Pardee probably already knew that a Southwest developer, the Jace Corporation, was interested in making a golf course and condos for the rich out of a chunk of the Rattlesnake, and he no doubt planned to turn Buck’s land over to them for a fat profit.
In the dim light, Buck scanned the family room. Everything in it held special memories for him. He remembered his mother painting all the pictures that were displayed. There was Ty riding his first horse. Louise, with her red hair flying, running barrels. Buck, his dad and Gramps fishing by the river. Karen potting flowers.
He remembered helping his dad put in the beehive fireplace around which the family gathered every night. Blankets, rugs and pottery made by their Pima Indian friends were displayed through the house.
He had to give Karen a lot of credit for playing the Meredith Turner trump card. He should be grateful that there was a way out, but he was going to be the laughing stock of Arizona when he opened his ranch to dudes. Russ Pardee would see to that.
Damn. His brain was going in circles. He wanted to get rid of Meredith so the dang-blasted dude ranch wouldn’t be a success, but that would be like kicking himself in the ass.
He needed to shut down and get some sleep, but he was finding that harder and harder to do with everything on his mind.
Now he had Karen to worry about. He wondered how his sister was doing over at the hospital. She’d looked so sick and pale. He knew she’d be okay after her surgery, but he hated for her to have to suffer all that pain. He said a quick prayer for her, tried to get comfortable on the couch, closed his eyes and hoped that sleep would come.
Merry awoke to the neighing of horses instead of the sound of honking traffic. She couldn’t remember where she was, but twisted tree branches were over her head.
Burrowed into her side on the bed was a little girl with light blond hair. Caitlin.
Cait had had a bad dream during the night, just as Buck had said she might. She’d been crying and whimpering in her sleep, and Merry remembered getting up and putting her arms around her. Then she’d lain down next to Cait in the tree bed.
Merry had pushed back Cait’s sweat-soaked hair, and in the girl’s sleepy state, she’d mumbled, “Mommy, why don’t you love me?”
Merry felt the tears stinging her own eyes. She remembered thinking the same thing when she was Cait’s age.
After Cait was quiet, Merry got up to go back to the futon. Then the girl had said, “Mommy, don’t go.”
Merry looked at the sleeping child. She had Buck’s jaw and maybe his nose. She definitely didn’t have his thick black hair. She wondered about Debbie, Buck’s wife. There weren’t any pictures of her in the house, and Karen hardly spoke of her.
Merry decided to get up and start breakfast. Carefully, she moved away from Cait so as not to wake her.
On her way to the kitchen, Merry stopped, startled by the sound of soft snoring. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the massive form of Buck sleeping on the couch in the living room. His chest was bare and broad with just a hint of black hair. A blanket was draped—barely—across his middle and over one leg, but his other leg was exposed from his thigh on down.
Her fingers itched to touch the hard muscles of his chest and arms. She wanted to trace a path with the palm of her hand down his tight stomach and let it linger. Instead, she tucked her hands into the satin-lined pockets of her khaki pants and forced herself to steady her breathing, then she hurried to the kitchen.
The kitchen had always been her sanctuary.
She paused for a minute as she flipped on the light switch, wondering why Buck was intruding on her waking moments as well as her dreams.
It was more than a little unsettling to be so attracted to Buck. He wasn’t her type at all.
But who was her type? George and his kiss-and-telling to the tabloids had hurt her to the core. Before George, it’d been her assistant director, Mick.
Mick had charmed her in the hope that she’d make him director. After she’d given him her heart and soul, she’d come close to doing just that. Luckily, or unluckily, she’d caught him in a lip-lock with the studio’s receptionist.
She’d finally learned her lesson with George. She was going to be more careful than ever. In fact, she might forget about romance altogether.
Merry pushed all that to the back of her mind and flipped the switch to start the coffeemaker. She admired the bright Mexican tiles, and wondered if Karen’s mother had a hand in designing those, too. It was a great kitchen with yards of counter space and gleaming appliances.
Everything about the rambling ranch house was homey and comfortable. It had the feel of a close-knit loving family.
It was a shame to turn it into a dude ranch. This was a house meant for a family. Oh, sure, guests would feel warm and welcome, but the house wouldn’t speak to them like it spoke to her. It represented everything she’d never had growing up.
Cranking open the windows above the sink, she took in a deep breath of the cool morning air. Instead of the smell of Boston Harbor, Arizona had the scent of horses and something else…mesquite maybe, or sage.
Morning was her favorite time of the day. She loved to sit with a cup of coffee and watch as the world around her came to life.
She noticed that distant mountains looked like a lacy silhouette against the orange glow of the sky. At the base was a smoky layer of clouds that made the mountains look like they were floating. She knew that it was going to be hot soon.
As Buck kept reminding her, it was the desert.
The chirping of the birds surprised her. Back home, the squawking of the seagulls drowned out any other birds that might be nearby, but here in the desert, the birds were singing in several-part harmonies. It was all a glorious cacophony of sound, and right now it sounded better to her than the Boston Symphony.
