The Rancher's Redemption

“Nice try, but you’re missing the point.” Ben didn’t want to come inside, but he did anyway. Far enough in that he could see the kitchen, with its white marble counters, pink-trimmed cabinets and sparkly pink tile backsplash.

“He’s not forgiving us,” Ethan said, hanging his head.

“Not yet,” Jon said.

Not ever. That’s what Ben wanted to say.

But the words stuck in his throat as firmly as that red velvet wallpaper was stuck on the wall.

* * *

THE DOUBLE T was quiet when Rachel pulled up in front of the main house after she’d left her office.

The late afternoon heat lingered, but would soon give way to the evening mountain chill. Rachel took a moment to study the ranch house, seeing beyond the white clapboard that needed paint to how it must have looked in the 1920s when it was new. Dormered windows. Black shutters. Gray metal roof. Great-Grandpa Thompson had built the house for his bride.

When Rachel was growing up, at this time of day, there would’ve been ranch hands finishing up their chores, preparing to go home or to cook something in the bunkhouse. Today, only Henry, the ranch foreman, and Tony, a part-time ranch hand remained. And the yard was empty.

“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy said from the rear seat of the truck. How Rachel’s baby loved the sound of her own voice.

“Yes, sweetheart.” Rachel smiled as she walked carefully around to open the door. She was still wearing her suit and heels, not having time to stop at her little house on the other side of town and change. She had a number of chores to do here before Poppy’s bedtime. “We’re going to see your grandma and mine.” Her mother would feed Poppy and give her a bath while Rachel did some ranch paperwork. She freed Poppy from her car seat and grabbed her diaper bag.

“Na-na-na-nahhh.” Poppy clapped her little hands and then pointed to the house, a regal command that made Rachel laugh.

“You’re a princess, just like I was.” She’d had the best of both worlds—a cowgirl with Daddy’s credit card. Although nowadays, she wished she’d been raised differently. If Dad had demanded she work on the ranch, she’d be better equipped to run the Double T.

She drew her daughter closer, breathing in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. Poppy was so perfect, sometimes Rachel never wanted to let her go. Those blond curls. Those big brown eyes. Those chipmunk cheeks. If her marriage had to fail, at least Poppy was more than worth it.

And what was the silver lining to her legal practice failing?

There didn’t seem to be one. Divorces. Living trusts. She barely cleared enough to earn a living wage. Pride made her keep the office open.

And the Double T? Things were just as grim here. Water was going to make or break her family’s ranch. But this time, she was going to beat the Blackwells. She was sure of it.

Ben’s handsome face came to mind. He represented everything she resented about the Blackwells. Ben and his brothers were raised to be ranchers, but they didn’t care about their family heritage or tradition. They’d all moved on, coincidentally after stealing the Double T’s water all those years ago. Even Zoe, who was only technically a Blackwell, had little sympathy for the struggles of the Double T.

Rachel opened the white picket gate surrounding the ranch house and carried Poppy toward the front door. The heat and her load made Rachel sweat. She kissed the top of her daughter’s golden head. “I love you, sunshine.”

Poppy grinned up at her. “Ma-ma-ma-mahhh.”

This was real. This was good. Mommyhood. Caring for family. Going to bed every night knowing she was making a difference.

A sound had her looking back. A white-faced heifer poked its head around the barn.

“How did you get out?” Rachel asked, hurrying to get Poppy indoors where it was cooler. “Remind me to text Henry,” she said to Poppy, hoping that saying it out loud would jog her memory once she got inside. Her memory lately was spotty, and Henry was ancient. He didn’t work after dinner, which was fast approaching.

Win back the water rights.

Set the ranch to rights.

Get a signed custody agreement.

Learn how to be a better rancher.

Her list was daunting.

“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy breathed, pointing at various items, including the comfortable brown sofa and matching recliner. She loved her grandma.

