Читать книгу Finally a Hero - Pamela Tracy - Страница 12

Chapter Four

It took Eva almost two hours to cancel all the details tied in with the wedding reservations. Next she handled one complaint—it was clear that the guest wanted to be upgraded to a suite rather than a single room without paying the extra cost. Eva hated giving in to such blatant manipulation, but fighting the point wouldn’t accomplish anything. The ranch was nearly empty; Eva sent Mitch, one of the summer wranglers, to help with the move.

“And change into your uniform top,” she said. Mitch too often wore casual T-shirts, ones that advertised not the ranch but either beer or taverns. Today’s flaunted a place called Rex’s Bar and Grill.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, without any respect in his tone. This was his second summer, and she hoped it was his last. He had a habit of disappearing when they needed him. Worse, some of the guests coming back from a trail ride complained that he didn’t talk and was cold and unwelcoming.

She couldn’t write him up for not talking, but it didn’t make him her favorite hand.

Leaving Patti behind the desk, Eva peeked out the big picture window. Her father’s truck wasn’t in the main lot. Maybe he was down at the corral with the new hire. A real horse person would rather meet the horses than the owner’s daughter. Right?

“You might as well call your father. We’re both curious. Let’s see how things are going,” Patti suggested. “It’s been over two hours since you checked up on him.”

Patti never thought twice about calling Eva’s father to ask questions, get advice and report. Eva never did, preferring to convince him that she could handle any problem herself.

Eva studied the expanse of desert and mountain scenery. Her home, and she loved every inch. “I think I’ll go down and check things out again. We have the vet scheduled for today.”

Patti raised one eyebrow; Eva rarely went near the horses. “I’m impressed. Twice in one day. If the horses faint, let me know.”

Eva stuck out her tongue before exiting the main house, grabbing a helmet from the ATV’s rear cargo box and hopping on. As she drove the half mile to the barn, she started second-guessing herself. The earlier visit hadn’t been bad. But would she be able to handle this second visit?

To distract herself from her fears, she focused her mind on her other problem—namely, the ranch’s business problems. Her father wanted the place to be a ranch first, and a resort as a distant second. Eva wanted to convince him to turn those priorities around.

In truth, the lodging part of the Lost Dutchman was less of a headache than the ranch part, the guests’ interactions with the horses. In the past five years, once a guest had tripped on the tennis court, resulting in a sprained ankle. On the other hand, they’d had a dozen broken bones and at least one lost tooth thanks to riders leaving the horses’ saddles before the planned dismount.

They needed to shore up the side of their business that made money with no liability. She wished her dad realized that. But, that was her dad, tunnel-vision. She couldn’t get through to him that they needed to modernize the Lost Dutchman. Their business would triple if he’d agree to put in a water slide and a lazy river, plus a separate pool just for adults—but no, for the past twenty years horseback riding had been the main draw, and he was convinced nothing else was needed. He’d only reluctantly conceded to include guided hikes, biking and tennis.

And this new hire, this project of Mike Hamm and her father, would undoubtedly be a horse person; summers on a ranch did that to boys. He’d just be one more voice shouting her down when she said they should have more to offer that didn’t include horses.

Her red shirt clung like wet glue to her back as she parked the ATV and walked to the barn. To the left, a wrangler hired just two months ago conducted an intermediate riding lesson. Without having to count, Eva knew that half a dozen children ages seven to nine were involved. They were the only age willing to ride horses in this heat. Their younger siblings were in the craft house. Their older siblings were probably either in the game room or at the pool.

They’d definitely all be in the pool if only her father listened to her.

By the time she entered the barn, she was too relieved to get out of the sun to mind being surrounded by horses. She spotted Harold, their foreman and head wrangler, in Palomino Pete’s stall. Pete was a quarter horse that had been in the family for decades. Eva had first sat on Pete’s back when she was six. She’d last sat on his back when she was eight—the last time she’d ridden at all.

A family of wild turkeys had managed to get in the arena while she was riding. Maybe Pete had never seen turkeys before. Maybe Eva had gotten excited and accidentally kicked him. Or maybe he’d just stumbled at the wrong time, while she was too distracted to hold on.

