Читать книгу The Texas Rancher's Return - Allie Pleiter - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“I hate it when you’re last.” At the tender age of eight, Audie had already mastered a guilt-inducing pout that could turn Brooke’s gut to rock in seconds.

She picked up her daughter’s backpack, waving goodbye to the after-school day-care worker, who offered a smile that was half sympathy, half judgment. “I hate being last, honey.” She forced enthusiasm into her voice. “But I have a great story why. Perfect taco-night conversation.”

Friday night tacos had been a tradition since Audie was old enough to eat them, and it helped to put the stress of the working week to bed for both of them. While the rest of single parenting often eluded her, Friday Tacos for Two was one of the things Brooke felt she got right. Jim’s death two years ago had left them both reeling, and since the Friday Taco Trio that was his idea was no longer an option, Friday Tacos for Two had been one of a hundred reinventions life had forced on them.

“I pick Edie’s,” Audie announced as she flipped the passenger seat forward and crawled into her booster in the car’s tiny backseat. Each Friday, Audie could choose which of the four local taco joints would serve their feast. Audie was never short of opinions on any subject, so Brooke liked to give her opportunities to choose whenever she could. Brooke scanned the shrinking space between Audie’s pigtails and the car roof—in another year, she’d need a new car. She needed a new lots of things, which made the well-paying job she’d only recently landed at DelTex such a relief.

“Good choice.” Brooke nodded as she twisted the key in the ignition, noting the hesitant hiccup in the car’s ignition with a hint of concern.

“So what made you late?”

Brooke gave a silent prayer of thanks that Audie hadn’t added “this time.” She was late more often than she liked, but she had to hold her own with a lot of DelTex’s other staffers, who seemed to have no other commitments in life than Margarita Night at the local roadhouse.

“Oh, this is a good one,” Brooke teased, catching Audie’s dark brown eyes in the rearview mirror as she pulled out onto the avenue. “But you’ll have to tell me about your day first before you get this story over tacos.”

Audie shrugged—a gesture so much like her father that Brooke felt a familiar ache of grief rise and push under her ribs. “Nothin’ really happened. Melissa’s still mad at Luke. Oh, Maria and me got partnered for a science project.”

A third-grade science project. Brooke had visions of shoe-box dioramas or poster boards. Given her marketing and presentation skills, Brooke thought this might be one parenting area she could ace. “What about?”

“Native Texan animals.”

“Any in particular?”

“We can pick one we like. Of course Robbie and Jake chose longhorns, and Steve and Marcus chose bats. Maria and I were thinking about buffalos or armadillos.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “No kidding! Then you’re really gonna want to hear my dinner story. You’ll be glad I was late by the time I’m done telling you what happened to me today.” Thanks, Lord. Brooke shot a sigh of gratitude heavenward as she pulled into Edie’s Taco Patio, glad to feel a genuine smile fill her face.

“Why?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not getting it out of me before table grace, you sneaky little girl. Come on, let’s eat.”

Audie scrambled out of the seat the moment the car was turned off, all traces of her former gloom gone, replaced by a wide, expectant grin Brooke felt down to her toes. “Did you squash an armadillo with your car? Is that why you’re late?”

Brooke ignored the dig and mimed zipping her lip into silence as she pulled open the restaurant door. If she played her cards right, getting blocked by the giant mama bison wouldn’t end up being the disaster she’d beaten herself up for the entire drive to Audie’s day care.

“Soooo?” Audie pleaded the minute they were seated with a pair of tacos each, her daughter’s eyes wide and brown as a cow’s—or was that a bison’s?

“Grace first,” Brooke countered, gratified that most of the frantic sourness of her 5:55 pickup had evaporated. She bowed her head, but stole a look up for her favorite sight in all the world: Audie’s small pink hands folded in prayer, the full brown lashes of her closed eyes lush against rosy cheeks. Was there a sweeter sight this side of heaven? “Dear God, thank You for these tacos and our time together. Thank You for all You provide, and may we always be truly thankful.” She waited for Audie’s contribution to the prayer, for they each took part in table grace.

“Thank You that Hammie’s okay and that Alex doesn’t hate Benjamin anymore. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

“Something happened to Hammie?” Brooke inquired, wondering what had jeopardized the fate of the class hamster.

Audie took a bite of taco. “Jenna dropped him,” she said with her mouth full, earning a you know better scowl from Brooke. “Story!” she pleaded after a dramatic display of swallowing, nearly bouncing in her seat with anticipation.

“I met a real buffalo—a bison—today. Up close. Her name was Daisy, and she sniffed the hood of my car so close I bet she left nose prints.”

“No kidding? A real live bison? Mrs. Cleydon told me that’s their real name, not buffalo.”

“So you know that already. I didn’t—at least not before today.” Brooke pointed at Audie. “See, you’re already smarter than me on the subject.”

“How big was she?”

“Huge. She filled the whole road. Blocked it, even. I had to sit there until her owner came by and nudged her out of the way. That’s why I was late—last,” she corrected, trying to remember that she wasn’t technically late and fined unless she showed up after 6:00 p.m. “A mama bison. Well, soon to be—she’s going to have a calf soon.”

