Maddie Inherits a Cowboy

by Jeannie Watt

  WHAT IN THE HELL was she doing?

  Ty stood in front of his sink and watched through the window as Madeline disappeared into the equipment shed. If he hadn’t been mistaken, she was carrying a clipboard. Whatever she was doing, she was taking her own sweet time.He watched for several minutes before finally reaching into the soapy water to drain the sink. But he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the pasture grant he was working on. It bothered him, having someone else on the ranch he’d lived alone on for so long, and no matter how often he told himself that she owned half the equipment, the land and the cattle—for now, anyway—he couldn’t shake off his urge to protect what was his. And that included his privacy.

  Madeline was apparently camping in the equipment shed. What was so fascinating in there? Was she running an inventory?

  Ty’s fingers gripped the edge of the sink. Of course she was. She thought he was selling stuff and pocketing the money. He turned away from the window and went back to his desk, where the grant papers were arranged, yellow legal pad with his handwritten notes paper-clipped to the various sheets.

  After a few minutes, he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. It was impossible to concentrate with Madeline out there doing who knew what.

  MADELINE PUSHED HER HAIR behind her ears. Honestly? She’d thought this equipment would be easier to recognize. She’d figured out the rake, had taken her best guess at what a baler was. The swather was still a mystery.

  One thing she was certain of—there was no tractor in this shed, either. Where was the third tractor? If he’d sold it, he’d done it since October, when her accountant had received the inventory list…. If Ty had ever bought it in the first place. Maybe it was in the barn.Madeline let herself in through the side door. The inside of the barn was no warmer than outside, kind of like her trailer, but it was dry and smelled of hay. And next to the hay was a small piece of equipment with a bucket on the front that quite possibly qualified as the Kubota tractor on her list.

  Yes. Kubota was spelled out on the side and she felt a twinge of guilt for suspecting Ty of wrongdoing. She’d never seen anything quite like this small machine. It was about the size of a Smart Car, with an open cab and a bunch of levers. She ran a hand over the frame, then, after a quick glance around, slid into the seat and took the wheel.

  This was her kind of tractor. She’d never driven anything other than a car, but the idea of driving a piece of heavy equipment—well, maybe not so heavy in the case of this little tractor—held a novel appeal. She took hold of one of the levers, then another. The gear knobs were smooth and fit her palm perfectly. But…what did they do?

  A rustling noise behind the stack of hay at the back of the barn startled her and she slid off the tractor seat.

  “Ty?”

  No answer, but she heard the noise again.

  She walked around the hay to investigate, then stopped dead. A buff-colored cow with the most gorgeous soft brown eyes was hanging from a sling suspended from the rafters.

  It took Madeline a second to realize that her mouth was open. She closed it and took a few steps forward. The cow went back to eating out of the manger in front of her.

  “What happened to you?” Madeline asked softly.

  The cow, of course, did not answer. She didn’t seem to be in pain. The contraption that suspended her was comprised of canvas, straps and metal supports. It looked almost like a traction device that allowed her feet to just touch the floor. How long had this poor animal been hanging here? More importantly, why was she hanging here?

  Madeline left the barn, still wondering what on earth had happened to that poor cow, and walked to the building at the edge of the plowed part of the yard. The wood was old and weathered to a silver color. As far as she could tell, no paint had ever touched its surface. She pulled the pin out of the hasp and opened the door, then jumped back as mice scurried across the floor. She lost her footing and fell on her butt in the wet snow.

  Just as quickly she scrambled to her feet—or tried to. She slipped, went down to her knee, bruising it, then finally managed to regain her balance. She didn’t stop to brush herself off, but instead slammed the door shut and slipped the pin back into place.

  No inventory necessary there, since the building was stacked full of bags and bags of animal feed and grain; but even if she’d had to take a look at the contents, she wouldn’t have done it until she’d purchased a large and ferocious cat. Madeline hated mice. Hated them.

  The butt of her jeans was soaked through to her skin, but she forced herself to walk to the next building. You are a Yankee. You can face adversity. Her heart was beating faster as she undid the latch on the door, and when she opened it, she jumped back.

  She really hoped Ty wasn’t watching her.

  No mice. Madeline cautiously stuck her head in. Saddles, bridles, horse stuff everywhere. She went inside, still on high mouse alert, and glanced down at her list.

  A Capriola saddle. A Circle Y saddle. Both marked as Ty’s personal property. Skip’s saddle was designated as “maker unknown.”

  Madeline looked at the tack, neatly stored on trees fastened to the far wall. Which one had been Skip’s?

  She inspected the saddle closest to her, running her hand over the leather, darkened with age or oil, she didn’t know which. There was a faint stamp on the part that the stirrup was suspended from, obviously a maker’s mark. She couldn’t read it, so she went on to the next saddle in the line. The mark read Capriola. The next one Circle Y. The dark saddle must have been Skip’s. She went back to the dark saddle, cupped her palm over the horn then lifted the saddle strings and let them fall again. Had her brother ridden well?

  She let herself outside a few seconds later, the cold air moving right through her damp pants. She pressed on in spite of the chill.

