The Ranch Solution

“Don’t horses sleep standing up?”

“Nope. That’s kind of a myth. They go half-asleep on their feet, a part of their brain remaining alert for approaching danger. It’s a survival instinct—that way they can go from a drowsing state to running in nothing flat. But for deep sleep, they have to lie down. It’s complicated because lying down too long can also be a problem.”

She stroked the stallion’s mane. His coat gleamed from the thorough currying she’d given him. Unless she was occupied with an emergency, Mariah groomed Shadow herself, making sure he was clean and comfortable. She did it because she loved him, not because he contributed to the U-2’s profits. When you were responsible for animals that depended on you for food and health and comfort, you’d best care about them, or find something else to do.

Mariah glanced at Jacob. He was dressed in the jeans and shirt he’d worn to dinner. Surprisingly, he looked so relaxed and gorgeous in them, no one would ever guess he had arrived at the ranch in a business suit. He’d probably end up sleeping in his clothes if he planned to study paperwork the whole night. Didn’t he realize getting rest was important for dealing with Caitlin and her issues?

“Do you enjoy reading contracts, Mr. O’Donnell?”

He looked taken aback. “I told you, it’s Jacob, and I’ve never thought about it. Contracts are part of the process. You have your lawyers evaluate them carefully and do it yourself as well if you’re the cautious type. Their lawyers do the same, and the agreement goes back and forth.”

It didn’t appeal to Mariah in the slightest. He must spend more on legal fees than the U-2 made in a year, visitors and cattle sales combined.

“These agreements shouldn’t be as bad. All parties want to renew, and we’ve done business with them for a while.” Jacob continued, “The paperwork simply needs updating.”

Yet he was up at one in the morning, ostensibly on vacation, reading legalese. One thing she could say for Jacob O’Donnell was that she doubted he was underhanded in his business—a man like him couldn’t afford to be dishonest.

“By the way, how is the cut on your palm doing?” he asked. “It couldn’t have been easy treating a wild cow with an injury.”

Mariah frowned, confused. “My palm... Oh.”

She flexed her right hand—she’d practically forgotten getting hurt. Aunt Lettie had taken the stitches out yesterday—she’d said it was healing well, just warned her not to do much lifting for another week to avoid reopening the wound.

“I’m fine. I have to wear gloves for work like shoveling out the stables and mending fences until it toughens up, but I usually wear them anyhow. We don’t stop for little stuff.”

“It doesn’t look little.” Jacob stepped closer. “How did you get cut if you use gloves for heavy-duty work?”

Realization dawned on Mariah; he was worried the same thing could happen to Caitlin. He didn’t have to be concerned. Unless his daughter was a klutz in the kitchen, there wasn’t any danger of a repeat incident. Besides, while the guests took turns helping with meals, they had a rule that no one under the age of eighteen handled the knives.

“I cut it in the outdoor kitchen—our version of the cattle trail chuck wagon. I’m not much at cooking and got distracted slicing potatoes. Reggie, our cook, has now banned me from doing anything except washing dirty dishes, fetching coffeepots and saying hello. He didn’t appreciate having to wash up and start over with the spuds.”

Surprisingly, Jacob smiled. He was even more attractive when he did that, and Mariah felt guilty for noticing. Yet it really wasn’t a big deal—Luke was a terrific guy, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t take pleasure in the view. She didn’t expect him to wear blinders if a well-rounded woman crossed his path. It wouldn’t be reasonable.

“That’s a rough way of getting out of doing something you don’t like,” Jacob said.

“I don’t dislike cooking. I’m just no good at it. My mom gave up...and now Grams has given up on me, too.” She bumped Pip with her foot. “Let’s go, boy.”

* * *

JACOB HOOKED HIS THUMBS in his jeans pocket and watched Mariah slip out of the barn, the dog at her side.

He wasn’t sure why he’d followed Mariah after hearing her walk past his tent on the hill—maybe for someone to talk to or simple curiosity about why she was awake, the same as him. She was an interesting woman, and her affinity with animals was striking. The black horse, goofy-eyed when she was teasing him, was suspicious and stamping the ground now that she’d gone. He’d bet that Pip or Shadow would go into fire for her. And she’d even managed to soothe the range cow crazed with fear and anger and pain. Maybe ranchers developed those skills since animals were their bread and butter, yet he suspected Mariah’s abilities went beyond average.

Jacob stretched cautiously, trying to relax his muscles. He missed the scents of the city and the faint hum of traffic that penetrated their loft. Seven years ago he’d bought an old commercial building in North Seattle and converted the second floor and parts of the third into a spacious home overlooking Lake Union. There were interesting features left from the original industrial use, but it had the advantages of modern conveniences. He hadn’t decided what to do with the remaining space, though he’d created a five-car garage on the ground level.

