“You’re making a mistake,” Luke said softly. “We should teach these kids to be individuals, not to worry what other people think.”
Pressure built in his chest. It wasn’t that Luke was wrong. It was that Jake wasn’t wrong either, and Jake was in charge. He’d compromise, but only so far.
“If Finn makes a few friends before summer vacation starts, and he still wants to take dance, then we’ll revisit the lessons.”
Did Grand even offer dance lessons?
He hadn’t a clue.
Luke swiped a piece of bacon off Jake’s abandoned plate and bit into it. Then, he threw down the gauntlet.
“Sign Mac up for soccer yourself. I’m not helping you avoid Lacey Anderson.”
Where the hell had that come from?
“I’m not avoiding Lacey,” Jake said.
Heat crawled under his collar. Luke had gone to school with Lacey, meaning he’d had a front row seat for all the breakup drama, not to mention the jerk Jake had been about it at home, moping for months. Luke knew Jake had been crazy for her.
“You met with her last night and you’re in an especially foul mood this morning, even for you. The pieces fit.”
Jake wasn’t avoiding her. He simply wasn’t quite ready to see her again. Last night, all smiles and warm, honest concern, she’d raised his hopes for a few minutes that perhaps—just maybe—she’d grown up and they could try again. She’d listened to him ramble on about the ranch as if genuinely interested. She’d asked the right questions. He’d always found her so easy to talk to, and talking wasn’t an activity in which he excelled.
It had felt like a date.
Then, her current boyfriend had arrived—there’d been no mistaking the possessiveness in the other man’s manner toward her—and this morning, Jake felt like such a fool. Lacey had only wanted to speak with him because she didn’t believe he could raise young children. Never mind that he had the same concerns. Or that so did everyone else.
Including his own brother.
“Mac looks up to you,” Luke continued, ignoring the stony silence. “It’s obvious, although I can’t imagine why. You’re always at him about looking out for Finn. Practice what you preach. Liz apparently thought you’d make a good role model, so go be one. You’re going to be the one constant in his life from now on and he needs to know he can count on you. This is a chance for you two to bond. Soccer’s on you, pal.”
As it should be. He knew it. He didn’t know what to do about Lacey, though. He had to think on that for a bit.
He changed the subject. “One of the men found bear signs this side of the Camelback. I’m going to ride out and see if I can track it.”
Bears were a problem, especially in the spring. If one was hanging around a pasture close to the badlands, it had probably come across a dead cow or calf somewhere. He’d have to find that too, and dispose of it. Once bear and wolves got into a carcass they were more likely to go after live animals, and a rancher couldn’t allow that.
“A cow kicked one of the robots and now one of its sensors isn’t working this morning,” he added. “Could you have a look at it?”
Luke had never cared much for the old style of ranching, but the new, computerized systems were definitely his wheelhouse. The Wagging Tongue had a robotics technician they called in for major repairs, but Luke already knew as much as the tech did, if not more.
Jake went to throw a load of clothes in the wash. By the time he was done, Luke had disappeared. He unlocked a .338 Winchester Magnum rifle from his dad’s gun cabinet in the den and took bullets from a drawer in the kitchen. He paused, weighing the box in his hand. With kids in the house now, he was going to have to find a better place for storage than this.
He cleared all the remaining ammunition out of the drawer and moved it to the far back of a top shelf. That would have to do for the time being. Right now he was itching to get his horse saddled.
A half hour later, he’d put the house behind him.
The day was hot and dry. The sun beat between his shoulders. The blue sky shimmered above. Sprigs of milkvetch, ranging from deep purple to a delicate white, dotted the grasslands. Custer County was in the midst of a heat wave and the Wagging Tongue’s irrigation systems were being put to the test.
There was nothing like riding the range to put Jake’s mind back in order.
First up was Lacey.
Their paths had rarely crossed over the years. They had too little in common. It was possible he might be a workaholic. But now that he’d met with her, and they’d spent a few hours together, all the old feelings reemerged. The roadblock was the boyfriend. When Jake thought back on it, however, the smile Lacey had fixed on the other man had been nothing special. Her eyes hadn’t lit up.
