The Rancher
Autor
Diana Palmer
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11
Chapter One
Maddie Lane was worried. She was standing in her big yard, looking at her chickens, and all she saw was a mixture of hens. There were red ones and white ones and gray speckled ones. But they were all hens. Someone was missing: her big Rhode Island Red rooster, Pumpkin.
She knew where he likely was. It made her grind her teeth together. There was going to be trouble, again, and she was going to be on the receiving end of it.
She pushed back her short, wavy blond hair and grimaced. Her wide gray eyes searched the yard, hoping against hope that she was mistaken, that Pumpkin had only gone in search of bugs, not cowboys.
“Pumpkin?” she called loudly.
Great-Aunt Sadie came to the door. She was slight and a little dumpy, with short, thin gray hair, wearing glasses and a worried look.
“I saw him go over toward the Brannt place, Maddie,” she said as she moved out onto the porch. “I’m sorry.”
Maddie groaned aloud. “I’ll have to go after him. Cort will kill me!”
“Well, he hasn’t so far,” Sadie replied gently. “And he could have shot Pumpkin, but he didn’t…”
“Only because he missed!” Maddie huffed. She sighed and put her hands on her slim hips. She had a boyish figure. She wasn’t tall or short, just sort of in the middle. But she was graceful, for all that. And she could work on a ranch, which she did. Her father had taught her how to raise cattle, how to market them, how to plan and how to budget. Her little ranch wasn’t anything big or special, but she made a little money. Things had been going fine until she decided she wanted to branch out her organic egg-laying business and bought Pumpkin after her other rooster was killed by a coyote, along with several hens. But now things weren’t so great financially.
Maddie had worried about getting a new rooster. Her other one wasn’t really vicious, but she did have to carry a tree branch around with her to keep from getting spurred. She didn’t want another aggressive one.
“Oh, he’s gentle as a lamb,” the former owner assured her. “Great bloodlines, good breeder, you’ll get along just fine with him!”
Sure, she thought when she put him in the chicken yard and his first act was to jump on her foreman, old Ben Harrison, when he started to gather eggs.
“Better get rid of him now,” Ben had warned as she doctored the cuts on his arms the rooster had made even through the fabric.
“He’ll settle down, he’s just excited about being in a new place,” Maddie assured him.
Looking back at that conversation now, she laughed. Ben had been right. She should have sent the rooster back to the vendor in a shoebox. But she’d gotten attached to the feathered assassin. Sadly, Cort Brannt hadn’t.
Cort Matthew Brannt was every woman’s dream of the perfect man. He was tall, muscular without making it obvious, cultured, and he could play a guitar like a professional. He had jet-black hair with a slight wave, large dark brown eyes and a sensuous mouth that Maddie often dreamed of kissing.
The problem was that Cort was in love with their other neighbor, Odalie Everett. Odalie was the daughter of big-time rancher Cole Everett and his wife, Heather, who was a former singer and songwriter. She had two brothers, John and Tanner. John still lived at home, but Tanner lived in Europe. Nobody talked about him.
Odalie loved grand opera. She had her mother’s clear, beautiful voice and she wanted to be a professional soprano. That meant specialized training.
Cort wanted to marry Odalie, who couldn’t see him for dust. She’d gone off to Italy to study with some famous voice trainer. Cort was distraught and it didn’t help that Maddie’s rooster kept showing up in his yard and attacking him without warning.
“I can’t understand why he wants to go all the way over there to attack Cort,” Maddie said aloud. “I mean, we’ve got cowboys here!”
“Cort threw a rake at him the last time he came over here to look at one of your yearling bulls,” Sadie reminded her.
“I throw things at him all the time,” Maddie pointed out.
“Yes, but Cort chased him around the yard, picked him up by his feet, and carried him out to the hen yard to show him to the hens. Hurt his pride,” Sadie continued. “He’s getting even.”
“You think so?”
“Roosters are unpredictable. That particular one,” she added with a bite in her voice that was very out of character, “should have been chicken soup!”
“Great-Aunt Sadie!”
“Just telling you the way it is,” Sadie huffed. “My brother—your granddaddy—would have killed him the first time he spurred you.”
Maddie smiled. “I guess he would. I don’t like killing things. Not even mean roosters.”