No matter the cause, the result was that Eva had flown from his back and landed on her head on a rock. Thirteen stitches and one minor concussion later, her father had said no to her getting on Pete’s back again.

She’d wanted to, or so Harold said.

But Jacob Hubrecht expected people to listen when he gave orders. Especially then, when Eva’s mother had been just six months dead and nothing felt like it should have at the Lost Dutchman.

Right now, nearing retirement, Pete never went on the trail rides. He was used only for the smallest of children who wanted a safe, brief ride. In all the years they’d had him, Eva was the only rider ever to fall off.

“Everything all right?” Eva asked, not venturing past the entrance to the stall. “You hear from Dad?”

“I expect your dad any minute, and Pete’s got a slight crack on his left front hoof,” Harold said. “Probably be okay by the time tourist season begins.”

They needed tourist season to start tomorrow! Thanks to the economic downturn, the Lost Dutchman Ranch couldn’t remember what feast was and too often felt the tightening belt of famine.

The Lost Dutchman would make it, though. Everyone wanted to be a cowboy for a day, week, month. Eva, who’d majored in marketing, knew how to promote the ranch. If only she could get her father to listen to her ideas.

And stop hiring unsuitable people when they could hardly afford the staff they already had.

“I really don’t like this change,” Eva muttered.

Leaving Harold to his job, Eva went back to the ATV and returned to the main house. Maybe the new hire hadn’t shown up, and all the paperwork, phone calls and arranging for a bed had been a wasted effort on her dad’s part.

If only she could believe that.

She parked in front of the steps leading up to the two-story adobe building that had started life as a one-room cabin. Only one wall remained of that original structure. Her dad had installed a pane of glass over it, and added a plaque that shared the history of the structure.

Her dad’s truck still was nowhere around.

The current Lost Dutchman ranch house was pretty much the same color as the desert surrounding it and boasted a combination of Santa Fe style and Old West relic decor. The front porch jutted out and had what looked like tree trunks holding it up. A replica of a Conestoga wagon was to the left of the porch; a modern playground was to the right.

Stepping from her quad, she noticed that the blue jungle gym needed a fresh coat of paint. One of the rocking chairs on the porch had a rattan backing that should have been replaced. Only the cacti did their job without complaint. They looked hot and dry.

Like Eva felt.

She stepped into the lobby and pulled her shirt away from her body. The sweat dripping down her back instantly chilled thanks to the air conditioning. Patti turned the thermostat down to seventy-two every time she was left alone. It didn’t matter how many times Eva cautioned her about the electricity bill.

“You heard from Dad?” Eva asked, moving back behind the desk to check reservations. No change in the last thirty minutes.

“No. He’s been gone longer than I expected.” Usually Patti had a sixth sense about Eva’s father.

“What do you think?”

“I think he went into town, looking like he was on a mission, and he’ll be back soon.” Patti didn’t say anything Eva didn’t already know. The difference was, Patti wasn’t curious.

“I’m back.” Her dad’s rich baritone voice came from the doorway.

Eva looked up just as he stepped aside to let the new hire in.

“I thought we’d come here first,” Dad said. “We can show the little one the playground and game room.”

The little one had a name, and Eva knew it.

Timmy.

She didn’t know the big one’s name. She knew only that he came with more problems than their little ranch could afford.

* * *

“Don’t touch,” Jesse warned as Timmy finally showed an interest in something and headed toward a large glass pane that showcased a dirt wall. Before Jesse could stop the little boy, he’d touched the wall and then fingered a woven wall hanging.

“That’s okay,” Jacob said. “Glass cleans, and that wall hanging is so dusty, it makes me sneeze.”

Jesse didn’t miss Eva’s glare.

Jacob was oblivious. “This is my daughter Eva. She’ll get you started on the paperwork.”

“That wall hanging is more than a hundred years old,” Eva muttered.

While Jacob bent down next to Timmy and explained that the wall hanging had been handmade by his wife’s grandmother, Jesse stared at the blonde from the restaurant.

He should have seen the resemblance.

