“But my parents should have stepped in. Surely they could’ve given you a loan or...or something.” Sara tried to quell the bitter tone in her voice. “Did they even offer?”
“Your uncle Warren is a proud man. He didn’t even mention it to your dad until it was too late.”
“They still should have tried.”
Millie sighed. “Yes—your dad and mom offered to help. But what they could offer didn’t come close to what it would’ve taken. And Warren refused to be beholden to his brother, at any rate.”
Sara had put her phone on Silent when she arrived, but now she felt it buzzing a second time in her pocket. She pulled it out to take a look. The clinic had texted twice, and she was now a half hour late.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Millie—I’ve got to get back. I’ve got clients waiting.” She stood and leaned over to kiss her aunt’s weathered cheek. “I can come back after work, though, if you’d like. I hate leaving you now after all you’ve said. Are you all right?”
“Tough as a wild turkey hen,” Millie said firmly, though her lower lip trembled and her hands were shaking. “But you needed to hear the full story before anyone tries to tell you different. We want nothing to do with any of them.”
Sara bit her lower lip. “The sons were gone by that time. Tate told me that they all wanted to escape their father and that ranch.”
“Those boys were raised by that man—and whether by nurture or nature, they are what he made them.”
Sara chose her words carefully. “But...is that fair? Can’t people change?”
“Mixing with the Langfords isn’t something we do, or want to hear about. It brings up grief we’d just as soon forget. You’d best not ever bring up that name in front of Warren again.”
Late into the night, as Sara cleaned another section of the cabin, she could still hear the edge in Millie’s voice. The unmistakable thread of warning.
Her aunt and uncle had been terribly wounded. That wasn’t going to change. And it was pretty clear that they were never going to forgive Gus or his family.
It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.
But did Sara now need to make a choice, between the only true, loving family she had left and any association with Tate and the other Langfords?
It should be an easy decision.
With her troubled family history, family had always mattered most. It always came first, because she knew just how precious absolute and unequivocal love was.
So why did she feel as if her heart was breaking in two?
Chapter Eight
Tate poured himself another cup of coffee, stood staring out the kitchen window for a long while, then settled at his kitchen table with his laptop and a notebook to continue working on estimates for house renovations.
The clock was ticking. He needed to make every day count if he was going to accomplish all of his goals at the ranch before leaving for the rodeo contractor’s auction in May.
He was working the young horses in the arena daily. He’d finished checking the fence line on Monday, then went into town on Tuesday to order new windows for the second-floor bedrooms and pick up fencing materials.
Mid-March was a couple weeks away and then the spring thaw would be just around the corner. Once he finished repairing the fencing around the Branson property, it could be fully utilized in the summer pasture rotation.
One big project checked off his list, to help out his brothers.
He almost wished he had more time in Montana. But it wasn’t a choice. Not with one perfect chance to get back into the rodeo life that had become as much a part of his existence as breathing.
A low growl and a single woof sounded from the nest box installed in the far corner for Lucy and her pups. He saw her peer over the top of the box, then drop back down to her family. “You hear something, girl?”
He looked out the window again, but the driveway and parking area were still empty.
He could tell that Sara had been here to take care of her animals twice a day, but since Sunday evening he’d either missed her entirely, or just caught sight of her as she was leaving. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to avoid him. But why would that be?
He couldn’t think of a single thing he’d said or done to rile her when he’d brought his family to her place on Sunday to help out for a while. In fact, she’d kissed him.
He’d been so taken aback that he hadn’t reacted quickly enough—and even now, he wished he could relive the moment and return that innocent, sweet kiss with one that was longer, with his arms around her...like the ones he remembered from years ago.
But maybe she regretted that impulsive expression of thanks.
Today was finally Thursday, though, and he would get to see her again for sure. She had an appointment at nine to see the injured gelding one last time and vaccinate the barn cats.
The cats were caught. The gelding was in his stall. And hopefully, Tate would have some answers of his own.
Ten minutes later he heard the crunch of tires on gravel and saw her truck pull up to the barn. He pulled on his boots, grabbed his coat and headed out the door.
She turned at his approach with a look of surprise. “I didn’t see your truck, so I didn’t think you were here.”
“I haven’t unloaded my fencing supplies yet, so I parked it in the machine shed. I hear we’re supposed to get some snow tonight.”
He followed her into the horse barn and brought the injured colt out of his stall. “I think he’s looking really good. I long-lined him in the indoor arena at a jog for just a few minutes yesterday and he didn’t favor that leg at all.”
“Can you walk him up and down the aisle for me so I can see him move?”
He led the colt halfway down the aisle, then turned back. Sara’s gaze stayed riveted on the colt’s forelegs until he pulled to a stop in front of her.
She nodded. “You’re right. He is looking good. Can you cross-tie him?”
