Her Cowboy Reunion & Hill Country Reunion
Auteur
Ruth Logan Herne
Lezers
17,5K
Hoofdstukken
37
Chapter One
This is the chance you’ve been waiting for. Hoping for. Praying for. Don’t blow it.
Lizzie Fitzgerald climbed out of an SUV more suited to her rich past than her impoverished present.
Her late uncle’s Western Idaho ranch splayed around her like an old-fashioned wagon wheel, spreading wide from the farmhouse hub. Straight south lay sheep barns forming a huge letter T. The sound of sheep and dogs rose up from beyond the barns where woolly creatures dotted rolling fields like white sprinkles on a Kelly-green cake.
On her left the long, curving graveled drive wound past a copse of newly leafed trees to the two-lane country road above. Behind her was a classic Western home. Two stories, wrapped in honey-brown cedar and a porch that extended across the front and down both sides. Two swings and a variety of rockers decked the porch.
“No doubt I will spend my share of time on that porch as the weather warms,” said Corrie as she stepped from the other side of the car. “What a pretty place this is, Lizzie-Beth! But I can see your attention is drawn to what brought us here.” She dipped her chin toward Lizzie’s right. “Your uncle’s passing and his love for horses. A family trait. Or downfall,” she added softly.
“It won’t be this time.” Lizzie strode toward the freshly built stables. “Not with someone willing to put in the effort. It wasn’t horses that brought down Claremorris,” she reminded Corrie, the stout African American woman who had raised Lizzie and her two sisters at the stately Kentucky horse farm. “It was greed and dishonesty. This will be different, Corrie. You’ll see.”
“I’ll pray it different, right beside you,” Corrie declared. “Then we’ll see, Sugar. You explore your new place. I’m going to see if there’s a restroom close by.”
Lizzie walked toward the classic U-shaped stable configuration while Corrie disappeared into the house. Two equine wings stretched from opposite ends of the central barn. A row of stable doors faced the groomed square of grass that was surrounded by a hoof-friendly walking area. Six windows lined the face of the central barn, facing the equine courtyard. Curtains in the upper windows suggested living quarters, much like they’d had in their Kentucky stable. The whole concept was modeled after the Celtic horse farms her great-grandparents had known in Ireland. Uncle Sean might not have liked the newspaper publishing business that made the family’s fortune, but he clearly appreciated their Irish roots.
A horse nickered from its stall. Another answered softly.
Then quiet stretched as if wondering about her. Testing her.
Footsteps approached across the gravel. She turned.
A cowboy strode her way, looking just as classic as the ranch around him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Narrow-hipped. And...familiar. As if—
Lizzie pushed that thought aside. She’d loved a cowboy once, with all the sweet intensity of first love, but that was a dozen years and a lot of heartache past. And yet—
The cowboy drew closer.
He raised his head and looked at her, as if throwing down a challenge. And she knew why.
Heath Caufield. Her first love, with his coal-black hair and gray-blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to see right through her and found her wanting.
Her heart went slow, then sped up.
Adrenaline buzzed through her. She stared at him, and he stared right back. Then he said two simple words. “You came.”
“You’re here.”
“I live here.”
“You worked for my uncle?” None of this made any sense. Her uncle Sean hadn’t had contact with Lizzie’s lying, scheming father in decades. He’d purposely gone off on his own after serving in the Marines, as far from the Fitzgerald News Company as he could get. He’d spurned the newspaper empire, took his inheritance from Grandpa Ralph and gone west. And that was all she knew because that was all Corrie had ever told her. So how’d he hire Heath?
“I’ve been here twelve years. Been manager for three.”
She flushed.
He didn’t seem to notice her higher color. Or he simply ignored it. “I came here the same time you went off to Yale to get your fancy degree in journalism like your daddy and grandpa. How’s that working out for you, by the way?”
He looked mad and sounded madder, as if the demise of her family business, horse farm and estate was somehow her fault. It wasn’t, and she didn’t owe Heath any explanations. In her book, it was the other way around, but she’d put the past behind her years ago. She had to. He’d be wise to do the same. “Journalism with an MBA on the side. From Wharton. And enough expertise with horses and business to handle this, I expect.”
Her words and Ivy League degrees didn’t seem to impress him, but she wasn’t here to impress anyone. She was here to do a job, a job assigned to her by her dying uncle. If she and her sisters put in a year working the equine side of Pine Ridge Ranch and brought it out of the red and into the black, his estate would be split four ways, according to the lawyer’s formal letter. Her, her two sisters, and the current farm manager, who appeared to be Heath Caufield.