And Lacey, when she was excited about something—or someone—sparkled like Grand’s town square at Christmas. His gut said she wasn’t committed.
Yet Jake had no urge to move in on another man’s territory. He’d had it happen to him and it wasn’t right. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep an eye on the situation, and soccer gave him the perfect excuse. What harm could that be?
His mind made up on that matter, he moved to the next. Since Luke and Zack would be here for a year, Jake had to make plans. He should open the west wing of the house so they could have their own space. There’d be more room for Luke to spread out his computers, plus keep Finn and Lyddie’s fingers off them.
It would also give Jake and Luke a degree of separation. Jake loved both his brothers, but he and Luke were too much alike in their personalities and too far apart in their opinions to be sharing a roof.
He’d have to see about getting ponies for Mac and Finn, too. Finn was a bit young for one yet, but Mac?
Mac should learn how to ride and look after a horse. It would teach him a different kind of responsibility. Maybe he’d find the same peace of mind Jake did in it, too.
The flat grasslands of the delta Jake passed through gradually gave way to craggy hills dotted with ponderosas. He found the first cluster of cattle huddled around one of the watering tanks, tails lazily twitching. He sidled into their midst, jostling them aside so his horse could drink. He had several miles and three more water tanks to go before he reached the badlands and Camelback Butte.
At the second to last tank, he encountered the Wagging Tongue’s closest neighbor, Weldon Scott. He was a big man in his mid-sixties, with thick gray hair and a skinny black moustache. One salt-and-pepper eyebrow separated his forehead from the rest of his face. Jake had dated his daughter for a few summers between semesters at college, but they’d never been serious. They remained friends, although these days, Diana was happily married with two fat, pretty babies keeping her busy.
Weldon, on the other hand, had taken their breakup to heart. He wasn’t Jake’s biggest fan, so finding him on Wagging Tongue land was somewhat of a surprise, although not so unusual. The McGregors had never been stingy about sharing their water.
“Morning,” Jake said, riding up to greet him. “What brings you out here?”
Weldon nodded to the rifle strapped across the back of Jake’s saddle. “Likely the same thing as you. A black bear killed one of my cows. My foreman saw it loping off in this direction.”
“I was afraid that might happen.”
There’d be only one way to get rid of it now. Jake wasn’t thrilled about killing an animal for doing what came natural, but a rancher’s duty was to the health of his herd.
Weldon appeared to be in no great hurry. Jake wondered what he had on his mind. He hoped he wouldn’t suggest they ride on together. He’d come out here to be alone.
“Sorry about your parents,” Weldon said. “Liz, too. She was always such a nice girl.”
The sharp pain of loss lashed at Jake without warning, thrusting a pitchfork deep in his chest. For a few seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
“Thank you,” he managed.
Weldon looked as uncomfortable as Jake felt. The two men hadn’t spoken at t
he funeral, although Jake had seen him there. The Scotts and the McGregors were polite neighbors, not friendly ones. Jake’s dad had teased Diana about it. “Tell your old man I’ll pay for the wedding if he gives me half his ranch in return. He’ll be getting the better end of the deal.”
Weldon shifted in his saddle. “I’ve been meaning to ride over some evening to talk business. You’re a young man with a lot of property to care for, not to mention a heavy debt load. I’d like to make you an offer.”
Everyone in Grand knew his business.
“I appreciate it,” Jake said, “but it’s too soon to be making decisions. I’ve got children to think of.”
The words slipped out. They began as an excuse to end the conversation, but the truth of them left him light-headed. He did have children to think of. Three little lives to guide. Three futures to secure. Someday, the boys might want in.
“I understand,” Weldon said. He nudged his horse around. “I probably should have spoken to Zack or Luke first. Neither one of them has ever shown much interest in ranching. But you’re the one with the most invested in the Wagging Tongue and I didn’t like to go behind your back.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll leave you to the bear hunting. Let me know if you have any luck.”