“Cort would kill him for you if he could shoot straight,” Sadie said with veiled contempt. “You load that .28 gauge shotgun in the closet for me, and I’ll do it.”
“Great-Aunt Sadie!”
She made a face. “Stupid thing. I wanted to pet the hens and he ran me all the way into the house. Pitiful, when a chicken can terrorize a whole ranch. You go ask Ben how he feels about that red rooster. I dare you. If you’d let him, he’d run a truck over it!”
Maddie sighed. “I guess Pumpkin is a terror. Well, maybe Cort will deal with him once and for all and I can go get us a nice rooster.”
“In my experience, no such thing,” the older woman said. “And about Cort dealing with him…” She nodded toward the highway.
Maddie grimaced. A big black ranch truck turned off the highway and came careening down the road toward the house. It was obviously being driven by a maniac.
The truck screeched to a stop at the front porch, sending chickens running for cover in the hen yard because of the noise.
“Great,” Maddie muttered. “Now they’ll stop laying for two days because he’s terrified them!”
“Better worry about yourself,” Great-Aunt Sadie said. “Hello, Cort! Nice to see you,” she added with a wave and ran back into the house, almost at a run.
Maddie bit off what she was going to say about traitors. She braced herself as a tall, lean, furious cowboy in jeans, boots, a chambray shirt and a black Stetson cocked over one eye came straight toward her. She knew what the set of that hat meant. He was out for blood.
“I’m sorry!” she said at once, raising her hands, palms out. “I’ll do something about him, I promise!”
“Andy landed in a cow patty,” he raged in his deep voice. “That’s nothing compared to what happened to the others while we were chasing him. I went headfirst into the dipping tray!”
She wouldn’t laugh, she wouldn’t laugh, she wouldn’t…
“Oh, hell, stop that!” he raged while she bent over double at the mental image of big, handsome Cort lying facedown in the stinky stuff they dipped cattle in to prevent disease.
“I’m sorry. Really!” She forced herself to stop laughing. She wiped her wet eyes and tried to look serious. “Go ahead, keep yelling at me. Really. It’s okay.”
“Your stupid rooster is going to feed my ranch hands if you don’t keep him at home!” he said angrily.
“Oh, my, chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?” she asked wistfully. “I mean, I guess I could hire an off-duty army unit to come out here and spend the next week trying to run him down.” She gave him a droll look. “If you and your men can’t catch him, how do you expect me to catch him?”
“I caught him the first day he was here,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but that was three months ago,” she pointed out. “And he’d just arrived. Now he’s learned evasion techniques.” She frowned. “I wonder if they’ve ever thought of using roosters as attack animals for the military? I should suggest it to someone.”
“I’d suggest you find some way to keep him at home before I resort to the courts.”
“You’d sue me over a chicken?” she exclaimed. “Wow, what a headline that would be. Rich, Successful Rancher Sues Starving, Female Small-Rancher for Rooster Attack. Wouldn’t your dad love reading that headline in the local paper?” she asked with a bland smile.
His expression was growing so hard that his high cheekbones stood out. “One more flying red feather attack and I’ll risk it. I’m not kidding.”
“Oh, me, neither.” She crossed her heart. “I’ll have the vet prescribe some tranquilizers for Pumpkin to calm him down,” she said facetiously. She frowned. “Ever thought about asking your family doctor for some? You look very stressed.”
“I’m stressed because your damned rooster keeps attacking me! On my own damned ranch!” he raged.
“Well, I can see that it’s a stressful situation to be in,” she sympathized. “With him attacking you, and all.” She knew it would make him furious, but she had to know. “I hear Odalie Everett went to Italy.”
The anger grew. Now it was cold and threatening. “Since when is Odalie of interest to you?”
“Just passing on the latest gossip.” She peered at him through her lashes. “Maybe you should study opera…”
“You venomous little snake,” he said furiously. “As if you could sing a note that wasn’t flat!”
She colored. “I could sing if I wanted to!”
He looked her up and down. “Sure. And get suddenly beautiful with it?”
The color left her face.
“You’re too thin, too flat-chested, too plain and too untalented to ever appeal to me, just in case you wondered,” he added with unconcealed distaste.