She was her father’s daughter, all right. Jacob was a good two inches over six feet; Eva was close to that, maybe just under six foot, equal in height with Jesse. Her blond hair was as full and rich as her father’s, though Jacob’s hair was light brown. And unlike Jacob, Eva had dark brown eyes. They reminded Jesse of a stone he’d kept in his pocket when he was about Timmy’s age. He couldn’t remember the name, but he’d loved it for the color and texture.

Eva looked at her father as if he’d lost his mind. Jesse half expected her to refuse to help him. Instead, she took a breath, looked to him as if she silently counted to ten, and brought out some documents. “I put this packet together last Friday. But I’ll need to add a couple more. We didn’t know you were coming with...”

“A son,” Jesse filled in for her.

She nodded. “Dad, you’re not going to put them in bunkhouse. I don’t think Mitch and the other wrangler would appreciate it.”

Jacob straightened, saying, “Do we have an empty cabin?”

“Noooo,” Eva said, aghast.

“Yes.” There was another woman in the room, one Jesse’d almost missed. She, too, was tall, but unlike the Hubrechts he’d already met, she had red hair. Right now she was giving Eva a bewildered stare. She’d been watching the exchange between the three with keen interest.

“The Baker wedding party canceled, Dad,” Eva explained.

He whistled. “That will cost us a pretty penny. What happened?”

The redhead answered, “The bride reunited with her ex-boyfriend when he came home from Afghanistan.” To Jesse, she said, “I’m Patti de la Rosa, I help run the place.”

Eva interjected, “I already put all the cabins up on the website as a special.”

“We don’t need a cabin.” Jesse just wanted out of this room and this debate so he could be alone—or at least, as alone as he could be with a five-year-old. “The bunkhouse you told me about is fine.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“He can use the guest apartment,” Jacob decided.

“That’s for family,” Eva said.

“The family hasn’t used it in a good long time. It’s just sitting there, wasted space.”

Eva looked aghast. “But what if Elise decides to come home and—”

“She won’t.”

Something in Jacob’s tone made Jesse believe him. Whoever Elise was.

“A single room is fine,” he insisted.

“No, Dad’s right. You’ll need a bathroom.” For all her indignation and huffiness, there was something about her expression as she looked at Timmy. Jesse saw then something he’d missed earlier when dealing with her: a hint of compassion. Not for him, but for Timmy, whose yellow T-shirt was torn and threadbare, who had stick arms poking from the sleeves, and who sported the kind of grime that came not from one afternoon spent in the dirt, but many. The kid’s ears were almost black.

The kid?

His kid.

“We’ll appreciate anything you can do for us tonight,” Jesse said.

Timmy wasn’t paying attention. It was almost as if when Eva started talking, he stopped listening.

“Come on, then,” Jacob said. “I’ll take you to the guest apartment. It’s not been cleaned or aired out in a while.”

“I know how to clean and open windows.” Jesse fell in step behind Jacob. Glancing back, he felt relieved to see Timmy coming along, too—although clearly “speed” wasn’t a word in the boy’s vocabulary.

“This is the Lost Dutchman Ranch,” Jacob said, as if Jesse didn’t know. “I purchased her more than thirty years ago. I was just off the rodeo circuit, settling down, thinking of starting a family. She started life as a one-room cabin. You saw one of the original walls in there. I left it and put it behind glass.”

If this was the desert, Jesse thought, it was the oasis of deserts. There were plenty of green plants and cacti. Every few yards, there was a swing with a canopy. An empty tennis court was to his left, and what looked like a one-room schoolhouse was to his right.

“Man I bought her from had built two more rooms, but neither was up to code.”

Jesse wasn’t sure what that meant.

“I added electricity, running water and furniture. A few years later, when my wife got pregnant with Eva, she insisted on a bigger house. I built her this when she had my third daughter, Emily.”

“Is your wife the redheaded woman back at the main house?”

“Patti?” Jacob’s laugh sounded more like a bark. “Patti de la Rosa works for me. She helps Eva run the business side of things. She’s been a blessing since my wife died. More than once her advice on how to raise my three daughters kept me from falling on my face.”

“No sons?”

