The Texas Rancher's Return

“That third-grade girl’s mama put her up to this.”

“Her mama fixed it so that her teacher assigned a report on native species and talked her into choosing bison and opened the northwest gate so Daisy walked out onto the road in front of her car?” Gran crossed her arms over her chest and got that look on her face, that guilt-inducing “what’s gotten into you?” stare of which Adele Buckton was a master. “That’s what you think?”

“Could be.” It wasn’t as far-fetched as Gran made it sound. Those big development companies would probably try anything to get what they wanted. How many times had gifts arrived at the house or some oh-so-friendly DelTex exec tried to invite himself onto the ranch in the name of “opening a dialogue”? What was to stop them from finding someone who fit his ideal of an attractive woman and sending her out onto his west road? Brooke Calder would probably earn herself a raise for conniving her way onto Blue Thorn land. “You know those people from DelTex have tried all kinds of ways to get their boots on our acreage. This could just be one more. There’s an awful lot of money at stake here, Gran.”

Gran didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to the cabinet and began to pull out cookie sheets. “What are you doing?” he balked, swallowing the urge to snatch the flat pans from her hands. This wasn’t a social call; this was likely a spy mission.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Gran said, eying him. “We have a child coming to the ranch. I’m baking some cookies.”

Gunner started to formulate a long list of reasons why that was a whopping bad idea, but the look from his grandmother silenced him. No matter what the land deed now said, Gran was still the final word on things at the Blue Thorn. If she could read him as well as she claimed, then Gran already knew what he thought of her plans to ply the Calders with cookies. His opinion on hospitality clearly didn’t matter, for she began to hum “There’ll Be Peace in the Valley” as she walked into the pantry for ingredients.

An earthquake. That ought to do it. Just send a small earthquake about 1:00 p.m., Lord, so I can call this whole circus to a halt. Gunner settled his hat on his head, muttering about pushy little girls and stubborn old women. Tornado, thunderstorm—I ain’t picky, Lord. Just get me out of this.

Chapter Three (#ulink_c33dffa2-2a38-595e-92b5-55635055027d)

“Why do they call it the Blue Thorn Ranch?” Audie piped up from the backseat as Brooke pulled her little car up to the gate that marked the ranch’s entrance. A tall framework of timbers with BT at the center stood over a metal gate that joined two stretches of sturdy metal fencing.

“Every member of the Buckton family has bright blue eyes,” Brooke answered. “But I don’t know about the thorn part—we’ll have to ask.” Brooke punched a button on the keypad mounted by the drive, announced herself and the gates slid open along the fence line. A wide-open landscape lay before them, mounds of grass stretching between clusters of trees. Ahead and to the left, the stone house and a series of outbuildings and barns formed the family compound.

“Look.” Brooke pointed to three bison enjoying the shade of a large tree.

“I see them!” Audie cheered. “Wow, they are big.”

Audie began scribbling in a small notebook, a tiny pink-hued reporter hungry for her story. Even if she had her reservations, Brooke couldn’t have denied her daughter this field trip for all the world. Besides, she reasoned with herself, if Buckton was really as grumpy as her earlier encounter led her to believe, at least the grandmother sounded friendly. Adele Buckton was something of a legend in these parts, one of the old-school ranching families with ties to the land that went back something like four generations. In its heyday, Blue Thorn Ranch had been twice its current size and home to some of the state’s prize cattle. Adele Buckton’s social and philanthropic standing still cast a shadow that was long and wide, even in the woman’s advancing years.

The ranch clearly had seen better days, with some of its former grandeur showing signs of wear and tear, but everything was solidly durable and clearly built to last. Some ranches were all about the flash—big showy things with massive houses to match. This place seemed... Authentic was the word that came to mind. Sturdy, sensible, determined to stick out the tough times—that was how the place felt as Brooke turned her car up the path toward the house. She looked forward to meeting Adele Buckton.

“I hope Daisy’s feeling friendly today,” Audie said, reaching into her pink gingham backpack. “I brought her some Goldfish just in case she’s hungry.” She produced a baggie of the snack crackers, holding it high so Brooke could see it in the rearview mirror.

Brooke pictured the reaction that would get from Buckton—and it wasn’t a charmed smile. “I’m not so sure bison go for Goldfish, honey. Maybe your first question to Mr. Buckton should be to ask what she likes to eat.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.” Audie scribbled a note to herself, tongue sticking out in eight-year-old journalistic integrity. “But it’s only three index cards and a diorama, so I don’t think I’ll need to know much.”

The main house was made of tan stone, wrapped with a huge front porch stretching on either side of a big front door. Dormer windows peeked from the second story, and a pair of ancient trees threw dappled shadows onto the front lawn. A picnic table was set with a blue gingham tablecloth and a tin pitcher of wildflowers. The place gave off all the welcome Gunner’s tone had not.

This visit was a risk, but Brooke couldn’t ever resist a chance to indulge Audie’s curiosity. Her daughter’s inquisitive nature and bold personality were so very much like her daddy’s that it never failed to raise a lump in Brooke’s throat. So what if it meant pressing a favor from a grump like Gunner Buckton?

He came out onto the house’s wide front porch, his steps the lazy saunter Brooke associated with all Texas cowboys. A big man, he seemed to tower over his grandmother as she came out beside him, leaning heavily on a blond wood cane with a silver handle.

