The Ranch Solution

“Why aren’t you eating supper?” she said as her brother walked up to her. “Grams isn’t cooking because she needed to work at the clinic today.”

“I’ll eat after a while. What’s up with that O’Donnell guy? He’s got an attitude you can see from a mile away. I bet he’s going to be a pain in the ass.” Reid glared in the direction Jacob O’Donnell had gone, though he was no longer in sight.

“He’s a worried father. Cut him some slack,” she said. It was good advice for her as well, but there was something unusually annoying about Jacob O’Donnell that made it hard to follow.

“I’d be worried, too, if she was my kid.”

“Well, she’s not. Caitlin is probably just a little mixed-up.”

“How mixed-up?”

“I don’t know.”

Mariah looked toward the U-2 parking area where the O’Donnells’ rented Mercedes sat in conspicuous glory, sadly out of place among the usual SUVs and trucks and economy cars. How did they rent a Mercedes in Montana? And why would they rent one to drive to a ranch over dirt and gravel roads? Especially a black Mercedes that showed every speck of dirt.

Burt Parsons had told her about the dust-covered luxury car with a laconic grin. He was the ranch’s best wrangler—shrewd, unflappable and great with kids. She’d assigned him to the O’Donnells when she’d realized that Caitlin, age fourteen according to their online registration form, ought to be attending classes. It suggested she’d been suspended or expelled.

Apparently Mariah had guessed right.

Judging from the tightly wound state of her father’s nerves, Mariah suspected that Caitlin wouldn’t be welcome at her school for a very long time.

CHAPTER TWO

DAMNED OBNOXIOUS...opinionated...

Muttering under his breath, Jacob tossed his suitcase onto the mattress in his tent and hunted for a pair of jeans. He hated admitting it, but the Weston woman was right—at the very least he ought to have changed before dinner.

Woman?

Jacob frowned as he pulled his shirt off. Mariah Weston looked younger than she claimed to be, though it was unlikely she’d distorted that fact. She didn’t seem the type of person he would have expected to encounter running a ranch—more like a Hollywood actress playing a part with her leggy appeal and long red hair. Maybe she was a figurehead, the public image of the business. On the other hand, looks could be deceiving; he still thought that somewhere beneath Kittie’s dismal clothes, black lipstick and in-your-face attitude was the great kid she’d always been.

Jacob massaged the back of his neck. Worry and the rush of making arrangements for his unplanned absence from the office had taken their toll. He’d hardly slept since Kittie’s latest escapade; he was now operating on autopilot. Even his parents didn’t understand. He had been forced to tell them why he was going to be gone for an extended period and could hear his mother saying with indulgent humor, She’s her father’s daughter, but you got into plenty of scrapes as a boy and turned out fine.

Granted, he’d soft-pedaled the incident, but starting a fire was serious, accidental or not. And it wasn’t just the smoking; it was all the trouble combined over the past few months. One unholy mess after another.

Naturally the discussion had given his mother an opening, for the hundredth time, to recommend that he find a new mother for Kittie. She couldn’t accept that he was never getting married again and certainly not having any more children. Who in their right mind would leap into the prospect of raising another teenager after they’d done it once already? And he had...well, other reasons. Reasons he didn’t like thinking about.

A chill went through Jacob. It was too hard loving someone, only to lose them. He’d buried his wife and nearly buried his daughter as a toddler due to health problems; he wasn’t taking a chance of going through it again. There might be things he couldn’t control in his life, but avoiding that particular pain was one that he could.

Yanking his tie loose, Jacob dropped it into the suitcase. The conservative blue silk was another accusation of parental failure. He should have worn the tie that Kittie had given to him for his last birthday, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it—Tweety Bird and Sylvester weren’t appropriate corporate attire. It was bad enough that he’d had to call an emergency board meeting on a Sunday morning.

Not that a suit was appropriate ranch attire, either.

The old cowboy had given him fair warning. Burt’s urging to “get comfortable” must have meant “change your clothes,” but Jacob hadn’t been thinking clearly. It wasn’t like him. Usually he was methodical, working things out, making sure he made the best decisions and kept everything carefully managed.