She drew herself up to her full height, which only brought the top of her head to his chin, and stared at him with ragged dignity. “Thank you. I was wondering why men don’t come around. It’s nice to know the reason.”
Her damaged pride hit him soundly, and he felt small. He shifted from one big booted foot to the other. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said after a minute.
She turned away. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him.
Her sudden vulnerability hurt him. He started after her. “Listen, Madeline,” he began.
She whirled on her booted heel. Her pale eyes shot fire at him. Her exquisite complexion went ruddy. Beside her thighs, her hands were clenched. “You think you’re God’s gift to women, don’t you? Well, let me tell you a thing or two! You’ve traded on your good looks for years to get you what you want, but it didn’t get you Odalie, did it?”
His face went stony. “Odalie is none of your damned business,” he said in a soft, dangerous tone.
“Looks like she’s none of yours, either,” she said spitefully. “Or she’d never have left you.”
He turned around and stomped back to his truck.
“And don’t you dare roar out of my driveway and scare my hens again!”
He slammed the door, started the truck and deliberately gunned the engine as he roared out toward the main highway.
“Three days they won’t lay, now,” Maddie said to herself. She turned, miserable, and went up the porch steps. Her pride was never going to heal from that attack. She’d had secret feelings for Cort since she was sixteen. He’d never noticed her, of course, not even to tease her as men sometimes did. He simply ignored her existence most of the time, when her rooster wasn’t attacking him. Now she knew why. Now she knew what he really thought of her.
Great-Aunt Sadie was waiting by the porch screen door. She was frowning. “No call for him to say that about you,” she muttered. “Conceited man!”
Maddie fought tears and lost.
Great-Aunt Sadie wrapped her up tight and hugged her. “Don’t you believe what he said. He was just mad and looking for a way to hurt you because you mentioned his precious Odalie. She’s too good for any cowboy. At least, she thinks she is.”
“She’s beautiful and rich and talented. But so is Cort,” Maddie choked out. “It really would have been a good match, to pair the Everett’s Big Spur ranch with Skylance, the Brannt ranch. What a merger that would be.”
“Except that Odalie doesn’t love Cort and she probably never will.”
“She may come home with changed feelings,” Maddie replied, drawing away. “She might have a change of heart. He’s always been around, sending her flowers, calling her. All that romantic stuff. The sudden stop might open her eyes to what a catch he is.”
“You either love somebody or you don’t,” the older woman said quietly.
“You think?”
“I’ll make you a nice pound cake. That will cheer you up.”
“Thanks. That’s sweet of you.” She wiped her eyes. “Well, at least I’ve lost all my illusions. Now I can just deal with my ranch and stop mooning over a man who thinks he’s too good for me.”
“No man is too good for you, sweetheart,” Great-Aunt Sadie said gently. “You’re pure gold. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you different.”
She smiled.
* * *
When she went out late in the afternoon to put her hens in their henhouse to protect them from overnight predators, Pumpkin was right where he should be—back in the yard.
“You’re going to get me sued, you red-feathered problem child,” she muttered. She was carrying a small tree branch and a metal garbage can lid as she herded her hens into the large chicken house. Pumpkin lowered his head and charged her, but he bounced off the lid.
“Get in there, you fowl assassin,” she said, evading and turning on him.
He ran into the henhouse. She closed the door behind him and latched it, leaned back against it with a sigh.
“Need to get rid of that rooster, Miss Maddie,” Ben murmured as he walked by. “Be delicious with some dumplings.”
“I’m not eating Pumpkin!”
He shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll eat him for you.”
“I’m not feeding him to you, either, Ben.”
He made a face and kept walking.
She went inside to wash her hands and put antibiotic cream on the places where her knuckles were scraped from using the garbage can lid. She looked at her hands under the running water. They weren’t elegant hands. They had short nails and they were functional, not pretty. She remembered Odalie Everett’s long, beautiful white fingers on the keyboard at church, because Odalie could play as well as she sang. The woman was gorgeous, except for her snobbish attitude. No wonder Cort was in love with her.
Maddie looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet above the sink and winced. She really was plain, she thought. Of course, she never used makeup or perfume, because she worked from dawn to dusk on the ranch. Not that makeup would make her beautiful, or give her bigger breasts or anything like that. She was basically just pleasant to look at, and Cort wanted beauty, brains and talent.