His look went from her to the stunning barn behind her, then back. “Twenty-eight horses, with eight of them bred to championship lines. And you show up on your own. Where are Charlotte and Melonie?”
His attitude caused a hint of anger to fire up inside her. Should she snap back?
No. There was nothing to be achieved in that. She kept her face and her voice even. “They’ll be along. They had things to finish up. And while they’ll be living here, don’t expect them to take on major horse work. Char just finished her veterinary degree and Melonie doesn’t do well in a barn.”
“She’ll adjust.”
The lick of anger burned a little brighter. “I believe Uncle Sean’s will said that Charlotte, Melonie and I had to live here for at least a year to earn our bequests. And that we needed to focus on getting the horse breeding business up and running or sell it off. Correct?”
He held her gaze with hard eyes and nodded. Slowly.
“Trust us to disburse the jobs as we see fit. They’ll do their share, but make no mistake about it, Heath.” She folded her arms and braced her legs because if there was one thing she was sure about, it was her ability to run horse from every aspect of the business. “I’ll be the one putting in the time in this stable. With whatever help you have available.”
“Help’s tight at the moment. We’ve got one last herd of sheep going into the hills since the government reneged on our grazing rights, and that leaves us short down here. For the next six weeks at least.”
“Then we’ll have to figure things out,” she told him. “Because the girls won’t be here for a few weeks, either.” She didn’t tell him why she was available at a moment’s notice, how the illustrious corporation her great-grandfather began had fired her as soon as the Feds indicted her father on multiple charges of embezzlement and money laundering. No publisher in today’s struggling print economy wanted their name connected to Tim Fitzgerald’s misdeeds. She was guilty by association. End of story.
Not out here. Not on this ranch. Or so she’d thought until she came face-to-face with Heath again. Who’d have thought her road less traveled would lead to this?
Not her. But that was okay because she’d grown up since then, and this ranch, those beautiful horses...
This job was made for her. She knew it. She was pretty sure Heath knew it, too. And if they both stayed calm, cool and collected, maybe they could make it work. As long as they both stayed on their own side of the ranch.
She’d come.
Heath hadn’t wanted her to. He’d have been fine leaving the past in the past, but now it rose up to meet him, and all because his friend and mentor’s life had been cut short...with a herd of pricey horses to comb, curry, exercise and tend. And not one lick of time to do it.
Sean’s cancer did this. He’d invested a crazy amount of money to begin a horse breeding enterprise, the kind of horses that required substantial bankroll, then took their own sweet time about paying it back.
Beautiful horse flesh, the kind that ranchers and rodeo riders alike loved. With Sean’s death, they had no one to oversee the million-dollar industry. No one except Lizzie and her sisters, straight off a pretentious Southern horse farm that had been seized by the government. Sean had called it God’s timing.
Heath considered it more like cruel fate. Either way, she was here, and if he was honest with himself, she was even more beautiful than she’d been a dozen years before. Long chestnut-toned hair, pulled back. Cinnamon eyes that almost matched the hair, and skin as fair and freckled as he remembered.
“Heath Caufield.”
He turned swiftly toward an old, friendly voice. “Corrie?”
She hugged him, laughed, then hugged him again as Lizzie began to retrieve bags from their vehicle.
“You came all the way up here? I can’t believe this.”
“Did you think I’d send any one of my babies on alone?” She stared at him as if aghast. “Not on your life! My girls will begin this new adventure with me by their sides. Caring for horses does not come easy and it’s a night-and-day enterprise. But that’s something you already know.”
He sure did. He’d spent seven years working their grandfather’s horse farm before he’d been banished.
Corrie offered him a frank look, a look that made him wonder how much she knew. And then it was gone. “Do you expect there’s room in the kitchen for one more? I don’t want to step on any toes.”
“There aren’t any paid positions open right now, Corrie.” He didn’t want to say money was tight on a ranch valued in the millions of dollars. But it was.
She shrugged. “I put some money by over the years, and followed some investing advice. Money’s not what I’m after. A roof over our heads, and food to eat—that’s not a bad day, is it? I’m not handy with horses, but I’d like to learn my way around sheep. Such docile creatures. And the lambs, so small, like a painting from the Good Book.” She indicated the size of a newborn lamb with her hands. “And of course, I am good in the garden. Always was, and fresh-grown food is a blessing.” She gave him a quiet scan. “You look good, Heath. Older. And wiser.”
