No Ordinary Cowboy

More importantly, if Amy went home, she would be back to square one. Living like a hermit. Ignoring decisions that needed to be made about her business. Wallowing in self-pity.

Leila hadn’t asked Amy to come. Amy had volunteered, both for her friend and for herself.

It was time to get over her problems and get on with life. These children could help her.

She set down her bags, walked to the window and stared at the massive fields of waving grain, at the neat-as-a-pin grounds, and at the large solid buildings—stables, barns, garages—all white and red in the blazing sun. Not one sign of neglect.

Admittedly Hank took care of the place.

In one of the fenced corrals, a mother horse and her baby nuzzled noses. Colt? Calf? No, calves were cows. Weren’t they?

This ranch could help her.

She’d stay.

For one week.

Not one day longer.

If an accountant with her skills couldn’t set this place right in a week, then it was time to change careers.

Amy took a deep, sustaining breath and turned from the window. She needed to call her mother, who would fret until she heard from Amy.

She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed the number in Billings.

“Hello?” Mother’s voice quavered more with each passing week.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“I was expecting you to call a long time ago, you know?” Rarely did her mother make a statement that didn’t end with a question mark. Maybe the habit came from watching Jeopardy! every night for twenty years.

“Yes, I know, but it was a long drive then I had lunch.”

“When are you coming home, dear?”

Amy sighed. She’d already told Mother a number of times she’d be here until she solved the problem. If Mother had Alzheimer’s or dementia, Amy could understand her behavior. But Amy knew this was an attempt to make her feel guilty about leaving Billings.

She also knew how lonely Mother was.

Caught in a bind between impatience and love, she asked, “Have you gone to any of those socials your church organizes?”

“No. I don’t know anyone there, do I?”

“That is the point of the socials. To get to know other people.”

“But I don’t know anyone now, do I? So I would have to make new friends. That’s hard for me, you know?”

Amy counted to ten. Oh, Mother, darling, get a life.

The silence stretched until her mother broke it. “When are you coming home?”

“I’ll come back on the weekend for a visit. I’ll stay with you on Saturday night. How does that sound?”

“Today is only Monday,” Mother said, a thread of desperation running through her tone. “Saturday is a long way away. Can you come on Friday night?”

Amy squeezed the top of her nose to ease a building headache.

“Yes. I’ll see you at dinnertime.”

She closed her phone with a click and sat with her eyes closed. When had the child become the parent and her mother, the child?

She opened her purse and took out the small jade cat she carried everywhere. Her dad had given it to her after her pet, Princie, had been hit by a car. It sat in her hand, cool and green.

“She’s the exact shade of your pretty green eyes,” he’d said. “This little cat will never die. She’ll be your friend forever.”

That day, she’d felt nothing could harm her while Dad was around.

She set the cat on the bedside table and pushed away those memories.

Enough. No dwelling on pain or death.

Instead, figure out what you plan to do about this ranch.

And what you plan to do about Hank Shelter. She had a bone to pick with him.

He owed her for embarrassing her in front of everyone. She’d wait until the time was right then let him have it, full blast, both barrels blazing.

Images of his sweet smile and the sensitive way he played with the children flashed through her mind, and she hesitated, but the memory of him towering over her and yelling at her won out.

Hank Shelter deserved a set down, and she was just the person to administer it.

HANK PACED the length of the stable’s center aisle from front to back and back to front again.

Time to be honest with himself. This whole situation rattled him. She rattled him. He remembered the way he’d stood over Amy, trying to make her take back what she’d said about selling the ranch. He never used his size to intimidate people, ’specially not women or children.

Whether or not the bank said there was nothing wrong, she and Leila could sell the ranch out from under him and he wouldn’t have a speck of power to prevent it.

He pounded his fist against the wall.

“Damn you, Dad. It should have been mine.”

Hank knew the truth, though, knew exactly why Dad hadn’t left the ranch to him, and he hung his head, choked by shame. Once that woman got to the books, she would know, too. In a matter of time, the whole world would.

He leaned his forehead on the rough wood and breathed heavily, hot air hitting the wall and bouncing back to bathe his face. He’d lived with his problem all his life. He would live with it for the rest, but Lord help him, he needed to do it here, on this ranch, where he felt strong and capable. And of value.

The sound of his fist hitting the wall again reverberated in the cavernous room.

Stop, he warned himself. Pull yourself together.