The small living room was empty. As was the kitchen, which had been remodeled in the 1980s when Rachel’s parents married. Oak cabinets. White ceramic tile counters. Flowery linoleum nearly worn away in front of the sink. The room may have been dated, but it was filled with the warm smell of something good in the oven. Nowadays, Rachel appreciated someone else cooking for her.

“Hey! Where is everybody?” Rachel dropped her diaper bag near the front door.

“Back here,” Mom called.

With Poppy on her hip, Rachel went in search of the family.

Mom was pinning quilt pieces on the bed in the master bedroom, bright red-and-green material that formed pinwheel blocks. Fanny, Mom’s white toy poodle, leaped off her dog bed and began yapping at Rachel and Poppy. She was hard of hearing and had to make up for the pair sneaking up on her with faux indignation.

Mom shushed Fanny and muted the TV. “We’ve been crafting to avoid the heat.” She stood on the other side of the bed wearing a blue-flowered blouse and black capris. Her highlighted blond hair was cut in a front-slanted, fashionable bob and her makeup was flawless. Lisa had married a rancher but had never quite embraced the wardrobe.

Rachel suspected her own makeup had melted off sometime after lunch when emotions had run higher than the heat. She’d prepped Nelly O’Ryan for a court appearance tomorrow, while Nelly’s toddler, Alex, and Poppy had played with plastic blocks on the floor. Nelly was seeing her soon-to-be ex-husband for the first time in a month and was scared to death that Darnell would take out his frustrations on her afterward.

There had been tears, not all of them Nelly’s.

When Rachel was younger, she’d been unflappable. Crying in public? That wasn’t her thing. Now that she had Poppy, her hands shook when she got nervous and she cried at every Hallmark commercial.

“Good thing you’re here,” Mom said in the overly bright voice she’d been using since Dad died. “We’re arguing over which is better—the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, or the movie with Kiera Knightley.” The movie was playing on the television. “You can be the deciding vote.”

“You should pick Colin Firth and the BBC if you want a Christmas gift this year.” Nana Nancy was knitting in a chair in the corner. Rachel’s grandmother was short, short-haired, short-tempered and, like her knitting needles, slender and pointed.

“There can be no penalties for voting.” The cheer in Mom’s voice was tested. “I’m sure Rachel knows that the movie version empowers Elizabeth.”

“I’m as neutral as Switzerland.” Rachel looked for a place to set Poppy down where she’d be no trouble.

“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh.” Poppy bounced impatiently, extending her arms to her grandmother. Rachel set her down and she crawled over to Lisa’s feet, using her grandmother’s capris to bring herself to a wobbly stand.

Fanny circled, wagging her pom-pom tail as she sniffed Poppy for stray crumbs.

“Poppy only goes to you first because you feed her.” Nana didn’t like coming in second to anyone. “See?” She caught Rachel’s eye. “Your mother just slipped Poppy a Cheerio and yet she didn’t want me to bribe you for your vote on Pride and Prejudice.”

“Babies get low blood sugar if they don’t eat regularly.” Mom had the cereal stored in covered containers in the living room, kitchen and bedroom, reminiscent of the way Dad used to keep kibble around to train their ranch dogs.

Rachel loved her mother and grandmother, but neither woman asked how Rachel’s day went or about her meeting with Ben. Didn’t they care about the Double T? Didn’t they care that generations of Thompsons were weighing heavily on Rachel’s shoulders? Didn’t they respect her for taking on the reins of the ranch? She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but how could she not? Their fate was in her hands. “I go to court tomorrow against the Blackwells. They won’t win this time.”

“Water,” Mom grumbled. “That’s what broke your father’s heart. We should—”

“Don’t start about selling the Double T.” Nana clicked her knitting needles angrily, looping purple yarn faster than a drummer hitting a cadence for a marching band. “This land has been in our family for seven generations.”

“And it’ll be in it for seven more,” Rachel promised, mentally crossing her fingers and knocking on wood.