Her Man On Three Rivers Ranch

The two men began to climb up the steep bank of the gorge.

“Why do you say it like that?” Joseph asked. “You, of all people.”

Blake didn’t bother to answer until he and his brother were both out of the gorge and walking toward a work truck parked a few feet away.

“Ranching is not an easy profession,” he reasoned. “Some people think we just buy a herd of cows, then they eat grass and have babies and that’s all there is to it. Easy, right?”

Joseph glanced over at him. “Some people think all you have to do to be a deputy is pin a badge on your chest. But we both know that nothing worthwhile is easy.”

“Does that include being a husband?” Blake asked.

“Sure,” Joseph joked. “I’ll say it’s as hard as hell and you’ll run and tell Tessa.”

The two men climbed into the cab of a white ton truck with the 3R brand displayed on both doors. As Blake settled himself behind the wheel and started the engine, he said, “I wouldn’t repeat such a thing to my sweet sister-in-law. I was just curious. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been a husband before.”

Blake put the truck in motion, and as he steered it in the direction of the ranch house, he could feel Joseph’s keen gaze boring into the side of his face.

“You really are curious, aren’t you?” Joseph asked.

“Why not?”

“Why not? You never bother to look at a woman, much less date one. Not after Lenore.”

Scowling, Blake jerked the wheel to avoid a boulder. “Hell, Joe, did you have to bring her up? Besides, it’s not like I’m over-the-hill and washed-up. I’m only thirty-eight. I still have time to hook up with a woman.”

“How’s that going to happen? You rarely step off Three Rivers.”

“You might be surprised, little brother,” Blake said coyly. “I might’ve already met one.”

As the truck bounced over the rough terrain, Blake glanced over to see Joseph gaping at him.

“Floorboard this damn truck,” Joseph told him, his voice taking on a note of excitement. “We need to get back to the ranch and knock a board off the barn!”

Rolling his eyes, Blake said, “Let’s not take the celebrating to that extent. But I did have coffee with a woman a couple of days ago. A mighty pretty one, too.”

Joseph squared around in the seat. “Did you dip into Mom’s peach wine before we headed out here?”

“What kind of question is that? Don’t you think I might know a girl? A pretty one?”

“Well, yes. I just never figured—Who is she?”

Right now she was little more than a nice, sweet memory. One that Blake couldn’t get out of his head. “Do you remember Paulette Anderson? Years ago, she used to do sewing and mending for Mom.”

“Sure. I remember. Nice lady. In spite of being married to that good-for-nothing Avery. I had to arrest him once. Drunk as a skunk. Driving all over the road. It’s a miracle he hadn’t killed himself or someone else. I’m pretty sure he lost his driver’s license after that.”

My brother, Aaron, wouldn’t offer to help. When I came back—to help Dad—I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.

Katherine’s remarks about her father suddenly traveled through Blake’s thoughts. Without knowing much about her family life, he’d not fully understood what she’d meant. He’d figured her parents’ divorce had caused a rift with her father, but she’d decided to put it all behind her.

Frowning thoughtfully, he said, “So you’re telling me that Avery Anderson was an alcoholic. I didn’t know.”

“I thought everybody around here knew that.” Joseph shook his head. “What do the Andersons have to do with you having coffee with a woman, anyway?”

“She’s their daughter. Katherine. Her name is O’Dell now. Did you know she’d returned to Wickenburg?”

“No. Guess she came back to bury the old man and settle his estate. Which couldn’t have been much.”

Blake inwardly winced at his brother’s remark. He understood Joseph wasn’t being snobbish. He was simply speaking the truth. The Andersons had lived in a very modest house on the outskirts of town. They’d never had much in the way of material things. But until this moment, Blake hadn’t been aware that Katherine’s father had cared more about a bottle of booze than he had his family. How had she found it in her heart to care for him during his failing health? Blake doubted he could ever be that forgiving or compassionate.

Blake pulled his thoughts back to the present. “Katherine lives here now. She’s a widow. With a son.”

Long moments passed in silence and Blake wondered if his brother was trying to come up with a nice way of telling him to steer clear of Katherine O’Dell.

Eventually, Joseph asked, “You say she’s pretty?”

For once, Blake didn’t have any trouble putting a smile on his face. “Very.”

“Then you’d better ask her out.”

“I already have,” Blake said flatly. “She hedged on giving me an answer.”

Joseph looked at him. “You’re not going to let that stop you, are you?”

“I’m not going to let anything stop me.”

* * *

Later that evening in a small fenced yard behind Katherine’s house, she tossed a baseball with a gentle underhanded pitch to her son, then smacked the worn glove on her left hand.

“Okay. Let it rip. I’m ready,” she called to Nick.

Nick groaned with frustration. “Aww, Mom, that’s not the way to throw a pitch. You gotta go like this. And put some steam behind it!”

He went through the exaggerated windup of a major-league pitcher and then threw a hard bull’s-eye that nearly knocked the glove off Katherine’s hand.

Somehow she managed to make the catch, but her fingers stung from the force of the ball. “Nick! I am not about to throw the ball that hard. I might accidently hurt you. It’s underhanded or not at all,” she warned. “Take your pick.”

Nick groaned. “Oh, Mom, I’m not a baby. I can catch a fastball.”

“Maybe you can, but I’m not going to throw you one. You have to play by my rules.”

“Okay,” he mumbled with disappointment. “I’ll follow your rules. Let’s play.”

Katherine tossed the ball back to him while thinking how much better things would be for her son if he had a father. Not just a guy in the background, like Cliff, who’d worked too many hours to ever notice he had a son, much less spend time teaching him about sports. Nick deserved to have a father who would give him special love and attention. But finding a man who’d give that much to a stepchild seemed next to impossible.

By the time dusk began to fall and the backyard darkened with shadows, Nick had grown tired of the simple game of pitch and announced he was hungry.

Katherine pulled off the glove and handed it, along with the stained baseball, to her son. “Put your things away and wash up. I already have something fixed, so we’ll eat in a few minutes.”