The Rancher's Family Wish

Home-cooked. Tanner studied the bag in his hand.

Doughnuts again? In his head he heard the other church ushers’ laughter. Is that all you ever eat, Tanner?

An idea sprang to life. He whirled around and saw Sophie, er, Mrs. Armstrong getting into her van. “Wait.”

She frowned at him but waited for his approach. “Is something wrong?”

“No, yes—” He pointed at the writing on her vehicle. “You make food? For people to eat?”

“That’s usually what they do with it.” Amusement laced her voice.

“Do you ever make desserts? Or treats for coffee time?” Tanner felt ridiculous. But the thought of serving the same old store-bought doughnuts he always provided, the thought of overhearing the same snarky comments made him wait, albeit impatiently, for her response.

“Cakes, tarts, that kind of thing? Sure.” She noticed Beth licking her lips and winked. Eyes dancing, Sophie looked young and carefree, not at all motherly.

What would it be like to be loved by a mom like her?

She frowned. “Look, I’m in a hurry—”

Tanner took a leap of faith. “I’ll take the rabbits and make a home for them on the ranch in exchange for something.”

“What?” Suspicion darkened her brown eyes.

“You making me some kind of dessert for tonight.” Sophie’s face said she wasn’t sold on the trade. Hoping to sweeten the deal, Tanner glanced at Beth. “You could bring your kids to see the rabbits in their new home if you want, to make sure they’re okay.”

Sophie’s eyebrows drew together. “What kind of dessert?”

“I don’t care.” He glanced down at the bag he still clutched. “As long as it’s not doughnuts.” He knew from the furrow on her forehead that she was considering his offer.

“You haven’t given me much notice,” she complained.

“Can’t help it. That’s the deal.” Tanner tipped back on the heels of his boots, Stetson in hand, and waited while she deliberated. “There will be twelve of us.”

“All men?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. Does that matter?” She nodded. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“Well, for one thing, women often appreciate different desserts from men, say something like cheesecake over pie,” Sophie explained.

“Pie?” Tanner’s stomach tap-danced in anticipation. “You could make pies for twelve people for tonight?”

“You’d only need three, maybe four.” She tapped her chin. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?” Could she see he was almost salivating at the mere thought of cinnamon-scented apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream dripping down its sides?

“I have a catering job tonight, which means I couldn’t possibly bake and deliver your pies today.” When she shook her head, strands of shiny chocolate-toned hair flew through the air in an arc then fell back perfectly into place.

Tanner loved chocolate. Even more so now.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”

“But you don’t even know where I live.” He wasn’t giving up so easily.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to bake and deliver,” she said. “If it could be tomorrow—?”

“It has to be today. Maybe I could pick them up. Where do you live?” He noted her hesitation. Why not? She had a couple of kids to think of. “Or perhaps your husband could meet me somewhere with them?”

“I’m a widow.” The note of defiance buried in her comment intrigued Tanner.

“Well, I could pick them up,” he offered. She wrinkled her nose. “Would it make a difference to you if my pastor vouched for me?” Even as Tanner said it, he wondered what his life had come to that he was willing to ask someone to vouch for him in order to get pie.

“I don’t know.” She hesitated.

“The meeting tonight is for our church ushers’ group. I’m head usher so it’s at my place and I’m supplying the food,” he explained before she could say no. “We get together every three months or so to organize the schedule of who’s covering which services when at Tanque Verde First Community Church.”

“Hey, that’s where we go,” Davy said from the backseat.

“I thought you seemed familiar.” The furrow of worry disappeared from Sophie’s forehead. “You’re Burt Green’s successor at Wranglers Ranch.”

She knew Burt? Well, of course she did. Tanner figured pretty well everyone at First Community Church must know about the burly rancher and the transient kids he’d often brought to church.

“I was sorry to hear of Burt’s passing.” Sophie glanced at the van’s clock, hesitated a moment then nodded. “Okay. It’s a deal. You can pick up your dessert at my place in exchange for taking the rabbits. But I’m not promising pie.”

“Oh.” His balloon of hope burst.

“I’ll make you something delicious, though, don’t worry.” Sophie tilted her head toward the rabbits. “I really appreciate this. It’s a great relief to find a home for those guys but—I have to go. My roast is due to come out of the oven.”

“Wait here.” Tanner drove his truck next to her van, loaded the rabbits and promised Beth she could come see them anytime. With Sophie’s address tucked into his shirt pocket, he handed her one of Burt’s cards with the phone number at Wranglers Ranch.

“So you can let me know when I should come and pick up the desserts,” he said. Sophie nodded, fluttered a hand, then quickly drove away.

Chuckling at the goofy sunflower stuck on the van’s rear bumper, Tanner started his engine. Thanks to Sophie, his usher friends were going to get a surprise when they arrived at Wranglers Ranch tonight.

That’s when it occurred to Tanner that he didn’t even know if she was a good cook. For some reason that worry immediately dissipated. Strangely he felt utterly confident that whatever Sophie Armstrong made would be delicious. Tonight was going to be a good meeting.

Tanner gave the doughnut bag on his seat a glare, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. Living on the street in his teens, he’d felt that painful gnawing ache of hunger once too often to ever waste food. Spying a solution, he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it, the doughnuts and a business card to a disheveled man sitting in the parking lot by a light standard, exactly what Tanner would probably be doing if not for Burt Green.

“Hello. Buy yourself a meal to go with these doughnuts. If you need a job come see me at Wranglers Ranch,” he said.

Tanner drove to the exit and left the city limits, marveling at the simplicity of the interaction. Maybe Burt’s teaching wasn’t totally wasted on him.

But that optimism faltered the closer Tanner got to Wranglers Ranch. Whom was he kidding? He didn’t have the first clue how to carry out Burt’s ideas for Wranglers even though the ranch had been his home for the past ten of his almost twenty-six years. Tanner had been thrilled to work alongside Burt, to share in helping the street kids he mentored, kids who wouldn’t or couldn’t fit into the institutions of Tucson. Foster parent Burt, with Social Services’ permission, gladly nurtured each one, feeding, clothing and teaching life skills on his working ranch.

Ten years ago Tanner had been one of those kids. Other kids eventually found their families who’d missed them, wanted them back. Tanner was the only one who’d stayed. Nobody had ever come for him.

“Tanner, God’s given me a new goal,” Burt had announced last June. “I believe He wants us to make Wranglers Ranch into a kind of camp retreat for kids.” The surprise of his words hadn’t diminished even six months later.

Tanner might have been stunned by Burt’s new goal but he’d never doubted his mentor would do it. He’d only been curious about how. Unfortunately a fatal heart attack had kept Burt from turning his goal into reality. Tanner had mourned his mentor, assuming Wranglers Ranch, which had been his home for so long, would be sold. He’d been stunned to learn that Burt had entrusted Tanner with his ranch and the fortune that went with it. Burt’s will had just one condition: Tanner had two years to turn the ranch into a kids’ camp. If he failed, then the ranch would be sold.