She peeked into the refrigerator, looking forward to the prospect of cooking a big breakfast for Buck and Cait and maybe even the ranch hands. Instead of the pressure of testing recipes for her show and making sure everything was just perfect, she could cook for the fun of it, just like she had once upon a time. Before cooking became her gold mine, then her albatross.
As her eyes skimmed the contents of the refrigerator, her mind quickly sorted everything into various combinations of dishes. She could make several different quiches, or omelets, or even her ham-and-cheese scones.
Depending on when everyone usually ate, she might even have time to make her maple biscuits.
She wondered what Buck would want for breakfast. She figured him for the meat-and-potatoes type, nothing fancy, so he’d probably like eggs like rubber and bread that was carbonized. He’d want potatoes swimming in grease and onions and a hunk of artery-clogging meat. She could do that.
She glanced in the direction of the living room where Buck slept and wondered what, if anything, he had on under that blanket. She wanted another peak at him lying on the couch.
As if by magic, the door opened and Buck materialized. “G’morning.” He rubbed his closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. “I checked on Cait. She’s still sleeping.”
He ran his hands over his chest as if he was rubbing himself awake, and Merry cou
ldn’t turn her eyes away. He wore only jeans, but a white, long-sleeved shirt hung around his neck, the same shirt he’d been wearing last night. He clearly wasn’t a morning person in the least, but he looked very male, from the top of his disheveled black hair to the bottom of his bare feet.
He yawned, then sniffed the air, his eyes still at half mast. “Coffee?”
“It’s not quite ready yet,” Merry answered. “Can I make you breakfast?”
The second his eyes focused on her, he froze and blurted, “I thought you were Karen.”
“Hospital.”
“Right.”
“How about breakfast?”
“Uh, no. I have to take care of the horses.” He crossed the room, bent over to grab his boots, then he hurried out the door.
Looking out the window, she saw Buck hopping as he pulled on his boots. He shrugged into his shirt and continued walking as he buttoned it. He let out a low whistle, and several horses that were in the corral moved toward the fence and hung their heads over it. Laughing, he petted their noses.
“I overslept, ladies and gents, but I’ll feed you now,” she heard him say.
The coffeemaker gave a final chug, and she decided to deliver Buck’s coffee to him at the barn and watch him feed the horses. Since she didn’t know how he took his coffee, she found a silver tray, draped a yellow-checked napkin over it, and set a creamer and sugar bowl on it along with a spoon and two mugs of coffee, one for him and one for her.
Tentatively, she walked out to the corral, ever alert for anything that crawled or slithered. She could feel every pebble under her feet, and knew for a fact that she should have packed some sturdy shoes rather than strappy Italian sandals.
He was tossing hay with a pitchfork when he saw her coming. She held out the tray, and he smiled as he took one of the mugs. She smiled back.
“Just black. Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” Taking a long draw, he swallowed, then grimaced and coughed. “What did you do to this?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do anything to it.”
“It tastes like…hell, I don’t know.”
“Vanilla?”
He stared into the coffee as if a cockroach was doing the backstroke in it. “I guess so.”
“That’s because it is vanilla.”
“That’s not coffee,” he growled.
She chuckled. He was cute when he was cranky. “My mistake.” Of course, Buck wouldn’t like flavored coffee. What had she been thinking?
“I’m sorry. I just like my coffee to taste like gun cleaner.”
She turned to leave. “I’ll make another pot.”
“No. Don’t bother. I’ll get some in the bunkhouse. The boys always have a pot on.”
“I’ll be glad to get it for you, but Cait—”
“I’ll know if Cait’s up,” Buck pulled out a radiolike object out of his pocket, clicked it on and hit a couple of more buttons. “Intercom.” He handed her his mug and pointed in the direction of a long, low, gray shack. “Cookie has been dying to meet you.”
Cookie turned out to be a gnarled, white-haired, bow-legged cowboy with the most terrific bright green eyes she’d ever seen.
He took off a battered black hat from his head and clutched it to his chest. “Meredith Bingham Turner. It’s you. In the flesh. Why, you’re even prettier in person than you are on Making Merry with Merry.”
“You watch me on TV?” Never would she expect that a tough-looking cowboy like Cookie would watch her TV show.
“I never miss it. I’ve adapted your cinnamon coffee cake recipe for baking in a Dutch oven over a campfire. The cowboys love it. Well, all except for—”
“Buck.”
“Yeah.”
“Speaking of Buck, I came for some gun-cleaner coffee for him.”
Cookie nodded. “I’ll get it for you. Come in. I didn’t mean to leave you out here on the porch while I yammer.”
Merry followed him into the bunkhouse. It was surprisingly neat and tidy with several twin beds lined up around the room on the right side. On the left was a well-stocked kitchen and a long wooden table with bench seats. “I smell—”
“Bananas,” Cookie supplied. “I was going to make your tropical French toast in honor of your arrival, but now that you’re here, as one cook to another, can I impose on you to—”
He looked at her so adoringly, she couldn’t resist.