  One building left, the one closest to the barn. But like the shed, there was no path plowed to this one. Apparently it held nothing Ty had needed after the snow fell. It was locked.

  Madeline lifted the padlock with one finger, then let it fall back against the weathered wood of the door. Interesting. What needed to be locked up on a ranch that left obviously valuable saddles unlocked?

  She was still thinking about the locked shed a few minutes later as she stripped out of her wet jeans in her unheated bathroom. Probably nothing. The building was small. She’d simply wait and ask Ty about it when they met. That and the cow.

  TY WAS ACTUALLY MAKING some headway on the grant when the phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he thought about not answering it, but no one called him simply to chat, so it had to be important. Even his mother wrote emails instead of phoning. He wasn’t a good conversationalist.

  “Ty?”He didn’t recognize the voice. “This is Ty.”

  “This is Susan Echeverry from the post office. Is Madeline there?”

  As if.

  “Uh, no.” Why on earth would Susan Echeverry be calling Madeline? At his place?

  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind passing along a message, I found her some wood. Deirdre will sell her half a cord.”

  And how is she going to get her wood up to the ranch?

  “I’ll pass the message along.”

  “Did you get your mail?”

  “I did,” Ty answered politely, glancing at the grant forms.

  “Just thought I’d check,” Susan said with a small laugh.

  “I got it.”

  She did not take the hint. Susan loved to talk. “Will Madeline be staying long? I mean, is this a permanent move?”

  The thought made Ty’s blood pressure spike. “I don’t think so. She’s a professor of some sort. I think she has classes in January.”

  “So she’s only here to visit? In the middle of the winter?”

  “It appears so,” Ty said wearily. “Uh, Susan, I have a grant I need to meet a deadline on….”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Well, I’ll talk to you later, Ty.”

  “Goodbye, Susan.”

  “Don’t forget to pass t
he message along.”

  Ty rolled his eyes. “I’ll remember. Thanks for calling.” He ended the call before Susan got going again.

  Weird how he felt so mentally exhausted as he walked back to the desk. Because of Susan? Or Madeline poking through his things?

  MADELINE TRIED TO WORK on the memoir after she’d returned to the house, but it was impossible to focus—probably because the temperature felt as if it was approaching the low forties. She still had her coat on and every now and then she paced the length of the room for warmth. Wood smoke came out of Ty’s chimney. Was he trying to make her leave by freezing her out? She’d considered asking him for wood the night before, but had noticed, when she’d picked up the cleaning supplies, that his stove was the pellet variety. Hers was the wood-burning kind.

  Madeline walked over to put her hand on the frigid surface of the stove, trying to imagine heat rolling out of it. What kind of man let his business partner freeze to death?The kind who didn’t want her anywhere near the property she owned half of.

  Madeline leaned back against the stove, pressing her gloved hand to her forehead. Ty wasn’t trying to freeze her out. The generator was low on fuel, and short of inviting her to stay with him, what could he do?

  There. She was doing her best to keep an open mind. Truly she was, but when she’d started this journey, she’d envisioned arriving at a quaint ranch with plank fences, charming outbuildings, power she could depend on. Instead she had spotty electricity and a cold, ramshackle double-wide with outbuildings to match and a cow hanging in the barn. On top of that she had a defensive business partner she didn’t know if she could trust. The information that this had once been Hopewell land bothered her. Had Skip known?

  Madeline opened the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and pulled out a frozen dinner, which, judging from the amount of frost on the package, had been frozen more than once. She hoped her cheese enchiladas had not been compromised. And she wished the oven would light.

  Power. She probably needed the stupid generator to heat the glow plugs that ignited the gas flame in the oven. That was the way her gas oven worked at home. Crap. What she wouldn’t give for the good old-fashioned pilot light right now. Madeline was starving and she obviously wasn’t going to be eating cheese enchiladas unless she sucked on them like a Popsicle. She hated this place.

  Open mind. Open mind.

  She yanked a box of cereal off the pantry shelf, tearing the packaging as she ripped into it. Since she did not own a bowl, only a large pack of paper plates, she ate handfuls straight out of the box. Not exactly elegant dining, but it took the edge off. When she’d told Ty to donate Skip’s household items to charity, she hadn’t realized that someday she might need those items. That someday she’d be at the ranch, determining why her additional source of income, the one that was going to help pay her share of her grandmother’s assisted-living facility fee, was not working out as planned.

  So was Ty a rotten manager? Were there extenuating circumstances other than the state of the cattle market? All the equipment seemed to be there. Or so she assumed, since the number of unidentified entries on the list roughly corresponded to the number of weird objects and pieces she was unable to identify. She could assure her accountant that Ty was not an equipment embezzler.

  Now she had to figure out if the money he kept shoveling into the operation was justified, and if it was all actually going into the ranch…but how was she going to do that? This had all seemed much easier in her apartment back home.

  She set the cereal box down and went to stare out the window at the barn and the snowy pasture beyond. She no more belonged here than she belonged in a chorus line. The place was a wreck. A money pit. Without Skip at the helm, directing the business end of things, it wasn’t going to provide any kind of income to put toward her grandmother’s care. It might even end up costing Madeline money. She could feel her open mind squeezing shut.