“I guess you’ll end up an old spinster with a rooster who terrorizes the countryside.”
The thought made her laugh. She thought of photographing Pumpkin and making a giant Wanted poster, with the legend, Wanted: Dead or Alive. She could hardly contain herself at the image that presented itself if she offered some outlandish reward. Men would wander the land with shotguns, looking for a small red rooster.
“Now you’re getting silly,” she told her image, and went back to work.
* * *
Cort Brannt slammed out of his pickup truck and into the ranch house, flushed with anger and self-contempt.
His mother, beautiful Shelby Brannt, glanced up as he passed the living room.
“Wow,” she murmured. “Cloudy and looking like rain.”
He paused and glanced at her. He grimaced, retraced his steps, tossed his hat onto the sofa and sat down beside her. “Yeah.”
“That rooster again, huh?” she teased.
His dark eyes widened. “How did you guess?”
She tried to suppress laughter and lost. “Your father came in here bent over double, laughing his head off. He said half the cowboys were ready to load rifles and go rooster-hunting about the time you drove off. He wondered if we might need to find legal representation for you…?”
“I didn’t shoot her,” he said. He shrugged his powerful shoulders and let out a long sigh, his hands dangling between his splayed legs as he stared at the carpet. “But I said some really terrible things to her.”
Shelby put down the European fashion magazine she’d been reading. In her younger days, she had been a world-class model before she married King Brannt. “Want to talk about it, Matt?” she asked gently.
“Cort,” he corrected with a grin.
She sighed. “Cort. Listen, your dad and I were calling you Matt until you were teenager, so it’s hard…”
“Yes, well, you were calling Morie ‘Dana,’ too, weren’t you?”
Shelby laughed. “It was an inside-joke. I’ll tell it to you one day.” She smiled. “Come on. Talk to me.”
His mother could always take the weight off his shoulders. He’d never been able to speak so comfortably about personal things to his father, although he loved the older man dearly. He and his mother were on the same wavelength. She could almost read his mind.
“I was pretty mad,” he confessed. “And she was cracking jokes about that stupid rooster. Then she made a crack about Odalie and I just, well, I just lost it.”
Odalie, she knew, was a sore spot with her son. “I’m sorry about the way things worked out, Cort,” she said gently. “But there’s always hope. Never lose sight of that.”
“I sent her roses. Serenaded her. Called her just to talk. Listened to her problems.” He looked up. “None of that mattered. That Italian voice trainer gave her an invitation and she got on the next plane to Rome.”
“She wants to sing. You know that. You’ve always known it. Her mother has the voice of an angel, too.”
“Yes, but Heather never wanted fame. She wanted Cole Everett,” he pointed out with a faint smile.
“That was one hard case of a man,” Shelby pointed out. “Like your father.” She shook her head. “We had a very, very rocky road to the altar. And so did Heather and Cole.”
She continued pensively. “You and Odalie’s brother, John Everett, were good friends for a while. What happened there?”
“His sister happened,” Cort replied. “She got tired of having me at their place all the time playing video games with John and was very vocal about it, so he stopped inviting me over. I invited him here, but he got into rodeo and then I never saw him much. We’re still friends, in spite of everything.”
“He’s a good fellow.”
“Yeah.”
Shelby got up, ruffled his hair and grinned. “You’re a good fellow, too.”
He laughed softly. “Thanks.”
“Try not to dwell so much on things,” she advised. “Sit back and just let life happen for a while. You’re so intense, Cort. Like your dad,” she said affectionately, her dark eyes soft on his face. “One day Odalie may discover that you’re the sun in her sky and come home. But you have to let her try her wings. She’s traveled, but only with her parents. This is her first real taste of freedom. Let her enjoy it.”
“Even if she messes up her life with that Italian guy?”
“Even then. It’s her life,” she reminded him gently. “You don’t like people telling you what to do, even if it’s for your own good, right?”
He glowered at her. “If you’re going to mention that time you told me not to climb up the barn roof and I didn’t listen…”
“Your first broken arm,” she recalled, and pursed her lips. “And I didn’t even say I told you so,” she reminded him.