Luck was something Jake was short on these days.
Weldon rode off in the direction of the Running River Ranch, the Scott spread. Jake took a few minutes to count the head of cattle milling around, absently checking their brands. They all appeared to be Wagging Tongue.
He had no intentions of accepting any offer Weldon Scott might make. Zack would never sell out his shares to the Running River. He liked to think that Luke wouldn’t, either.
But Luke made no secret of the fact that, in the long run, the Wagging Tongue wasn’t for him, which might be just as well. He and Jake could never run a business together. Hell, they couldn’t even agree on what was best for their nephews, and they both had the boys’ best interests at heart.
The McGregors had agreed, however, to take a year before making any major decisions about the ranch. What if, at the end of the year, Luke was determined to sell, even if Jake wasn’t yet able to buy him out?
Jake plodded onward toward Camelback Butte, the sun a little less bright and the ride a whole lot less peaceful.
*
There was nothing Lacey loved more than the sound of kids having fun.
Grand Central Park—only borderline grand and not all that central—spilled over with energetic children and their parents. Enormous cottonwoods, twisted with age, bounded the Yellowstone River on one end, and fenced in two more sides of the park to box in the soccer field. Trimmed hackberry trees hedged the far end of the field next to the parking lot. A sandbox for toddlers commandeered one corner and a wooden swing set and slide took up another. The grass was thick and green, despite the drought Grand was suffering, thanks to the Yellowstone’s floodplain. And thanks to the drought, the black flies were nonexistent. The day was gorgeous.
So was Jake McGregor.
Lacey pinpointed the exact second he arrived. He walked across the far end of the field with one hand on Mac’s shoulder. She noted his long-legged stride, the glint of sun on black hair that held the faint hint of a curl, and even from a distance, the green of his eyes—although that last might have been her fanciful imagination.
“Have mercy,” one of the mothers murmured as she caught sight of him, too. “Right there is the reason I moved to Montana. Best place on earth.”
“You never get used to it, either,” another mom sighed.
No, you do not, Lacey had to agree.
Wrenching her attention off Jake took serious effort, but Mac was the real concern and the only reason he’d come. The ten-year-old wore the air of a long-suffering old man, plainly here to humor his crazy uncle. She bit the inside of her cheek to rein in her smile. She was so thrilled to see them, it was hard to contain.
Jake’s gaze settled on her and that was all it took to set her smile free. His eyes widened a little, in a who-me, utterly charming kind of way. And then, he grinned back.
The noise—the kids—the whole world spun away. She flew back in time to stand on the front steps of her stepfather’s house. Jake pulled up to the curb in his dad’s half-ton truck, his whole face lighting up in that exact same expression when he saw her waiting for him. Jake was quiet. He was stubborn. He kept his feelings to himself. But his face…and those eyes…
They spoke volumes. They said she’d mattered to him.
Just not enough. Or not as much as she’d thought she should.
She staggered back to the present. To the kids and the chaos. To the man walking toward her. She’d thought she ruined everything the other night, but his grin and widened eyes had her wondering if maybe she hadn’t.
A few of the single mothers crowded around him. Women couldn’t seem to resist a handsome man with a child.
“Jake. It’s so good to see you away from the ranch,” one well-toned blonde gushed, cutting in closer to separate him from the herd.
Lacey pretended not to notice the look of desperation he shot her. Instead, she focused on Mac. “Hey, I’m so glad you came. Have you ever played soccer before?”
“Yes,” Mac said.
Well. The enthusiasm was off the charts—although sadly, in the wrong direction. Luckily for him, tryouts involved showing up. Grand didn’t have very many eight to ten year olds with World Cup aspirations for her to choose from. She counted twelve budding athletes overall—seven boys and five girls.
They might as well start.
Jake pried himself away from the blonde and found a spot on the sidelines, underneath a massive cottonwood with a group of the dads.
