The Ranch Solution

“And rich. Shame on you, Grams,” Mariah teased. “What will Granddad think?”

“That I’m a normal, red-blooded woman who can appreciate a hunk from a purely aesthetic point of view.”

Granddad chuckled. “And fortunately I’m so handsome I don’t have to worry.”

Mariah ate her last bite of oatmeal and dropped the spoon in the bowl. It was time to start the day, one she hoped would turn out better than the previous...especially when it came to Jacob O’Donnell. She’d made a resolution to treat him the same as any other guest, no matter how much he annoyed her. The trick would be keeping that resolution.

Reid headed to the barn while Mariah and her grandfather went down to the mess tent where the wranglers were gathered for coffee. She loved seeing Granddad transform from cheerful jokester to tough-but-fair ranch boss. He didn’t know a ledger sheet from a gum wrapper, but he understood the practical end of ranching like nobody else. Ben Weston was close to a legend in Montana. She was trying to learn as much as possible from him before he retired.

“Hey, Mariah,” whispered a voice as she entered the tent. It was Caitlin O’Donnell.

“Go on,” she told her grandfather, who smiled at the teen.

Mariah looked back at Caitlin. “You’re up early. Is something wrong?” The first slivers of sunlight were barely visible on the eastern horizon.

“Um, yeah.” The agitated girl shifted from one foot to the other. “There’s an animal in my dad’s side of the tent. A really big animal. I think it’s a wolf and he’s snoring. He must have come in for the steak Mr. Weston gave me. I put the plate by the bed ’cause Dad was already asleep. Omigod, he’s dead and it’s my fault because I didn’t wake him up.”

Mariah hesitated.

She fully intended to make Jacob O’Donnell deal with his own daughter, only some things were ranch business, not personal. “I bet it’s just Pip.”

“Pip?” Caitlin trailed after her.

“Our dog—part Alaskan malamute and part mystery mutt. He’s a mooch and a thief, with a snore that raises the rafters, but harmless aside from that.”

They crept up to the tent.

“Pip, get out here,” Mariah whispered.

Pip’s distinctive snore continued unabated.

She gave Caitlin a sideways glance. “Go get some sausages from the cook in the black cowboy hat. Tell him they’re for Pip.”

The teen took off for the cooking area at a run. Mariah thought her reaction showed how much she loved her dad, though she’d probably deny it. In less than three minutes, Caitlin was back with a bowl of grilled sausages.

“Want a sausage, Pip?” Mariah asked softly.

Pip made a slurping sound. Within two seconds, he appeared through the tent flap, a happy, overgrown goof of a dog.

Caitlin released a tiny shriek and then clapped her palms to her mouth.

“Here you are, you old bandit,” Mariah said, setting the bowl in front of the animal. Pip inhaled every scrap. She scratched behind his ears and his tail wagged, merrily unrepentant at being caught where he wasn’t allowed. They’d tried to get him to understand that some people were nervous around dogs, but he couldn’t be convinced.

Everybody was Pip’s friend.

“He woke up because you asked if he wanted sausage?” Caitlin breathed, extending a cautious hand. Pip darted over, delighted to get attention from anyone willing to offer it—men, women, young, old, city dweller or country lover. He was a very democratic canine. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Mariah straightened. “If I tried getting him out any other way, it would wake everyone up.”

“Is he the reason we shouldn’t keep food in the tents?”

“One of them. We also get mice and ants and squirrels, among other beasties. Go on,” she said, motioning toward the mess tent. “You can meet whoever’s awake and let your dad get more sleep.”

* * *

JACOB STARED at the dark roof of the tent as Kittie’s and Mariah’s voices faded. It was almost like hearing his daughter the way she used to be—normal and well-adjusted.

He stretched. After midnight he’d woken up and checked on Kittie, eaten the corn bread he’d found on a plate of food by the bed and crawled into his sleeping bag. Later the dog woke him up again, but he’d been too exhausted to care. The animal was wearing a collar—what harm could it do?

Reaching over, he switched on the battery lamp. The remains of a steak, beans and coleslaw were scattered across his silk shirt. It seemed symbolic of his relationship with Kittie—an utter disaster.

“Argh.” He rubbed his face and got up. Perhaps a shower would clear his mind.

The heated restrooms were clean, serviceable and very basic. There were two buildings, one for men and the second for women. It was so early the place was empty. He felt more human after his shower, though until Kittie showed improvement, he wouldn’t feel completely right. It was strange how he could love his child to death and still be driven insane by her.

An idle, guilty thought occurred to him.... Did they have military school for girls? Was that even an option?

Everyone was up and moving by the time he was dressed and back in the tent. The air was chilly and there were good-natured complaints about the cold, teasing accusations that somebody had forgotten to pay the power bill and mad dashes for the restrooms to avoid a wait in line.

“Kittie?” he called, pushing aside the tent flap.

She wasn’t there.

Jacob spread his towel on the mattress to dry and headed to the mess tent. Inside there were cowboys drinking coffee, but no sign of Kittie.

“Anything I can do for you, Mr. O’Donnell?” asked Burt Parsons.

“Yes, I’m looking for my daughter.”

“She’s around. I’ll be your wrangler during your stay at the ranch. And that young fellow—” he gestured at a man who was nearly as deeply wrinkled and weathered as Burt himself “—will be coming along today, as well. His name is Ray Cassidy. Nice boy, Ray. You’ll like him.” Burt sounded quite serious calling Ray a boy. Maybe when a person reached a certain age, everybody else was young by comparison.

“In that case, I want to be sure that my daughter’s safety is your top priority,” Jacob said.

“Not to worry. We haven’t lost anyone yet.” Burt ambled off to the serving table, cup in hand.

Resisting the urge to pound the importance of Kittie’s safety into everyone, Jacob got his coffee and turned in time to see Mariah Weston arrive. He blew on the black brew as she spoke with the cowboys and cooks. Some of the men focused overly long on her curves, but they were discreet. Their interest was understandable. Her worn jeans were molded faithfully to her bottom and she wore a soft flannel shirt that did nothing to conceal the swell of her breasts.

A stab of awareness hit Jacob. No. Mariah was impossible, the complete opposite of the kind of woman who had always appealed to him.

In another few minutes Mariah flipped him a cool look. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but striking with those high cheekbones and vibrant hair. Was she a natural redhead? Her blue eyes and creamy, lightly tanned skin suggested she wasn’t, but he was no expert. He preferred blondes anyway.

Anna had been blonde.

Blonde. Beautiful. Fragile.

Sighing, Jacob swirled the contents of his enameled metal cup. It wasn’t fair. Anna had wanted a baby so much, but she’d died less than three years after having Kittie, and a lot of that time she had been too weak to enjoy her daughter and be a mother.

He pressed his thumbs to his throbbing temples. He’d tried to do right by Kittie and by Anna’s memory, and yet he’d failed. Kittie was in trouble and he didn’t know what to do for her. If he could only put his finger on what was wrong.