  I am so sorry, Skip, but I don’t love the ranch and I’m not wild about your friend.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TY’S HOUSE WAS WARMER than Madeline’s, since his pellet stove was pumping out heat, but in many ways the place was almost as stark. He had more furniture, heavy-duty leather stuff, and a few magazines lying about, but there were no homey touches. No photos, no mementos or bric-a-brac. Perhaps that was why the house seemed larger on the inside than it looked from the outside.

  “Put your stuff here,” he said, gesturing at the kitchen table, where he had his laptop open and ready to go.Madeline set down her folder of papers. She really wanted to warm herself by the fire, but instead sat on one of the sturdy wood chairs at the table. Ty sat opposite. He said nothing, which didn’t help the tension that had been steadily growing between them since she’d stepped into his house. Or maybe it was only growing in her. There was something about the way his dark eyes were assessing her that made her want to shift in her chair.

  Madeline cleared her throat and glanced around the room, which bore no sign of the upcoming holiday season. Not even a Christmas card on display, and she knew he had some, because she’d seen the envelopes in the mail she’d delivered. “Do you visit your family for the holidays, or do they come here?” she asked, hoping to ease into more serious matters with small talk.

  Ty’s expression didn’t change. “If I leave, I have to arrange for someone to feed, so I just stay put.”

  She was about to say, “So your family visits you,” when she realized that wasn’t what he meant. “You spend Christmas alone?”

  “Yes. Any more questions?” he asked in a way that made her feel her innocent inquiry had been rude. Madeline shook her head. Ty watched her for a moment, as if ascertaining that she truly had no more questions, then he reached out and jiggled the mouse.

  “I trust your inventory went well,” he said conversationally as the screen came up.

  “Uh, yes,” Madeline said, surprised that he’d realized what she’d been doing. She wondered if he’d seen her fall on her butt after finding the mice in the grain shed.

  “I have all the ranch accounts here. Where shall we begin? Your accountant has seen them, but I can answer any questions you have as we go.” He glanced up at her. “Have you read through the business plan I sent him?”

  She’d skimmed it, but had had other things on her mind at the time. Such as her job and the trouble there.

  Madeline took a moment to compose herself. Ty slowly clenched the hand that rested on the table into a fist as he waited. He obviously knew something was up. She had to get this over with.

  “The ranch is not at all what I thought it would be,” she said carefully. Ty didn’t respond. He was probably aware that she’d gleaned her idea of ranching from television and the movies. “I think my wisest move would be to put the place in the hands of a professional.”

  “Like a manager?”

  “A real-estate broker. One that specializes in ranch properties. I want to sell my half of the ranch. If you want to buy my interest, of course, I would sell to you with no problem.” She met his eyes, half afraid of his reaction. It was not what she expected.

  “Sure,” he said sarcastically. “Let me grab my checkbook.”

  “Ty—”

  “You planned to do this all along, didn’t you?” His expression remained impassive, but his voice became low and gritty as he spoke. Challenging.

  Madeline sat straighter in her chair and met his gaze dead-on, refusing to be the bad guy. “I came with an open mind.”

  He snorted. “It seems to me that you came convinced I was cheating you.”

  “I wanted to see the ranch my brother bought, and to try to understand why it was no longer making money. I apologize for insulting you.”

  “And now you’ve decided to sell without seeing any part of the operation, having any of those questions answered. Well, good luck finding a buyer.”

  “You bought the place.”

  Ty leaned forward, his expression intense, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face, t
he hollows of his cheek. “Things have changed. Banks don’t like loaning money on properties like this in the best of times, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in the best of times right now.”

  “How did you get the initial loan for this place?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t felt his warmth, caught the disconcerting scent of spicy soap when he’d leaned closer. It was distracting her.

  Ty’s mouth clamped shut. They both knew the answer. Skip had made a huge down payment, money she had recouped from the life insurance. Ty was still making monthly payments to her on top of his half of the mortgage. “I sold my soul,” he finally said.

  “What does that mean?”

  He shook his head. “Go ahead and list the property. Just don’t hold your breath for a quick sale.”

  “Obviously. This place needs a lot of work.”

  He looked at her, clearly stunned. “This place is fine.”

  Oh, he had to be kidding. “It’s a disaster. Old buildings—”

  “Those old buildings are sturdy and well built.”

  “Barbed-wire pastures.”

  “What do you want? Miles of white plank fences? This isn’t Kentucky horse country.”

  “An old, ramshackle, freezing-ass-cold double-wide.”

  “You got me there.”

  Madeline shifted her jaw sideways as she studied Ty. She didn’t generally speak without thinking, didn’t use terms like “freezing-ass.”

  “There is a cow hanging from a medieval torture device in the barn,” she stated.

  “Calving paralysis. She can’t use her hindquarters because of nerve damage.”

  “Why is she hanging?”

  “If I don’t hang her, I’d have to turn her every four to six hours. Cows get muscle damage if they lie in one position for too long.”