Getting out of the car, Brooke took the walk up to the porch to take in the man she’d only briefly met yesterday. Gunner’s bright blue eyes were just like the older woman’s, now that she could clearly see his face rather than squinting up at him as she had yesterday. Mr. Markham had indeed told her about the family trait of turquoise eyes—all the Buckton children and grandchildren had them. The grandmother’s were warm, friendly and sparkling. Gunner’s were cool, clear and intense. The kind of eyes you couldn’t stop looking at even though they made you uneasy.

As they reached the porch, Brooke found herself meeting the man’s gaze with a friendly “let’s just all try to get along” expression.

“Afternoon,” he said in a dry tone that translated roughly to I know that you know that I don’t want to do this.

Audie, as she always did, plowed full speed ahead. “Hi there. I’m Audie Calder, and I’m here to interview Daisy.” She waltzed herself right up the pair of low stairs to Mrs. Buckton—smart choice, Brooke mused to herself—and extended a hand.

“And so you are.” Adele Buckton’s face broke into a broad smile. “I am so very pleased to meet you, young lady. I like a gal who goes at her research with gusto.”

Brooke walked up to Gunner and said quietly, “Thanks for this, but I do remember you saying Daisy could be irritable. Are you sure this will be okay?”

Gunner pushed his hat back on his head. “For any other animal I’d say maybe it would be a problem. We do have plenty of bison who don’t much take to folks. Only, I think Daisy will be okay. And whatever questions Daisy fails to answer—” his eyes took on just a sliver of a cordiality “—Gran and I can fill in the blanks.”

“Can I get my picture with her? For the report?” Audie asked.

“I think we can manage that,” Mrs. Buckton replied. “And when we’re done, you just happened to come on a day when I made cookies.”

Gunner raised one eyebrow in a suspicious glance at his grandmother that told Brooke just how much of a “coincidence” that really was.

“Thank you,” Brooke offered again, meaning it. “I know you’re busy and...”

“Nothin’ to it.” Gunner cut her off. “We’re all about community awareness out here.” The words sounded recited, as if he didn’t really mean them.

“Really?” she replied. “I didn’t take you as the kind to welcome visitors.”

“I’m not the kind to welcome DelTex, if that’s what you mean.”

Brooke stood as tall as she could. “I’m not here from DelTex, Mr. Buckton. I’m just a mom with a little girl who wants to do a school report.”

Gunner pushed out a breath. “Well, in that case, more people need to understand how important the bison are and value them. The bison—and all of us—need the land to thrive. That’s something people need to understand.”

“Especially third graders,” Audie offered.

“And maybe a few big companies I could name,” Gunner added in low tones.

Brooke squared her shoulders, trying not to feel small against the man’s broad stance. Having met the grandmother, she noted his features took on an odd duality—so like Mrs. Buckton’s and yet with such a different attitude. “How about,” she said as quietly as she could, “we agree to leave the politics out of this and just let a little girl write a report?”

He shot her a dubious look, crossing his lean arms over his broad chest as Mrs. Buckton took Audie’s hand and they stepped down off the porch to walk toward a series of outbuildings. “Is that even possible?” he said the moment the pair was out of earshot.

“Do you really think I set this up as some kind of stunt for work? That I’d use my own daughter to weasel my way onto your land?”

His resulting expression told her that was exactly what Gunner Buckton thought. “You work for DelTex.”

“Look, your family may have a file inches thick and a long, thorny—” she used the word on purpose “—history with my boss, but I assure you, I haven’t studied it. That’s not even my department, and at this moment it’s definitely not my concern. This is about Mrs. Cleydon’s third-grade class and nothing else. If you want to blame someone for setting the whole thing in motion, blame Daisy.”

“Daisy did what bison do. You’re the one who sicced your daughter on my grandma.”

Brooke put her hand to her forehead. “She said she needed to learn about buffalo and I’d run into a buffalo...bison,” she corrected when his eyes narrowed, “just hours earlier. Any parent would have done the same thing.”

“Would any parent have let her daughter do the asking so that I’d look like a heel if I said no?”

He had her there. Brooke knew letting Audie make the call worked in her favor. But the truth was Audie was fearless and wanted to make the call. Brooke hadn’t talked Audie into anything, but she was guilty of knowing that putting Audie on the phone increased her chances of success. Really, was that so awful if it made today’s visit possible?

An argument wouldn’t help Audie get her interview, so Brooke squelched her frustration at Gunner and let out a long, slow exhale. “Are you going to let Audie meet Daisy? Because if you’re not, then I think it’s best I go get her now. But,” she added with an effort to keep the edge out of her voice, “I’d really appreciate if you would.”

Gunner exhaled himself, although it sounded far too much like a hiss through his teeth. “No, I’ll do it. I’d never hear the end of it from Gran if I didn’t.” He turned to look at her. “I have your word this isn’t a setup?”

It was common knowledge that there was no love lost between the Bucktons and Mr. Markham, but it was a little chilling to see how deep the enmity ran. Brooke wasn’t fool enough to miss that her boss had his share of critics—every successful man did—but she couldn’t shake the way this man’s glare settled in the pit of her stomach. “I promise you this is just what it seems—a little girl doing a project for school. One she’s really excited about.”