“No, but my daughters can do just about anything that sons could do. Eva’s the only one who stuck around, though. She was just a little thing when I started expanding the main house. I’ve got pictures of her mixing mud mortar. She thought she was making pancakes, I’m pretty sure.”

“You built the main house?”

“Designed it, built it, maintain it.”

Before Jacob could say anything else, they arrived at the barn.

“I’ll introduce you to Harold Mull. He’s the head wrangler and foreman. When I’m not telling you what to do, he’ll be telling you. The vet’s here, too.”

Timmy had been keeping up, but now that they’d reached the barn, he hesitated.

“Come on,” Jesse urged him. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

“Ever seen a horse before?” Jacob asked.

Timmy shook his head.

“Well,” said Jacob, “they’re my favorite animal in the whole world. Next to dogs, of course.”

Timmy nodded as if he agreed.

Next thing Jesse knew, Jacob had both of them in the barn, standing next to a stall, as the vet took care of a horse named Harry Potter.

“My youngest daughter named quite a few of the horses,” Jacob explained. “She always had her head in a book. Consequently, we’ve got some very literary horses.”

An hour later, after introducing Timmy and Jesse to more horses and to the two wranglers, Jacob led them to a set of stairs in the back of the barn. The top of the stairs had a storage alcove on one side and the apartment on the other.

“We call this the loft and don’t lock the door. You can if you want. I’ll need to find the key.”

The front door opened to a living room with an ugly green couch, a mud-brown easy chair, a scratched coffee table and an old-fashioned television. Timmy, uninterested in the tour, immediately settled onto the couch. The kitchen was behind it. A door to the right led to a bathroom and bedroom big enough for only a bed, no dresser.

After showing Jesse around, Jacob cleared his throat and said, “You can start in the morning. Four o’clock. Harold will tell you what to do. Meantime, dinner is from five to six here.”

The door slammed behind him, and for the first time that day, Jesse had silence.

He didn’t trust it.

“Well,” Jesse said. “Let’s go bring the car down and unload our belongings.”

Timmy’s belongings, really. Jesse had a duffel bag.

No answer.

Timmy was curled into a fetal position on the couch, sound asleep. Jesse headed for the door, put his hand on the doorknob and stopped. Could he leave? Could he leave a five-year-old alone? What if Timmy woke up and got scared? Worse, what if Timmy woke up and wandered downstairs and out the barn door?

Five minutes later, Jesse carried the boy, who maybe weighed thirty-five pounds, all the way back to the main house. Eva stepped out on the porch.

Unlike most women, she didn’t holler, “Everything okay?”

Instead, just like at the restaurant, she watched him. Her expression indicated that she already knew what he was doing, plus all the things he didn’t know, and why and exactly how it would turn out.

He sat Timmy in the backseat—right where he first met the boy—and drove to the barn, parking by a blue truck, which must be the trademark for the ranch. Then he gently eased Timmy from the car and carried him upstairs and to the couch. Before he went back downstairs to unload the car, he snagged a blanket from the bed and covered the boy.

His son.

It took only ten minutes to unload the car and put their belongings away. Timmy’s clothes went in the bedroom closet, which actually had drawers. His games stayed in the living room under the coffee table. Then Jesse meticulously went through every crevice of the car. He found the owner’s manual but no title or registration receipt. He found a jack but no spare tire. After circling the vehicle, he realized the spare tire was already on the front passenger side. The only paper in the glove box—aside from receipts and other trash—had been the birth certificate. There was no other information on Timmy.

He had no clue if his son had been to preschool, the doctor or church. He was starting from scratch, both as an ex-con and as a father. A slight breeze pushed against him as he entered the barn and headed for the stairs up to his apartment. Instead of hundreds of convicts, he smelled horse.

He wasn’t sure which smelled worse.

Entering his apartment, all he could think of was that for the first time in more than five years, he had nothing to do, nowhere to be and no one to avoid. Instead, he had someone besides himself to take care of.

Walking to the window, he stared out at sweet freedom. It existed. He put his fingers on the glass, probably not bullet-proof, and then felt along the frame, finally getting his fingers just under the edge. It opened, and he breathed in the fresh air—hot, tinged with the scent of animals and roiling heat...and yes, something sweet.