“No. You didn’t.” He stared at his linked fingers. “Maddie Lane sets me off. But I should never have said she was ugly and no man would want her.”
“You said that?” she exclaimed, wincing. “Cort…!”
“I know.” He sighed. “Not my finest moment. She’s not a bad person. It’s just she gets these goofy notions about animals. That rooster is going to hurt somebody bad one day, maybe put an eye out, and she thinks it’s funny.”
“She doesn’t realize he’s dangerous,” she replied.
“She doesn’t want to realize it. She’s in over her head with these expansion projects. Cage-free eggs. She hasn’t got the capital to go into that sort of operation, and she’s probably already breaking half a dozen laws by selling them to restaurants.”
“She’s hurting for money,” Shelby reminded somberly. “Most ranchers are, even us. The drought is killing us. But Maddie only has a few head of cattle and she can’t buy feed for them if her corn crop dies. She’ll have to sell at a loss. Her breeding program is already losing money.” She shook her head. “Her father was a fine rancher. He taught your father things about breeding bulls. But Maddie just doesn’t have the experience. She jumped in at the deep end when her father died, but it was by necessity, not choice. I’m sure she’d much rather be drawing pictures than trying to produce calves.”
“Drawing.” He said it with contempt.
She stared at him. “Cort, haven’t you ever noticed that?” She indicated a beautiful rendering in pastels of a fairy in a patch of daisies in an exquisite frame on the wall.
He glanced at it. “Not bad. Didn’t you get that at an art show last year?”
“I got it from Maddie last year. She drew it.”
He frowned. He actually got up and went to look at the piece. “She drew that?” he asked.
“Yes. She was selling two pastel drawings at the art show. This was one of them. She sculpts, too—beautiful little fairies—but she doesn’t like to show those to people. I told her she should draw professionally, perhaps in graphic design or even illustration. She laughed. She doesn’t think she’s good enough.” She sighed. “Maddie is insecure. She has one of the poorest self-images of anyone I know.”
Cort knew that. His lips made a thin line. He felt even worse after what he’d said to her. “I should probably call and apologize,” he murmured.
“That’s not a bad idea, son,” she agreed.
“And then I should drive over there, hide in the grass and shoot that damned red-feathered son of a…!”
“Cort!”
He let out a harsh breath. “Okay. I’ll call her.”
“Roosters don’t live that long,” she called after him. “He’ll die of old age before too much longer.”
“With my luck, he’ll hit fifteen and keep going. Animals that nasty never die!” he called back.
* * *
He wanted to apologize to Maddie. But when he turned on his cell phone, he realized that he didn’t even know her phone number. He tried to look it up on the internet, but couldn’t find a listing.
He went back downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen.
“Do you know the Lanes’ phone number?” he asked.
She blinked. “Well, no. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to call them, not since Pierce Lane died last year, anyway.”
“No number listed, anywhere,” he said.
“You might drive by there later in the week,” she suggested gently. “It’s not that far.”
He hesitated. “She’d lock the doors and hide inside when I drove up,” he predicted.
His mother didn’t know what to say. He was probably right.
“I need to get away,” he said after a minute. “I’m wired like a piano. I need to get away from the rooster and Odalie and…everything.”
“Why don’t you go to Wyoming and visit your sister?” she suggested.
He sighed. “She’s not expecting me until Thursday.”
She laughed. “She won’t care. Go early. It would do both of you good.”
“It might at that.”
“It won’t take you long to fly up there,” she added. “You can use the corporate jet. I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind. He misses Morie. So do I.”
“Yeah, I miss her, too,” he said. He hugged his mother. “I’ll go pack a bag. If that rooster shows up looking for me, put him on a plane to France, would you? I hear they love chicken over there. Get him a business-class ticket. If someone can ship a lobster from Maine,” he added with a laugh, referring to a joke that had gone the rounds years before, “I can ship a chicken to France.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” she promised.
* * *
His mother was right, Cort thought that evening. He loved being with his sister. He and Morie were a lot alike, from their hot tempers to their very Puritan attitudes. They’d always been friends. When she was just five, she’d followed her big brother around everywhere, to the amusement of his friends. Cort was tolerant and he adored her. He never minded the kidding.