She bent down by the colt’s leg and began unwrapping the bandages. She looked up at Tate and smiled. “You’ve done a good job. He’s healing nicely. I’m going to leave the bandaging off now. I wouldn’t turn him outside with the other horses just yet, but you can start long-lining him daily and loping is fine. I don’t need to see him again, but wait a couple more weeks before he goes outside with the others.”
“Good. So next up is the cat rodeo. Are you ready? I can’t guarantee that they’re going to cooperate.”
She gathered up the bandages and dropped them in a trash can outside the tack room while Tate put the colt back in his stall. “Do I need to watch for escapees if I open this door?”
“No problem. All three of the barn cats are in pet carriers. I didn’t feed them last night, so they all came for breakfast this morning and I nabbed them.”
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Theodore’s cage was farther back in the room, away from any chilly drafts, but the bird saw her right away and began a lively two-step back and forth in his cage to the tune of one of his rap songs.
“Hello, pretty bird,” she murmured to him. “I hope you can come home soon.”
Tate stood at her shoulder and looked into the cage. “How are things going at your cabin?”
“Fair. I had long days at the clinic Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and didn’t get home until late. But I’ve been doing loads of laundry a second time, to try to get rid of the smoke, and hope to wrap up the cleaning over the weekend.”
“If you want the Langford crew to come back we’d be happy to help—except Abby’s in California. And I hear Chloe probably won’t be back from Butte this weekend, either.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of the rest by myself.”
“It’s no trouble. Are you sure?”
She seemed to waver, her eyes troubled, then she shook her head, her lips p
ressed in a firm line. “No need. None at all.”
Leaning forward, she cooed to the parrot. “Even with all that’s been done, I might always smell faint, residual smoke in that cabin, though. I’ll probably need to take Theodore to the vet clinic long term.”
“What about the dogs and cats?”
“They should be okay once I’m done. But smoke is extremely toxic to birds—their lungs, skin, eyes...and even their feet, if they perch on something that’s contaminated. I’m amazed at how well he fared after the fire.”
“At least he wasn’t perching up in the loft where the smoke was heavier.”
“I’m so glad you found him hiding in the farthest corner away from smoke. I used an anti-inflammatory and bronchodilators on him for the first couple days, which probably helped.”
He lifted one of the carriers onto the round table in front of the picture window looking out into the arena. “Here’s barn cat number one—the calico. None of them have been handled much, far as I know. So good luck.”
She lifted the cat from its carrier, checked its ears for mites, vaccinated it for rabies and FVRCP for other common diseases, then squeezed a single-dose tube of flea product onto the skin between its shoulder blades. She next gave the thoroughly disgruntled cat a worming pill and set it free.
Tate laughed. “That cat shot out of here like a rocket.”
Picking up the next carrier, she lifted out the gold-and-white cat, and when she was done, she angled a subdued smile in Tate’s direction. “That first one will probably hide and sulk for a day or so.”
He watched her gently examine, vaccinate and treat the final barn cat, a black-and-gray-striped tabby. “Did you find out anything about the insurance on the cabin?”
“Lapsed, unfortunately. But I’ve reinsured the cabin in Warren’s and Millie’s names and started renter’s insurance for myself.” She finished with the cat and let it go, but it lingered and rubbed its head against her arm before gracefully leaping off the table.
“You were worried about your uncle being upset by any bad news.”
She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “He took...most of the news pretty well.”
“Did you talk to him about rebuilding the garage?”
“Briefly.”
“Did you tell him his old neighbors would be willing to help?”
“It was very kind of you to offer, but at this point I think rebuilding will be a long ways off.” She didn’t meet Tate’s eyes as she watched the final barn cat meander toward the door. “Thanks again for letting me keep all of my rescues here. I promise to move them back to my cabin this coming weekend.”
If she did, he would miss these random chances for conversations with her. The occasional glimpses of her here at the ranch, in her trim navy jacket with the Pine Bend Vet logo embroidered across the back, her pretty blond ponytail swinging from the back of her ball cap.
The thought filled him with an inexplicable sense of loss.
“Why don’t you just leave them all here awhile longer? Then you can take all the time you need with your cabin.”
“Well...”
“I’ll miss all of your dogs and cats if they go,” he added gravely. “Especially...um...the parrot.”
“Now I know you’re not telling the truth.” A brief smile touched her lips. “I’ve commandeered two of your box stalls and most of your tack room—and I noticed you’ve had to put a couple of horses in another barn because of it.”
“No problem. The dogs should stay in here where it’s warmer. And of course the parrot needs the heated tack room. He couldn’t be anywhere else.”
She mulled over his offer for a moment. “Maybe just another week? But let me pay you for your trouble, then. That would only be fair.”
“Definitely not. And if your rescues need to stay even longer, so be it.” He followed her out to her vet truck and opened the back door for her so she could stow her equipment. “Though there is one thing. A small favor?”
“Name it.”
“Jess and Devlin thought the house should be bulldozed.”
She flinched. “You’re kidding.”