Jacob snorted, his irritation rising again.

Mariah Weston had implied he was spoiled when she suggested he wanted to be waited on hand and foot, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying comfort. And he didn’t expect to be pampered—he just wanted to receive a reasonable amount of service for the money he was paying.

He rotated his shoulders and leaned on the rolled sleeping bag. Damn, he was tired. That must be why Mariah Weston’s criticism had gotten to him. He loved Kittie and he’d busted his ass since Anna’s death to make sure their daughter would be safe and secure. Why shouldn’t they appreciate and enjoy the benefits?

Stop it, he ordered silently, kneading his throbbing temples.

Anna had been gone for over ten years, yet sometimes he missed her so much it was as if he had an aching, frozen hole in his chest. He knew that things would be different if she was still here. Anna wouldn’t have screwed up with Kittie, and they wouldn’t have needed to come to Montana, hoping for a miracle.

He’d jumped into the ranch vacation solution out of desperation, not really believing it would work. Yet at the same time, he’d clung to a kernel of hope that the U-2 would do some good. Now he was back to square one and unsure of what to do, though maybe getting Kittie out of her usual environment for several weeks would accomplish something.

In the distance Jacob heard the neighing of horses and other, more unfamiliar sounds. From the opposite direction came the rattle of plates, along with the chatter and laughter of people enjoying themselves. With any luck Kittie’s hunger would outweigh her antisocial mood—she was angry with him, not anyone else.

Hell, he hated feeling so out of control.

He ought to have realized the ranch’s website didn’t say they worked with at-risk children—it was his friend who’d called it a troubled kid’s boot camp.

At risk.

That was how Kittie’s principal had described her while ranting about the fire. Jacob donated to organizations with programs for at-risk kids, and now his daughter had the same label slapped on her forehead.

Jacob put his arm behind his head and gazed at the sturdy frame of the canvas tent, trying to think of anything but Kittie and how much he wished Anna was still alive. It astonished him that the ranch got so many guests. There were two or three dozen tents on the hill—if they filled to capacity very often, they must make a decent chunk of change each year. Of course, the U-2 had to make their profits during the summer season, since no one would stay out here in the winter.

Someone walked by outside and coughed, and Jacob made a face.

That was another problem with this place...no privacy. If he and Kittie got into one of their frequent shouting matches, everyone on the ranch would know their business.

* * *

KITTIE SAT ON a small hump of ground and sniffed.

She wasn’t crying—she was probably allergic to Montana. That was why her eyes were burning.

Her dad didn’t get it. Nobody did. And it didn’t matter anyway, because soon she’d be dead and buried and everybody would forget her.

The same as her mom.

Sniffing again, she picked at her black nail polish. It was stupid anyway. It wasn’t as if she had those fake nails that made your hands look cool. The school didn’t allow them any longer, not after Bethany Wilcox had stabbed herself at basketball practice last year. Everybody was mad at Bethany for a while after that, but no one stayed mad at the really, really popular girls, no matter what they do.

Her dad marched to their tent and Reid’s sister returned to the mess tent. Neither of them seemed very happy.

Kittie’s stomach rumbled.

The food smelled good, but she couldn’t go in there. She might see Reid and he didn’t like her, no matter what Mariah said about him protecting the horses. Besides, she wasn’t that odd to a horse, was she? Her friends thought she looked totally awesome—why wouldn’t a horse agree? They weren’t dumb.

Her dad hadn’t come back by the time everyone was done eating; he must be really pissed. Well, she was pissed, too. Nobody had asked if she wanted to come a gazillion miles from home and what was left of her life. Her dad had said they were going and that was that. So what if she’d set fire to a trash can and it got out of control? Big deal. Not that much got burned, and she didn’t mean to do it anyhow.

Someone began playing a harmonica and she heard some dorky singing—“Home on the Range” and junk. Kittie rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to be a dork like everybody else, even if they were having a good time.

There was a noise and she saw an old man coming toward her.

“Hello, young lady. May I sit down?”