The ranch, on the other hand, was too quiet to sleep unless he was dead tired the way he had been the previous night.

Jacob stepped out of the barn and closed the door. At the tent he peeked into Kittie’s side. He could barely make out his daughter’s outline in the dark. She stirred restlessly, muttering, and Jacob’s heart ached more than his sore body.

He went into his own side and turned on the battery-powered lamp by the mattress. Gingerly lowering himself, he thumbed through the next contract. He’d arranged to have a courier pick all of them up in a couple of days so his lawyers could go over his notes. They ordinarily communicated via email, but the U-2 didn’t see a need to provide wireless internet, so he’d been forced to make other arrangements.

Yet even as Jacob thought about it, a twinge of guilt hit him. The U-2 hadn’t claimed to provide internet, any more than they’d claimed to provide designer coffee or hotel rooms with hot baths and daily maid service.

He’d contacted Gretchen that morning to let her know he wasn’t available online. She’d checked and discovered his cell phone could be used as a modem on the computer; he just required the accessories and would be back on the Net as soon as they were delivered. It went to show that a top executive assistant was more valuable to him than a dozen vice presidents. Gretchen would be getting a sizable bonus.

Do you enjoy reading contracts...

Crossly, Jacob tried to push Mariah’s question from his mind. He had read hundreds of contracts over the years, and while some were more tedious than others, the idea of enjoying or not enjoying the task had never occurred to him. It was merely something to be done. Yet, as he stared at the words on the page, he knew it was the most boring aspect of his work. He didn’t even sign the majority of the contracts within the company, only the major ones. Of course, executive meetings also weren’t his favorite thing, any more than reviewing the reorganization plans some managers regularly submitted instead of really addressing problems they had likely created themselves.

All at once he threw the papers aside and snapped off the light. With the caffeine coursing through his bloodstream, he might not get much rest, but he could try.

* * *

REID TOSSED HIS BOOKS into the bed of the pickup. Thursday and Friday were short days at school to let the staff get ready for final exams. What he didn’t understand was why they’d bothered having classes in the first place. Everybody goofed off on short days, even the teachers. He had better things to do than listen to Art Blanco cut up or Joey Newton brag about his new dirt bike. And when Mr. Matano began telling stories of his stint in marine boot camp, everybody’s eyes glazed over.

“Hey, Reid,” said a voice behind him.

It was Laura Shelton and he smiled; Laura was real easy on the eyes. “Hey, Laura.”

“The first barn dance is this Saturday, isn’t it?”

He almost snorted. A bunch of the girls had asked the same thing, and they all knew darned well when the dances started for the season. The U-2 held weekly barn dances throughout the summer for both their visitors and the local folks. For twenty-four years they’d begun the third Saturday in May and ended the second Saturday in September, unless it snowed.

“Yup, the third Saturday in May, same as usual.”

“Does Mariah need help? I could get there early.”

“Naw, she’s got it covered.”

It wasn’t the first offer that Reid had gotten, but Mariah had nixed his classmates from coming early. She said the girls flirted with the younger wranglers and they got less done.

“It’d be great if you could bring your chocolate chip-cookies, though,” he said when Laura’s smile disappeared. “The ones you won a prize for at the county fair.”

She brightened. “I’ll bake several batches.”

He was about to say one batch would be enough seeing as there were always plenty of sweets, but had a hunch she’d be pissed. Girls got a knot in their rope about the strangest things. “Uh...sure. Only don’t work too hard. Want a ride home?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

Reid opened the passenger door the way his dad had taught him and offered a hand. Laura climbed in, a pleasant-smelling mix of curves and long legs. He liked girls. They were bewildering and giggled too much, but as Granddad said, they had compensations.

Before he got into the truck himself, he sent a text on his cell to Mariah and his grandparents. He knew it had been a struggle for them to let him start driving to school, so he tried to let them know any time he expected a delay.

It wasn’t far to Laura’s house. The Sheltons had a small spread that was closer to town than the U-2 and right off the main road. Her dad ran some cattle, but he also did the farrier work in the area. He called himself a blacksmith, but he didn’t do any true blacksmithing. Horseshoes were mostly mass-produced—not like in the Old West—though you still wanted an expert to put shoes on a horse.

Once they arrived, he got out of the truck and waved to Mrs. Shelton as he opened the door again for Laura. She was hanging sheets and towels on the clothesline and waved back.

“How are you, Reid?”