“A baby bison?” Audie’s pigtails bobbed. “Are they cute?”

Brooke thought of the massive head with the enormous brown eyes that stared her down on the road and tried to imagine it miniaturized into baby form. Impressive, maybe, but not cute. Then again, the man who’d ridden to her aid could be called both impressive and cute, if she were inclined to classify, but there were several dozen professional reasons not to pursue that avenue.

“So when I can meet them?”

“The ranchers?” Gunner Buckton didn’t look like the kind of man to take a shine to field trips.

“No, silly, the mama bison. That’d make the best report ever—totally better than armadillos. Maria and I would get an A for sure. Please, Mom? Can I?”

Suddenly, this didn’t seem like the academic ace in the hole anymore. For all her community-relations skills, Buckton didn’t seem likely to cooperate if she came to him with a request for an “up close and personal” with one of his herd. “I don’t know.”

“I could interview the man who owns her. I could interview the mama bison. Get my picture with her. That’d be loads better than just looking stuff up on the internet. Maria would just die if we could add that to our report.”

The eagerness in Audie’s eyes made Brooke want to cringe. “He’s just someone Mommy met on the road. I don’t think he’ll say yes.”

“I thought you told me sometimes your job was to help people say yes to things.”

Brooke suddenly regretted her oversimplified explanation of corporate community relations. “That’s true, but maybe not in this case. The rancher and the company I work for are...well, we’re sort of in an argument.” She could think of no other way to explain real-estate conflicts to an eight-year-old bent on bison interaction. Still, the timing seemed too good to ignore. “Well,” she hedged, “we’d have to ask very nicely and be okay if he said no.”

Audie licked taco sauce off her thumb. “I could do that. I could tell him it’s for school and everything. Could we ask tomorrow? I’d give anything to tell Maria I met a bison for real when we get back on Monday.”

Even if he declined, Gunner Buckton at least didn’t seem like the kind of man to be mean to an eight-year-old asking to do a school report. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? “Okay, honey. But remember, he may say no.”

Audie rolled her eyes. “I get that, Mom. You said it already.”

“Tell you what—if he does, maybe I can look around online and find another bison rancher.” Were there many around? Cattle, yes, but bison? She’d better come up with some truly persuasive tactic when she made that call.

Audie smiled. “You’re the best, Mom.” She air-kissed Brooke in the way she’d seen two celebrities do on television the other night. Audie was growing up too fast. Still, the shift from “I hate it when you’re late” to “You’re the best” was a welcome change on a Friday night. Now all she needed was a small yes from one cooperative bison and her willing owner—that’s not too much to ask, is it, Lord?

* * *

Gunner was draining the last of his Saturday morning coffee when Gran swept into the kitchen with a peculiar expression on her face. She held her cane in one hand and the cordless phone in the other. “Gunner, you have a young lady asking for you on the phone.”

Gunner made a split-second mental survey of the young women likely to ring him up before 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday and came up empty. Oh, sure, back in the day the list might have been long, but he wasn’t that guy anymore. He certainly couldn’t think of any current females who would produce the amusement currently sparkling in Gran’s eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what was coming when he took the phone. “Buckton here.”

“Mr. Buckton?”

Gunner felt his eyes pop at the child’s voice. Granny stifled a giggle. When she’d said young lady, he sure wasn’t thinking this young. “Yes?”

The little voice grew serious. “My name is Audrey Calder, and my mom met you and Daisy on the road yesterday.”

So Brooke Calder was indeed a mom. This was getting more interesting by the minute. “I remember.”

“Well, it just so happens Maria and I want to do a report on bison for our native Texan animals project. Bison are much better than armadillos, don’t you think? I’m in the third grade.”

Gunner ran one hand down his face. What third grader started a sentence with it just so happens?

“Not a big fan of armadillos myself. A report on bison, huh?”

“Your grandma sounds really nice. I told her I wanted to interview Daisy, and she said I had to ask you. Can I talk to Daisy for my school report?” Then as if it had just occurred to her that no one conversed with a bison—no one except Billy, that was—she added, “Oh, and you, too. Mom told me Daisy’s about to be a mommy. Maybe you could tell me more about that.”

Well, well, Brooke Calder, seems you belong in Markham’s office after all, Gunner thought. What a flawless scheme. He’d promised himself that he’d never let anyone from DelTex so much as pass through the gate onto his ranch—but what kind of lout would say no to a third grader? Had Brooke called, he might have hung up on her. But Gran would have his hide if he was rude to Audrey and turned down a little girl’s science project.

Gunner was cornered, and he knew it. Brooke Calder had managed to box him in as neatly as Daisy had blocked the car on the road yesterday. “You’re right. Daisy’ll calve soon. Maybe real soon.” A shred of annoyance at being so manipulated kept him from saying yes right away. And he was ashamed of it immediately. Mean was no real way to act toward a little girl—even if her mama worked for the enemy.

“So you’re saying I should come right away? Like today? Are they cute?”

Today? How did this turn into an immediate issue? “Are who cute?”

