The Rancher's Family
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Barbara White Daille
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Chapter One
THOUGH THE SCORCHING southwestern summer had turned to fall, Cara Leonetti spent part of her long drive from Arizona to New Mexico thinking about ice cream. Focusing on all the different flavors kept her mind away from thoughts she desperately needed to avoid.
The highway off-ramp led to the winding two-lane local road that would take her to Cowboy Creek. With the flat, dusty land all around her and the mountain range off in the distance, she might never have left Phoenix.
Frowning, she reconsidered. Left didn’t come close to describing what she had done today. She had fled. Escaped. Abandoned her life in her hometown. Or at least, what she had left of that life. Thanks to her own mistakes, that now amounted to lots of good friends and happy memories but nothing more.
Fighting tears, she stared at the road ahead of her. Better to look forward than back.
When she hit the town’s main street a half hour later, her car slowed to a crawl almost on its own—and not just due to the reduced speed limit. She had spotted the ice-cream parlor that, naturally, had become one of her favorite places since her first visit to Cowboy Creek.
The warm afternoon sun made her even more eager for the cold, creamy distraction of ice cream.
The teenage girl behind the counter at the back of the Big Dipper welcomed her with a big smile. “Hi! Give me just a minute.”
“No rush. It’s going to take me a while to decide.” This detour wouldn’t throw her schedule off at all. She had started out sooner than planned for her trip to the Hitching Post—the ranch hotel owned by Jed Garland, her best friend’s grandfather. No one expected her to arrive this early. And as excited as she was about seeing Andi, her two kids and the rest of her family again, at the same time, she dreaded their first conversation alone.
She had told Andi about almost everything that had gone on these past few months—her move, her breakup, her new homeless and jobless statuses. All that was bad enough. But Andi didn’t know the worst news.
The teenager finished packing a gallon-sized tub with ice cream and set the container into a freezer. “Okay, now what can I get you?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Wrong. She hadn’t even checked out the options. “Do me a favor. Don’t let me go too crazy or I’ll spoil my appetite. I’m on my way to check in and have dinner at the Hitching Post.”
“You must be Cara!”
Surprised, she looked up from the display case. “How did you know?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a very small town.”
A quiet one, too. Cara was the only customer, surprising for a sunny Sunday afternoon. Then again, the business section of town might be small, but it was surrounded by a big ranching community, and as she’d learned on previous visits here, ranchers worked seven days a week. It was probably too early for most people to have quit for the day.
“I’m Lizzie,” the girl continued. “And no, I’m not psychic. Andi was just in here yesterday, all excited about her best friend moving here.”
Temporarily. Andi wanted her to stay indefinitely, if not forever. That couldn’t happen. Eventually, Cara would heal from her loss and put her life back together. She could only accomplish that by going home, by proving to herself she could stand on her own again. But for now, she was beyond grateful to Andi and her family for offering their support and a place for her to stay.
With effort, Cara brought her mind back to Lizzie’s chatter.
“Andi also said you’ve got beautiful strawberry blond hair. And she was right. Wish mine was red or black or anything but this boring brown.” She turned her head to point to her own curls, held back by a wide band.
“I wouldn’t call light brown with golden highlights boring at all.”
The teenager giggled, suddenly looking like a mischievous twelve-year-old, though Cara would put her age closer to sixteen. “Thanks. That’s what my boyfriend keeps telling me, but I tell him he’s only saying that because—” she placed both palms over her heart “—he lo-oves me.”
“I think you can believe him.” Cara ignored the twinge of pain knifing through her stomach. She’d believed in love, and look where that had gotten her—craving extra calories. “I’d better make a decision now, or I’ll miss my chance for dessert before dinner. How about a scoop of chocolate chip in a sugar cone?”
“With a shot of whipped cream and some sprinkles?”
“Sounds great to me.” A few more calories would never solve her problems, but they couldn’t hurt. Much. Digging into her shoulder bag for her wallet, she moved to the cash register.
Lizzie soon followed and handed the cone across the counter.
“Wow. You’ve really made this a work of art.” With one bite, Cara devoured most of the extra toppings. The second mouthful finished them, leaving a drop of whipped cream on her chin. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the counter.