“They weren’t. But I like a home with a sense of history, and I think it’s a gem worth saving.”
She tipped her head and looked up at him. “Really?”
“I’ve got only so much time here in Montana, though. I promised them I’d do as much as I could on the renovation and leave detailed plans for the rest, but it’s hard to know where to start and what updates should be done. You spent a lot of time here while growing up, so you might have much better ideas than me.”
She looked past him to the house, with its sagging porch and peeling paint. “There was so much love in that house, once. It deserves another chance.”
“So you’ll help? Just a couple evenings is all I ask. Maybe starting tomorrow?”
“I will. And I think I still owe you a dinner too.” She climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Wait—” He’d never been a touchy-feely-emotional sort of guy, and it took him a second to find the right words. “You seem...different. Is anything wrong?”
She rested a wrist on the top of the steering wheel, and stared through the windshield. It took her a long time to answer. “Nothing, really,” she said finally. “Nothing at all.”
But long after her truck bounced down the lane and out of sight, he stared after her and wondered why she hadn’t told the truth.
* * *
By the time Sara finished the rest of her ranch calls for the day, it was almost six o’clock and pitch-black outside with just a few random flakes of snow swirling in front of her headlights.
When she stopped to take care of her animals at Tate’s place she lingered at the big window in the tack room and watched him work a young paint under the bright fluorescent arena lights.
If she’d ever given thought to the skills of a saddle bronc competitor, they certainly wouldn’t have equated to what she was seeing now.
Not that she knew much about rodeo, but with the broncs and bulls it seemed to be all about staying aboard for eight seconds while adding as much flash and drama as possible to drive up the score.
But now, Tate was sitting nearly motionless in the saddle as he rode at a lope, as if he and the young gelding were a single, fluid entity, his hands low and relaxed, the reins loose. The colt’s head was held low, his tail drifted quietly behind him—with no signs of tail wringing or head-tossing agitation, even when Tate slowed him to walk and circled the arena a half-dozen times.
Sara could tell the colt was turning out beautifully in Tate’s kind and experienced hands.
Would Warren and Millie think any different of Tate if they could actually see his gentleness? See how kind and thoughtful he’d been toward her since the fire? Or would they simply harden their hearts and see only what they wanted to—the son of the man who had selfishly turned their lives upside down?
She didn’t have to wonder; Millie had already made her feelings clear, and even now Sara felt as if a rock had settled in her midsection.
It was so unfair to be caught in the middle of a bad situation. But how could she choose friendship with Tate over the two people in the world who loved her most?
Tate stopped in the middle of the arena, backed the colt a dozen feet or so, then dismounted, flipped the stirrup over the saddle seat and loosened the girth.
She turned away to finish feeding Theodore and the cats, and took food and water to all of the dogs. She had almost slipped out the barn door when she heard the clip-clop of horse shoes on cement at the far end of the horse barn.
“How was your afternoon?” Tate cross-tied the gelding and began unsaddling him. “Anything exciting?”
She turned, wishing she hadn’t lingered quite so long at the window. “Just the usual—and busy.”
“Sinc
e you’re here anyway, would you like to go up to the house and take a quick look around? It might give you something to ponder before we get together tomorrow night.”
“I...well, I guess so.”
“I still need to feed the horses, so feel free to check it out. I need to warn you, though. I suspect it’s not at all like you remember.”
Curious now, she nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
A wry smile deepened the dimple in his left cheek that she’d always thought impossibly charming. “Have at it. There’s a new spiral notebook on the kitchen table, if you’d like to jot down some notes, though I can guarantee there are things you will not forget. Ever.”
She reached for the doorknob. “I don’t know if I should be scared, or just curious.”
“Maybe both. See what you think. I moved Lucy and her bed into the little storage room off the kitchen, just so you know. You probably won’t see her, though. The pups aren’t yet two weeks old and she rarely leaves them.”
The breeze had kicked up since Sara arrived, and snowflakes were spinning beneath the high security light illuminating the parking area in front of the barns. She zipped her jacket all the way up and bowed her head as she jogged to the house.
Even from the outside it looked sad and neglected, with the old white picket fence sagging in places and the gate hanging from one hinge. The steps up to the porch creaked, and one even had a gaping hole.
Inside the front door she reached blindly to the left side until her fingertips connected with a set of light switches.
The cut-glass light fixture above bathed the entryway in golden light. The old oak woodwork was still there, though as she stepped farther into the living room she saw water damage on the wallpaper and dark water stains on the ceiling.
Taking a steadying breath she moved on through the dining room and into the kitchen.
A flood of memories rushed through her at the curling yellow linoleum and the yellowed Formica countertops. The white wood cabinets, the paint worn off around each knob.
How many birthday cakes had Millie made at these counters? How many cookies and pies and other wonderful treats? But these walls were watermarked, as well, and the ceiling was sagging.
Snowbound with the Cowboy Page 11