A tiny part of her rejoiced. He’d never been the type who thrived on female attention. When they were together, he’d been all about her. Her sixteen-year-old-self had been all about her too, so if nothing else, they’d had that much in common.
Why now, after all these years, did she suddenly have so many regrets?
Standing around daydreaming about being sixteen again, and making different life choices, and dark green eyes rimmed in black lashes, would get her nowhere. If she wanted to get to know Jake again, she shouldn’t use his troubled nephew as an excuse, either.
Right now, she should be coaching soccer.
She tightened her ponytail and got her head in the game. She had four balls, so she divided the children into three groups. She put Mac with a few kids who were in his class at school, gave them the balls, and set them to work dribbling to see what their footwork was like. She then organized the second and third teams into relays for sprints to find out how fast they were, and if anyone really stood out.
It didn’t take long to discover that Mac had undersold his experience. He was a natural athlete, maneuvering the ball with the insides of both feet like a pro. The boy had talent, and more interest in the sport than he’d let on.
Lacey’s heart broke for him. He was so lost.
She had her back to him, so absorbed in monitoring the runners and assessing their speed that she didn’t catch the exact moment the fight broke out. She heard the scuffle. One of the girls cried out.
When she clued in and turned around, Mac and another boy—Greg—had already exchanged blows. Mac ducked a swing that went wild, then charged. He rammed the larger boy with his shoulder and knocked him to the ground.
And then Mac went at him with all of the rage his skinny, undersized frame could no longer contain.
Lacey didn’t take time to think. She waded into the fracas, grabbing Mac by one arm and around his waist, and hoisted him free. She took a heel in the shin and an elbow to one breast, which was going to hurt later, but the adrenaline fueling her strength fended any pain off for the moment.
Greg was on his feet now, his cheeks red with anger and one eye already beginning to swell, but Lacey straight-armed a palm into his chest and pushed him away.
“Back off,” she commanded.
Mac trembled with unfettered rage. His pounding heart shook his whole body. He wasn’t over whatever had set him off. Lacey dropped him to his feet but didn’t let go of his arm.
Greg’s mother was running across the field toward them, arms flailing, slowed down by a pair of impractical, high-heeled, strappy sandals. Lacey’d had Greg’s older sister in her class two years before so she knew what she was in for. The woman’s children could do no wrong, even though Greg was a known bully. His sister was, too.
Jake, on the sidelines, hadn’t moved. Lacey couldn’t believe his restraint. The man was a machine. Most fathers—or uncles—would have waded in before this, but it appeared he was going to allow her to handle things her way. While she appreciated the show of confidence, he’d picked the wrong moment. Mac needed to know that Jake had his back.
“Mrs. Brown,” she said, not giving the mother an opportunity to make a scene in front of the other children, who were soaking everything in. “Greg can sit with you until practice is over. We’ll talk about this once everyone’s had a chance to cool off.”
“Oh, I assure you, we’ll be talking about this,” Mrs. Brown said, her voice grim and her mascara-framed eyes flashing with promise. “Come on, Greg. We’re going home.”
Lacey had half-expected as much. No matter. She’d dealt with angry parents before. Besides, Mac was the one in desperate need of a champion. Now that the worst of it was over, why wasn’t Jake here, taking his side?
She released Mac’s arm. Her chest hurt where his elbow had hit her, and she was going to have a bruise on her shin from his sneaker, but none of that held any importance. He looked small, and lost, and now that the fight had gone out of him, a little unsure.
He couldn’t possibly be worried about what Jake might think. Jake and his brother Luke had fought over everything from what channel to watch on TV to who got the last piece of pie, so it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t understand. Lacey was confident of that.
But there was a big difference between being understanding and offering emotional support, and Jake had some serious shortcomings in the touchy-feely department. She wanted to wrap her arms around Mac and give him the hug and the physical reassurance he so badly needed, but people were watching and it was the last thing a ten-year-old child would want them to see.
The Rancher Takes a Family Page 5