“I’d love to make my French toast for you, Cookie. How many will I be cooking for?”
“Eight, if Buck joins us.”
“And then there’s Cait, if she ever wakes up,” Merry said.
The time went by fast as she and Cookie worked side by side. He was a knowledgeable assistant. The cowboys filed in as if on cue, all smiling as they began heaping their plates. She could barely keep up with the demand or the compliments, but all she knew was that it was just wonderful cooking for such an appreciative audience.
“What’s going on here, boys?”
Buck stood in the doorway with Caitlin at his side. Merry had forgotten about bringing him his coffee.
He looked at his ranch hands. “Don’t you boys have work to do?”
Half standing, they swallowed some last bites and hurried out the door, giving him a wide berth.
“Miss Turner, I won’t have you bothering my hands or disrupting my ranch. They have work to do.”
Merry shot him a cool look. “I was just cooking breakfast for them. It feels good to do something for someone who appreciates it.”
“Meaning I don’t appreciate what you are doing here?”
“Not that I can tell.”
Cookie put his hands on his hips and stepped closer to Buck. “Listen here, you big galoot, it’s not every day that the boys get breakfast prepared by the beautiful, famous Meredith Bingham Turner. And what made you grumpier than a bear this morning?” Cookie gave an exaggerated wink. “You didn’t sleep here last night, so you should be nice and calm this morning.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I slept in the house.”
Cookie looked from Meredith to Buck, then picked up a cast-iron frying pan and held it menacingly in the air.
Merry laughed. “Buck slept on the couch to be close to Cait.”
He set the pan down and shook a gnarled finger at Buck. “You take care of Miss Merry, you hear, boy? Or you’re going to have to answer to me.”
“Yes, Marvin.” Buck’s eyes twinkled as he seemed to snap out of his bad mood and poured coffee into a battered metal cup.
“Don’t you call me that, Bucklin Floyd!” The frying pan was back in Cookie’s hand. “Now git. I have some French toast to enjoy with Miss Merry here and Miss Caitlin.” He leaned over to wink at Cait, but she raised an arm and tucked her face into her elbow.
“Cait already had some cereal, and they both have to get moving if they want to go to the hospital with me to visit Karen. Remember? Her operation’s this morning.”
Merry jumped up. “Of course I want to go. Let me get ready.”
“Make it fifteen minutes. I want to take a shower in the bunkhouse first,” Buck said. “Merry, would you take Cait with you?”
Merry nodded. “Of course.”
Buck squatted to be level to talk with Cait, but the girl looked away. “Brush your hair. Okay, Caitie?”
Cait simply walked away and stood by the door, waiting.
“I’ll help her,” Merry said, doubting if the girl would let her. She gave Cookie a peck on the cheek. “We’ll have to do this again.”
Cookie blushed and grinned. “Someday, do you think you could make your maple biscuits? I’ve tried them, but to have them made by you would be a real treat for me and the boys.”
“I’d love to.”
Buck shook his head. “What’s wrong with plain old biscuits?”
“These are like heaven,” Cookie said. “Just wait until your dude-ranch guests get a taste of them. I’ll be asking for a raise. Got that, Bucklin?”
Buck grunted and opened the door
for Merry and Cait. “Fifteen minutes.”
Chapter Five
B uck swung the truck around in front of the ranch house and saw Merry sitting on the top step of the stairs braiding Cait’s hair. Cait sat on the second step.
Amazing. She didn’t even sit that still for Karen. Cait actually had her face up to the sun, not hidden, and was listening as Merry spoke.
The psychiatrists couldn’t understand why Cait hadn’t spoken for so long. They suggested that everyone act normal, that someday she’d come around and not to push her. They tried to get to the reason why she wouldn’t talk, but it just pushed her further into withdrawal.
So every day for two years, he’d tried to act normal, whatever that meant.
Mostly, he tried to make himself scarce, so as not to make Cait uncomfortable. He knew she blamed him for Debbie’s leaving them, leaving her. Maybe someday she’d figure out the truth about Debbie: that she’d left her then four-year-old daughter to follow her own dream. Debbie had chosen fame over motherhood, a singing career instead of life on a cattle ranch.
He pulled a rubber band from around a stack of overdue bills he’d picked up at the post office and tossed them back on the dashboard. He used the rubber band to pull his own wet hair back into a ponytail.
In his haste to get to the hospital to see Karen, he had barely toweled off from his shower. Running a hand over the stubble on his face, he thought about going back to the bunkhouse to grab his shaver. He checked the clock. No time.
He got out of the truck and opened the door for Cait and Merry. Without him saying a thing, Cait got up from the step. He knew better than to help her into the truck, she’d only pull away from his touch.
Cait settled herself on the bench seat. He leaned in and smiled. “You look as beautiful as a rose this morning, honey.”
Cait just stared ahead without acknowledging he spoke. He let out a deep breath. Maybe someday…
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