“Smarter, for sure.” He didn’t look at Liz. He didn’t have to look at Liz to remember the strength and urgency of young love. How could one forget the unforgettable? He couldn’t, but a smart man put it all in perspective. “Steadier.”
“Steady is good.” She put a hand on his arm. “You’re married.”
She’d dropped her gaze to his left hand where his plain gold band glimmered. “I was.” A rogue cloud passed between them and the sun at that moment, chilling the spring air as it dulled the light. “She died from complications after having our little boy. Now it’s me and Zeke. My son. We do all right.”
Corrie did what she’d always done.
She prayed.
Right then and there, her hand on his arm, head bowed, she whispered a prayer for him and his child.
Then she stared up at him, and he couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes, in anyone’s eyes, because he’d moved on. He had no choice because he might have lost Anna but he still had his son, Ezekiel Sean Caufield. And Zeke came first now. In everything.
Lizzie had drawn close. He wanted to avoid her, especially now, remembering the birth of his son. His wife had risked her life and lost, but she’d been willing to go the distance for their child.
That set the two women a long ways apart. One who was willing to sacrifice for a child, one who couldn’t be bothered.
He had no time to dwell. He had work to do and a son waiting for him. A spunky little boy, waiting to play with his dad.
He started to turn. Lizzie turned at the same moment, and there they were, face-to-face.
Anger bubbled up from somewhere so deep it should have stayed buried, but Corrie’s words about his wedding ring had opened it like a fresh-dug grave.
Lizzie started to speak, then didn’t.
Just as well. They had nothing to say to one another.
He reached out and hoisted two duffel-style bags, then moved toward the porch.
“Where are you going?”
“Inside?” he said, because it was fairly obvious.
She hooked a thumb toward the stable. “Who’s living in the barn apartment?”
“No one.”
“Well, there is now.” She grabbed a rolling bag by the handle. “Leave the right-hand duffel here, please, but go ahead and take Corrie’s into the house. First rule of horse is to have someone close by that knows how to rule the horse.”
“You’re going to live in a barn?” He looked back at Corrie. She remained quiet, just out of the way, watching their back-and-forth.
“At least until I get a feel for the place.” She kept walking toward the barn. “Is it furnished?”
It wasn’t because Sean had cared for the horses until he got too sick, and he’d lived in the house. “No.”
“Wi-Fi?”
Sean had the equine offices built on the first floor purposely, facing the pasture. If he was throwing down a major equine business deal, he didn’t want the walk back to the house to interrupt. The vision of pricey mares and geldings in the rich, green grass added enticement to the deal. “Yes. There’s a full office set up with all the records. Hard copy and online. I can show you all that.”
“Corrie, I’ll see you once you’re settled.” Liz motioned toward the house. “The sooner I get set up, the quicker I can grab some furniture off Craigslist.”
Used furniture?
Living in the barn? Was she serious?
One look at her face confirmed that she was. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she understood the stakes. Maybe she had what it would take to help make things right.
He hauled Corrie’s things inside and up the main stairs. He set the duffel inside the first room, then repeated the trip with the smaller bags and boxes.
His phone rang as he backed out of Corrie’s room. The name of a well-known Pacific Northwest grocery retailer flashed. He took the call, and by the time he’d finished a deal for four hundred fresh market lambs for wedding season, nearly a quarter hour had passed. That meant he’d left Lizzie to do all her own lifting and carrying.
He hurried back outside because no matter how rough their past had been, he wasn’t normally a jerk. At least he hoped he wasn’t, but with Pine Ridge teetering on the brink, he might be testier than normal. It wasn’t fair to lay that at her door, but there wouldn’t be time to sugarcoat things, either.
Lizzie wasn’t in his line of sight when he stepped outside. He started for the nearest stairs at the same time he heard his five-year-old son sigh out loud as he gazed out through the square, wooden spindles. “You’re so beautiful.”
Heath turned in the direction his son was facing and swallowed hard, because Zeke was one hundred percent correct. Standing on the graveled yard below, Lizzie Fitzgerald was absolutely, positively drop-dead gorgeous in an all-American girl kind of way. That thick, long hair framed a heart-shaped face. A face he’d loved once, but he’d been young and headstrong then. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown up.
“You’re quite handsome yourself.” Lizzie smiled up at Zeke, and despite Heath’s warnings about strangers, Zeke grinned back, then raced down the broad side steps.
“Are you staying here?” He slid to a quick stop in front of Lizzie. There was no curtailing his excitement. “My dad said we’ve got people who are coming here to stay, so that must be you. Right?”
