Rodeo Family

Second chances rarely happened in real life. Sometimes a man had to grasp that second chance with both hands before it slipped away. A determined man did, at any rate. Zach had managed to spend years, long swathes of time, forgetting about Nadine, but here she was back on his ranch.

“I remember her from years ago before she left town,” Dad said.

Maybe Dad had known how Zach had felt. He could be intuitive...when it suited him.

“She stood out, back then,” Dad said.

“Pop, let’s go,” Zach insisted, trying to get his father to step away from the window. “Get away from there.”

Aiden shrugged off Zach’s hand on his shoulder and joined his grandfather at the window. Ryan did the same thing.

“She’s getting out of the car!” Ryan shouted.

“Modulate, Ryan,” Zach said.

“She’s got pretty shoes on,” Aiden whispered.

Aiden spoke too low. Ryan lived at full volume. If only Zach could even them out. On second thought, no. Each was perfect in his own way.

“Those shoes will get wrecked,” Pop said.

A thought occurred to Zach. “How come you remember her from when she was a teenager?”

His father pretended to look surprised. What game was he playing? “She came out here once with a bunch of kids when you were in high school, for some project or other.”

“Yes, she did.” Zach remembered that visit with vivid discomfort.

“She didn’t like the ranch,” Pop said, bringing back Zach’s disappointment.

It had hurt his teenage ego. The ranch had been, and still was, his world. His pride and joy.

Aiden tugged on his sleeve. “They’ll get wrecked, Dad.”

“Those shoes? Sure will. You two,” he said, touching their heads, “root through the rubber boots in the back porch and see if you can find a pair that might fit our guest.”

Maria’s would still be back there. She sure wouldn’t have taken reminders of the ranch with her, and Zach hadn’t cleared out the porch in the three years since she’d left.

The boys ran off toward the back of the house.

Pop turned from the window. “Didn’t she used to have a mess of curly hair to her waist?”

Yes, her hair had been a mass of long, red curls. Her face had sported more freckles than Zach could ever hope to count. Where had those gone, both the curls and the freckles? How did a person change her appearance so drastically?

Zach eyed his father. “I don’t remember you having a photographic memory.”

“She stood out,” he said, “’cause I knew you liked her. I paid attention. Wanted to make sure she was worthy of my son. She didn’t like the ranch. End of story.”

Pop had known he’d liked her? And he’d worried about Zach? It warmed him.

Nadine still stood out, just in a different shell than the one she used to wear. And hadn’t he always wanted to get a good long look inside that shell?

Dad watched him altogether too carefully before raising that pesky eyebrow again and murmuring, “Well.”

Yes. Well. Some feelings died over time, but some only pretended to, living underground and flaring back to the surface the second a woman came back to town after years away. When she had returned a year ago, he’d been shocked. After high school, she’d told anyone who would listen that she was heading off to New York City to meet her destiny. To forge a career on television.

Now she was back and no one knew why. She didn’t seem to have plans to leave. Zach hoped that would work in his favor. But obviously too much showed on his face if Dad, in his oblique way, was commenting on it. Zach wiped his expression clear of emotion and stepped out onto the veranda.

Lee Beeton, owner of the Rodeo Wrangler, had pestered Zach for an interview for years. Zach had said no. Then Nadine had come back to Rodeo. A year later, she’d asked for an interview. Zach had said yes.

A second chance...

Would she like the ranch any better this time? Would she like him?

She stretched her slim legs, her pretty high heels emphasizing their length while she rummaged in her purse. She didn’t belong here. Their differences struck him anew. I am a sturdy Clydesdale and she is an exquisite Arabian.

He crossed his arms. Why was it taking her so long to get out of one small car?

And what’s the rush, Zach? You aren’t usually this impatient.

Yeah, but Nadine had come back to his ranch.

* * *

NADINE CAMPBELL COULDN’T delay her meeting with Zach Brandt any longer. She had to get out of this car. She had to face him down.

What had started as a simple story about Zach’s love of the landscape and painting it, a story she had looked forward to writing, had turned into a snafu of huge proportions just this morning.

Nadine did not want to be here. There was no way out. Trapped, panic clogged her throat. Could a person suffocate on anger?

Her nerves rattled like a pair of castanets. She shouldn’t have stopped in at the newspaper office before coming out for the interview. Then she wouldn’t have seen her boss, Lee Beeton, who wouldn’t have put her into this awful, awful bind.

Find out that family’s secrets.

No. That wasn’t Nadine’s job. Her job was to talk to Zach about his artwork. That’s it. Nothing else. No digging up dirt. What was Lee’s purpose in needing to know secrets anyway? He didn’t publish a gossip rag.

But he’d issued an ultimatum—do it or you’re fired—and now she had no choice but to write the story he wanted.

In the brilliant sunshine bathing Zach’s ranch, Nadine felt clunky and awkward, an old feeling she’d thought she’d outgrown. With this awful new directive from Lee, any smooth confidence she might have possessed had deserted her this morning. She ran a hand over her twitchy stomach.

From the car, she retrieved the canvas bag that contained the tools of her trade: notepad, laptop, recording device, pencils and pens. The bag was her raison d’être. Her security blanket, its very existence reminded her that, yes indeed, she was a bona fide journalist who deserved to be writing.

She sensed Zach’s presence on his veranda. She couldn’t avoid him any longer, so she turned and walked toward the house.

He stood on his porch steps and watched her approach with his unnerving steady regard. Did the man never blink?

The ranch hadn’t changed since her tour here in high school for a project about local cattle ranching. The sturdy white brick house with blue shutters might be considered by some to be pretty. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t to her taste. She liked modern and sleek. Not that she found much of either here in Rodeo, but back in New York City—oh, heavenly, perfect New York—there’d been plenty of it.

Well, the Big Apple was history, wasn’t it? No sense wishing for the unattainable. No sense chasing down a past that hadn’t turned out the way it was supposed to.