The Rancher

“Yes.” She did look up then, surprised that he was so perceptive.

“You have the talent. All you need is the drive.”

“Drive.” She sighed. She smiled faintly. “How about imminent starvation? Does that work for drive?”

He laughed. “We wouldn’t let you starve. Your bull calves are too valuable to us,” he added, just when she thought he might actually care.

“Thanks,” she said shyly. “In that journal of Dad’s—” she changed the subject “—he talks about heritability traits for lean meat with marbling to produce cuts that health-conscious consumers will buy. Can you explain to me how I go about producing herd sires that carry the traits we breed for?”

He smiled. “It’s complicated. Want to take notes?”

She sighed. “Just like going back to school.” Then she remembered school, and the agonies she went through in her junior and senior years because of Odalie Everett, and her face clenched.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

She swallowed. She almost said what was wrong. But she’d been down that road with him already, making comments she shouldn’t have made about Odalie. She wasn’t going to make him mad. Not now, when he was being pleasant and helpful.

“Nothing. Just a stray thought.” She smiled. “I’ll get some paper and a pencil.”

* * *

After a half hour she put down the pencil. “It’s got to be like learning to speak Martian,” she muttered.

He laughed out loud. “Listen, I didn’t come into the world knowing how this stuff worked, either. I had to learn it, and if my dad hadn’t been a patient man, I’d have jumped off a cliff.”

“Your dad is patient?” she asked, and couldn’t help sounding surprised.

“I know he’s got a reputation for being just the opposite. But he really is patient. I had a hard time with algebra in high school. He’d take me into the office every night and go over problems with me until I understood how to do them. He never fussed, or yelled, or raised his voice. And I was a problem child.” He shook his head. “I’m amazed I got through my childhood in one piece. I’ve broken half the bones in my body at some point, and I know my mother’s gray hairs are all because of me. Morie was a little lady. She never caused anybody any trouble.”

“I remember,” Maddie said with a smile. “She was always kind to me. She was a couple of years ahead of me, but she was never snobby.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “There’s a hidden comment in there.”

She flushed. “I didn’t mention anybody else.”

“You meant Odalie,” he said. “She can’t help being beautiful and rich and talented,” he pointed out. “And it wasn’t her fault that her parents put her in public school instead of private school, where she might have been better treated.”

“Better treated.” She glared at him. “Not one teacher or administrator ever had a bad word to say about her, even though she bullied younger girls mercilessly and spent most of her time bad-mouthing people she didn’t like. One year she had a party for our whole class, at the ranch. She invited every single girl in the class—except me.”

Cort’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.”

“My father went to see her father, that’s how unintentional it was,” she replied quietly. “When Cole Everett knew what she’d done to me, he grounded her for a month and took away her end-of-school trip as punishment.”

“That seems extreme for not inviting someone to a party,” he scoffed.

“I guess that’s because you don’t know about the other things she did to me,” she replied.

“Let me guess—she didn’t send you a Valentine’s Day card, either,” he drawled in a tone that dripped sarcasm.

She looked at him with open sadness. “Sure. That’s it. I held a grudge because she didn’t send me a holiday card and my father went to see the school principal and Odalie’s father because he liked starting trouble.”

Cort remembered her father. He was the mildest, most forgiving man anywhere around Branntville. He’d walk away from a fight if he could. The very fact that he got involved meant that he felt there was more than a slight problem.

But Cort loved Odalie, and here was this bad-

tempered little frump making cracks about her, probably because she was jealous.

“I guess if you don’t have a real talent and you aren’t as pretty, it’s hard to get along with someone who has it all,” he commented.

Her face went beet-red. She stood up, took her father’s journal, closed it and put it back in the desk drawer. She faced him across the width of the desk.

“Thank you for explaining the journal to me,” she said in a formal tone. “I’ll study the notes I took very carefully.”

“Fine.” He started to leave, hesitated. He turned and looked back at her. He could see an unusual brightness in her eyes. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just, well, you don’t know Odalie. She’s sweet and kind, she’d never hurt anybody on purpose.”

“I don’t have any talent, I’m ugly and I lie.” She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Hell, I never said you lied!”

She swallowed. Loud voices and curses made her nervous. She gripped the edge of the desk.

“Now what’s wrong?” he asked angrily.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said quickly.

He took a sudden, quick step toward her. She backed up, knocked over the desk chair and almost fell again getting it between him and herself. She was white in the face.

He stopped in his tracks. His lips fell open. In all his life, he’d never seen a woman react that way.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, but not in a loud or menacing tone.

She swallowed. “Nothing. Thanks for coming over.”

He scowled. She looked scared to death.

Great-Aunt Sadie had heard a crash in the room. She opened the door gingerly and looked in. She glanced from Maddie’s white face to Cort’s drawn one. “Maddie, you okay?” she asked hesitantly, her eyes flicking back and forth to Cort’s as if she, too, was uneasy.

“I’m fine. I just...knocked the chair over.” She laughed, but it was a nervous, quick laugh. “Cort was just leaving. He gave me lots of information.”

“Nice of him,” Sadie agreed. She moved closer to Maddie, as if prepared to act as a human shield if Cort took another step toward the younger woman. “Good night, Cort.”

He wanted to know what was wrong. It was true he’d said some mean things, but the fear in Maddie’s eyes, and the looks he was getting, really disturbed him. He moved to the door, hesitated. “If you need any more help...” he began.

“I’ll call. Sure. Thanks for offering.” Maddie’s voice sounded tight. She was standing very still. He was reminded forcibly of deer’s eyes in headlights.

“Well, I’ll get on home. Good night.”

“Night,” Maddie choked out.