Lizzie laughed. “I hope you know you’ve just destroyed a masterpiece. But it’s ice cream, right? Even plain, it’s still special.”
True for people, too. What was inside mattered more than what the world saw on the outside. Hopefully, Lizzie would come to understand that on her own soon.
“Come in again when you get a chance,” Lizzie said. “But just so you know, I usually only work Saturdays and Sundays, unless somebody calls in sick.” She handed Cara her change. “You’re lucky to be going out to Garland Ranch,” she added with obvious envy. “There’s a lot to do out there—horseback riding and trail rides and cookouts and hanging out with all the guests at the Hitching Post.”
“There’s definitely enough going on to keep everyone busy,” Cara agreed. She knew from past visits that the ranch offered all those activities and more. Eventually, she might feel an interest in them again. For now, all she wanted was calm and quiet and lots of opportunities to catch up with Andi.
Since her best friend’s relocation to Cowboy Creek the year before, Cara had come for Andi’s wedding and visited for a weekend every few months. But those trips didn’t give them nearly enough time together, especially compared to seeing each other daily when Andi had lived in Phoenix.
“I’ll try to stop in again soon,” she promised Lizzie.
“I sure hope so. We only see new faces around here every decade or so.”
Laughing at the exaggeration, Cara turned away from the counter. The afternoon sunshine blasted through the picture windows, making her squint.
On the sidewalk in front of the store, a couple stood close to one another. The man’s cowboy hat shaded his face as he looked down at the woman, who rested her hand on his arm as she smiled at him. A dark-haired boy about three or so tugged on the man’s free arm, clearly wanting the adults to hurry up and get his ice cream.
The sight of the child sent another pain lancing through her stomach, another reminder of what she had lost. Only months ago her body had held so much promise, so much joy, from the moment she saw the positive result on the home pregnancy test. Yet only weeks later that joy changed just as quickly to sorrow. Ever since, the sight of any child made her ache.
One look at this little boy triggered her biggest worry over this trip. Between Andi’s and her cousins’ kids, not to mention the younger guests at the Hitching Post, how would she survive?
She took a deep breath, forcing her anxiety to ease. She had promised herself she would stay strong. And she would keep that promise, no matter what.
Outside the store, the woman walked away. The little boy ran to the heavy glass door and strained with both hands to pull it open. As he eased the door away from the frame, he laughed, clueless about the help he was getting from the man standing behind him.
Kudos to the cowboy for lending a hand.
The boy flattened his palms against the glass panel. “See,” he shouted, “I’m a big boy, Daddy!”
The man looked down. “That you are.”
Cara frowned. He’d answered in a light tone but without the trace of a smile. Couldn’t he at least have made an effort for his own son?
She took another deep breath. She needed to quit overreacting, to stop being this sensitive about kids. To let go of the guilt her doctor assured her she shouldn’t feel. Losing the baby wasn’t anyone’s fault, including hers.
The boy ran in her direction, waving to Lizzie at the back counter. Before Cara could move aside, he darted between her and a small round table for two. As he rushed past her, his head bumped her elbow. The scoop of ice cream fell from the cone and plopped onto her shoe. Unaware, the boy kept going.
“Mark,” the man called, no lightness in his tone now.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. She grabbed a couple of napkins from the metal dispenser on the table.
“Come over here, son,” the man said.
Immediately, the little boy reversed his steps. Smiling, he focused on his father. He probably hadn’t even seen the ice cream, now sliding from her shoe to the store’s tile floor. As the man approached, his boots slapped ominously against those tiles.
She tensed. This cowboy seemed ready to make a big deal over such a simple mistake.
Father and son met halfway, coming to a halt beside her. “No worries,” she told the man. “It was only an accident.”
Focused on the boy, he nodded. “One we need to make right.”
She stooped to pluck the ice cream from the floor just as the cowboy crouched in front of his son. Almost eye level with them both, she could now see the rest of the man’s face—a very nice face, tanned and topped by a pair of dark eyes and darker eyebrows. As he looked at Mark, one side of his mouth curved in a wry half smile. Finally.
That sign of caring filled her with relief. Yes, another overreaction, but so worth the reminder some men cared about their children.