“Baby bison. Mama said Daisy was huge and scary.” At this, Gunner could hear Brooke gasp and shush her daughter on the other end of the line. That made him feel a bit better—served that woman right after putting her daughter on the phone like this.

“Yeah,” Gunner stammered, remembering Audrey’s original question, “I suppose bison calves are cute. Cuter than their mamas, I guess.” He was currently calculating just how much like her bold-as-brass mama little Audrey Calder was. He shot a glance toward Gran, who was giving him a look that warned “Don’t you dare turn that sweet little girl down.”

“Okay, you can come,” he said, feeling the invitation settle to the bottom of his stomach like a boulder of imminent regret. “How about after lunch?”

The squeal that filled the phone made Gunner pull the handset away from his ear and cringe. It made Gran grin. “Thanks, Mister Buckton. I’ll have the best science report in the whole class ’cause of this!”

Did she have to sound absolutely adorable? Ten minutes with Gran and the tyke would probably have his grandmother talked into a full-scale ranch tour for the whole class. The Blue Thorn, overrun with little kids—the notion made him ill. Gunner pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing the kitchen floor. “We’ll do our best to help you with your report, Audrey.”

“Call me Audie. Everyone does. I just said Audrey to be formal-like when making my request. After today, we’ll be friends.”

I highly doubt that, Gunner thought silently, scowling, shutting his eyes and reminding himself this was an innocent little girl who had no way of knowing the inconvenience she was about to cause. He was about to let someone from DelTex onto Blue Thorn land—Dad ought to be turning over in his grave right about now. “We’ll see you about 1:30? Check with your mama if that’s okay.” He hoped that would prevent Brooke from getting on the phone. He wasn’t sure he could resist a cutting remark—or six—if he spoke with her directly at the moment.

Confirmation acquired, Audie said an excruciatingly cheerful goodbye, insisting she’d “count the minutes” until 1:30. Gunner hung up the phone and tried to think of every possible reason he had to ride into town this afternoon.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gran narrowed her eyes as she took the handset from him.

“What?”

“I can see you conniving ways to get out of being here when they arrive. I can read you like you have a neon sign blinking over your head, son.” She put the phone down on the table. “If you’re the head of Blue Thorn, you host its guests.”

The head of Blue Thorn. Every day he felt what was asked of him as the head of Blue Thorn Ranch. The weight of proving himself beyond his rebellious past, the pressure to keep the ranch alive and thriving and in the family. It all kept him up nights. Gran had said she was on his side, had begged him to come home and take things over, but he could tell she was still hanging on to a bit of reserve—that she wasn’t totally convinced he could handle the job. He deserved that doubt.

Gunner retreated to the coffeepot. “Gran, do you have any idea who that was?”

“It was a sweet little girl doing a third-grade report on native Texan animals. Finally, a child who cares to do schoolwork beyond looking things up on a computer! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to dodge her the way you were thinking.”

“The person who ought to be ashamed is that darling little girl’s mother. Brooke Calder works for Markham. At DelTex. I met her yesterday when Daisy got out and blocked her car back on the west road. DelTex is...”

Gran waved a hand in Gunner’s face. “I know very well what DelTex is. I hardly think you can put a stubborn bison down to corporate maneuvers. Or a third-grade girl, for that matter.”

“That third-grade girl’s mama put her up to this.”

“Her mama fixed it so that her teacher assigned a report on native species and talked her into choosing bison and opened the northwest gate so Daisy walked out onto the road in front of her car?” Gran crossed her arms over her chest and got that look on her face, that guilt-inducing “what’s gotten into you?” stare of which Adele Buckton was a master. “That’s what you think?”

“Could be.” It wasn’t as far-fetched as Gran made it sound. Those big development companies would probably try anything to get what they wanted. How many times had gifts arrived at the house or some oh-so-friendly DelTex exec tried to invite himself onto the ranch in the name of “opening a dialogue”? What was to stop them from finding someone who fit his ideal of an attractive woman and sending her out onto his west road? Brooke Calder would probably earn herself a raise for conniving her way onto Blue Thorn land. “You know those people from DelTex have tried all kinds of ways to get their boots on our acreage. This could just be one more. There’s an awful lot of money at stake here, Gran.”

Gran didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to the cabinet and began to pull out cookie sheets. “What are you doing?” he balked, swallowing the urge to snatch the flat pans from her hands. This wasn’t a social call; this was likely a spy mission.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Gran said, eying him. “We have a child coming to the ranch. I’m baking some cookies.”

Gunner started to formulate a long list of reasons why that was a whopping bad idea, but the look from his grandmother silenced him. No matter what the land deed now said, Gran was still the final word on things at the Blue Thorn. If she could read him as well as she claimed, then Gran already knew what he thought of her plans to ply the Calders with cookies. His opinion on hospitality clearly didn’t matter, for she began to hum “There’ll Be Peace in the Valley” as she walked into the pantry for ingredients.

An earthquake. That ought to do it. Just send a small earthquake about 1:00 p.m., Lord, so I can call this whole circus to a halt. Gunner settled his hat on his head, muttering about pushy little girls and stubborn old women. Tornado, thunderstorm—I ain’t picky, Lord. Just get me out of this.