“Correct.” She didn’t look at Heath and wonder about his dark-skinned son, and he gave her reluctant points for that. Zeke’s skin was a gift from his African American mother, but his gray-blue eyes were Caufield, through and through.
Lizzie squatted to Zeke’s level and held his attention with a pretty smile. “My name’s Lizzie. My friend Corrie and I are living on the ranch with you. I hope that’s all right.”
“Do you snore?”
She paused as if considering the question. “Not to my knowledge. But then, I’m asleep, so how would I know?”
“I do not snore,” declared Zeke. He shoved his hands into two little pockets, total cowboy. “But I have bad dreams sometimes and then Dad lets me come sleep with him.”
“I’m glad he does.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Heath came down the stairs. Zeke smiled his way. “This is the first girl visitor we’ve ever had, Dad!”
Lizzie raised her gaze to Heath’s. He thought she’d tease him, or play off the boy’s bold statement. There hadn’t ever been a woman visitor to the ranch house, except for the shepherds’ wives.
She didn’t tease. Sympathy marked her expression, and the kindness in her eyes made his chest hurt.
Maybe she’d grown up, too.
Maybe she could handle life better now. That was all well and good, but he’d lost something a dozen years before. A part of his heart and a chunk of his soul had fallen by the wayside when she chose school over their unborn child.
Guilt hit him, because he was four years older than Lizzie, and it took two to create a child. He’d let them both down back then, and the consequences of their actions haunted him still.
“You’ve got your daddy’s eyes. And the look of him in some ways.”
“And his mother.”
He didn’t mean the words to come out curtly, but they did and there was no snatching them back. Lizzie stayed still, gazing down, then seemed to collect herself. “That’s the way of things, of course.”
“Do you look like your mother?” Zeke asked as Lizzie stood up.
“I don’t. I look more like my dad and my Uncle Sean. My two sisters look like my mother.”
“Mister Sean was your uncle?” That fact surprised Zeke. “So we’re almost like family!”
“Or at least very good friends.” She smiled down at him. “I think I’d like to be your friend, Zeke Caufield.”
“And I will like being your friend, too, Miss Lizzie!”
“Just Lizzie,” she told him. She reached out and palmed his head. No fancy nail polish gilded her nails. And from the looks of them, she still bit them when she got nervous. Was the move to the ranch making her nervous? Or was it him?
“But Dad says I’m asposed to call people stuff like that,” Zeke explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “To be polite.”
“I think if you say my name politely, then it is polite. Isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
She looked at Heath then.
He tried to read her expression, but failed. What was she feeling, seeing his son? Did her mind go back to their past, like his did? Would this old ache ever come to some kind of peace between them? How could it?
“Dad, I’m so starving!”
“Hey, little man, lunch is ready inside.” Cookie, the ranch house manager, called to Zeke through the screen door. He saw Heath’s questioning look and waved toward the road. “Rosina had a doctor’s appointment, remember? So Zeke is hanging with me for a few hours.”
He’d forgotten that, even though he’d made a note in his phone. What kind of father was he?
“I’ll see to him, boss.” Cookie’s deep voice offered reassurance, but it wasn’t his job to watch Zeke, and keeping a five-year-old safe on a working ranch wasn’t a piece of cake. “No big deal.”
It wasn’t a big deal to the cook because he had a good heart, but it was a huge deal to Heath. His first priority should be caring for his son, and since he’d lost his friend and mentor, Heath was pretty sure he’d fallen down on that. He’d add it to the list of necessary improvements, a list that seemed to be getting longer every day.
“Maybe I can be with you?” Zeke had started for the stairs, but he paused and looked back at Lizzie. “Like while Dad’s working and Cookie’s busy. I won’t get in the way.” He shook his head in an earnest attempt to convince her. “I like almost never get in the way.”
Cookie bit back a laugh.
Heath didn’t. He slanted his gaze down. “Miss Lizzie will be busy. You stay here with Cookie. Got it?”
Zeke peeked past him to Lizzie, then sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“But for now we can have lunch together,” said Lizzie as she followed Zeke up the stairs.
He couldn’t stop Zeke from eating with Lizzie, and the reality of having her here was a done deal. But he could set limits when it came to Zeke. He was his father, after all.
But when Zeke aimed a grin up to Lizzie and she smiled right back down, another dose of reality hit him.
He couldn’t enforce sanctions on emotions. And from the way his son was smiling up at Lizzie, then reaching for her hand...
He swallowed a sigh and headed for the barn.
Emotions and Lizzie were a whole other rodeo. One he knew too well.