He said quietly to his son, “You knocked this lady’s ice cream on the floor when you ran past her.”
“I did?” Mark’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He stared at Cara, his eyes the same dark brown shade as his father’s and now rounded in dismay. “Sorry, ma’am.”
He seemed so sincere and sounded so polite, just like the cowboys out at the Hitching Post. She could almost see Mark tugging on a hat brim.
“That’s okay,” she told him. “You didn’t mean it to happen—I know. It was an accident.”
“What do you think we ought to do about it?” the cowboy asked his son.
“Buy new ice cream,” the child said instantly.
Again, the cowboy gave that half smile. “Sounds like a plan, pardner.”
He and Cara rose at the same time. “I appreciate the offer, but actually, it’s not necessary. I’m having dinner at a friend’s soon. I probably—” definitely “—didn’t need the cone, anyhow. You don’t have to worry about getting me another one.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” He sounded exactly like a grown-up version of Mark. “My son thinks otherwise. And so do I.”
Mark stood beside them, hopping from foot to foot, obviously eager to have his dessert but just as interested in this conversation.
Shrugging, she gave in. She tossed her ruined cone into the nearby trash bin and grabbed some napkins to wipe her shoe and hands. “Okay, then.”
Mark’s daddy wasn’t going to change his mind, especially not after he’d made a point of getting the boy to accept responsibility. And how could she fault the man for that? In fact, she admired him for making sure his son did what he thought the situation demanded.
Besides, replacing the cone had been Mark’s idea. And while she might be able to say no to the daddy, she couldn’t turn down his child.
After smiling at the boy, who grinned back, she nodded at the cowboy now standing expectantly by the counter. “If you insist on a replacement, who am I to argue? Not when it comes to sweets, at least.” Not when an ice-cream treat didn’t matter, compared to a little boy’s feelings. “Let’s make it a scoop of chocolate this time. And thanks.”
As she walked toward the back of the room, Mark skipped along beside her. “You like ice cream?” he asked.
For a moment, she tensed. She hadn’t expected him to start a conversation. Why hadn’t she just refused the cone and gone on her way? “I do like ice cream. How about you?”
“Yeah!”
“What kind do you like best?”
“The cold kind.”
She couldn’t help but smile. He seemed so smart. So sweet. “Me, too. But really, anything with chocolate in it is my favorite.”
Lizzie already held out a fresh cone, again complete with whipped cream and sprinkles. At this rate, she’d have no appetite left for any dinner at all.
“No charge for this one,” Lizzie said. “That’ll teach me to make my cones more accident-proof.”
“I’ll take care of it,” the cowboy insisted, frowning.
“That’s okay,” the teen said. “But you might add a bigger tip in the jar before you go.”
“Bigger than usual, you mean?”
Cara glanced at him in surprise, but Lizzie laughed, taking the comment as a joke, as he had probably intended it to be. He might not smile much but at least he had a sense of humor—with the right person. And he did seem to have a good relationship with his son.
The reminder made her stomach twinge again. Forcing a smile, she held up her cone. “I guess you’d call this freebie one of the perks of living in a small town. I’d never expect the same courtesy back home.”
If he’d planned to respond, she would never know. Mark tugged on her shirt, stealing her attention. “Where is home?”
“Phoenix,” she said. “That’s in Arizona. Do you know where Arizona is?”
“Next door,” he said promptly, eyeing her cone. “Good ice cream?”
“It’s great.” Judging by the way he stared with his eyebrows nearly meeting in concern, he didn’t buy her answer. She took a lick of sweet chocolate and didn’t have to fake her response. “Mmm...it’s yummy. Thank you very much.”
“Welcome.” Now Mark grinned.
His father simply turned back to the counter to place the boy’s order.
No sense trying to be sociable with this cowboy. Either he was the strong, silent type or he just didn’t feel the need to show the same manners he expected from his own son.
Add yet another who-cares checkmark to the list. With luck, she would never see Mark’s daddy again.
While she was in Cowboy Creek, she and Andi might make a few trips to the local sandwich shop and here to the Big Dipper. Other than that, she would spend her time out at the ranch—where, unlike this cowboy, everyone made her feel welcome.