“I’m sorry about your rooster problems,” Morie told him with a gentle laugh. “Believe me, we can understand. My poor sister-in-law has fits with ours.”
“I like Bodie,” he said, smiling. “Cane sure seems different these days.”
“He is. He’s back in therapy, he’s stopped smashing bars and he seems to have settled down for good. Bodie’s wonderful for him. She and Cane have had some problems, but they’re mostly solved now,” she said. She smiled secretly. “Actually, Bodie and I are going to have a lot more in common for the next few months.”
Cort was quick. He glanced at her in the semidarkness of the front porch, with fireflies darting around. “A baby?”
She laughed with pure delight. “A baby,” she said, and her voice was like velvet. “I only found out a little while ago. Bodie found out the day you showed up.” She sighed. “So much happiness. It’s almost too much to bear. Mal’s over the moon.”
“Is it a boy or a girl? Do you know yet?”
She shook her head. “Too early to tell. But we’re not going to ask. We want it to be a surprise, however old-fashioned that might be.”
He chuckled. “I’m going to be an uncle. Wow. That’s super. Have you told Mom and Dad?”
“Not yet. I’ll call Mom tonight, though.”
“She’ll be so excited. Her first grandchild.”
Morie glanced at him. “You ever going to get married?” she asked.
“Sure, if Odalie ever says yes.” He sighed. “She was warming up to me there just for a while. Then that Italian fellow came along and offered her voice training. He’s something of a legend among opera stars. And that’s what she wants, to sing at the Met.” He grimaced. “Just my luck, to fall in love with a woman who only wants a career.”
“I believe her mother was the same way, wasn’t she?” Morie asked gently. “And then she and Cole Everett got really close. She gave up being a professional singer to come home and have kids. Although she still composes. That Wyoming group, Desperado, had a major hit from a song she wrote for them some years ago.”
“I think she still composes. But she likes living on a ranch. Odalie hates it. She says she’s never going to marry a man who smells like cow droppings.” He looked at one of his big boots, where his ankle was resting on his other knee in the rocking chair. “I’m a rancher, damn it,” he muttered. “I can’t learn another trade. Dad’s counting on me to take over when he can’t do the work anymore.”
“Yes, I know,” she said sadly. “What else could you do?”
“Teach, I guess,” he replied. “I have a degree in animal husbandry.” He made a face. “I’d rather be shot. I’d rather let that red-feathered assassin loose on my nose. I hate the whole idea of routine.”
“Me, too,” Morie confessed. “I love ranching. I guess the drought is giving Dad problems, too, huh?”
“It’s been pretty bad,” Cort agreed. “People in Oklahoma and the other plains states are having it worse, though. No rain. It’s like the Dust Bowl in the thirties, people are saying. So many disaster declarations.”
“How are you getting around it?”
“Wells, mostly,” he said. “We’ve drilled new ones and filled the tanks to the top. Irrigating our grain crops. Of course, we’ll still have to buy some feed through the winter. But we’re in better shape than a lot of other cattle producers. Damn, I hate how it’s going to impact small ranchers and farmers. Those huge combines will be standing in the shadows, just waiting to pounce when the foreclosures come.”
“Family ranches are going to be obsolete one day, like family farms,” Morie said sadly. “Except, maybe, for the big ones, like ours.”
“True words. People don’t realize how critical this really is.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “That’s why we have the National Cattleman’s Association and the state organizations,” she reminded him. “Now stop worrying. We’re going fishing tomorrow!”
“Really?” he asked, delighted. “Trout?”
“Yes. The water’s just cold enough, still. When it heats up too much, you can’t eat them.” She sighed. “This may be the last chance we’ll get for a while, if this heat doesn’t relent.”
“Tell me about it. We hardly had winter at all in Texas. Spring was like summer, and it’s gone downhill since. I’d love to stand in a trout stream, even if I don’t catch a thing.”
“Me, too.”
“Does Bodie fish?”
“You know, I’ve never asked. We’ll do that tomorrow. For now,” she said, rising, “I’m for bed.” She paused and hugged him. “It’s nice to have you here for a while.”
“For me, too, little sis.” He hugged her back, and kissed her forehead. “See you in the morning.”
