Читать книгу The Ranch Solution - Julianna Morris, Julianna Morris - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
DAMNED OBNOXIOUS...opinionated...
Muttering under his breath, Jacob tossed his suitcase onto the mattress in his tent and hunted for a pair of jeans. He hated admitting it, but the Weston woman was right—at the very least he ought to have changed before dinner.
Woman?
Jacob frowned as he pulled his shirt off. Mariah Weston looked younger than she claimed to be, though it was unlikely she’d distorted that fact. She didn’t seem the type of person he would have expected to encounter running a ranch—more like a Hollywood actress playing a part with her leggy appeal and long red hair. Maybe she was a figurehead, the public image of the business. On the other hand, looks could be deceiving; he still thought that somewhere beneath Kittie’s dismal clothes, black lipstick and in-your-face attitude was the great kid she’d always been.
Jacob massaged the back of his neck. Worry and the rush of making arrangements for his unplanned absence from the office had taken their toll. He’d hardly slept since Kittie’s latest escapade; he was now operating on autopilot. Even his parents didn’t understand. He had been forced to tell them why he was going to be gone for an extended period and could hear his mother saying with indulgent humor, She’s her father’s daughter, but you got into plenty of scrapes as a boy and turned out fine.
Granted, he’d soft-pedaled the incident, but starting a fire was serious, accidental or not. And it wasn’t just the smoking; it was all the trouble combined over the past few months. One unholy mess after another.
Naturally the discussion had given his mother an opening, for the hundredth time, to recommend that he find a new mother for Kittie. She couldn’t accept that he was never getting married again and certainly not having any more children. Who in their right mind would leap into the prospect of raising another teenager after they’d done it once already? And he had...well, other reasons. Reasons he didn’t like thinking about.
A chill went through Jacob. It was too hard loving someone, only to lose them. He’d buried his wife and nearly buried his daughter as a toddler due to health problems; he wasn’t taking a chance of going through it again. There might be things he couldn’t control in his life, but avoiding that particular pain was one that he could.
Yanking his tie loose, Jacob dropped it into the suitcase. The conservative blue silk was another accusation of parental failure. He should have worn the tie that Kittie had given to him for his last birthday, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it—Tweety Bird and Sylvester weren’t appropriate corporate attire. It was bad enough that he’d had to call an emergency board meeting on a Sunday morning.
Not that a suit was appropriate ranch attire, either.
The old cowboy had given him fair warning. Burt’s urging to “get comfortable” must have meant “change your clothes,” but Jacob hadn’t been thinking clearly. It wasn’t like him. Usually he was methodical, working things out, making sure he made the best decisions and kept everything carefully managed.
Jacob snorted, his irritation rising again.
Mariah Weston had implied he was spoiled when she suggested he wanted to be waited on hand and foot, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying comfort. And he didn’t expect to be pampered—he just wanted to receive a reasonable amount of service for the money he was paying.
He rotated his shoulders and leaned on the rolled sleeping bag. Damn, he was tired. That must be why Mariah Weston’s criticism had gotten to him. He loved Kittie and he’d busted his ass since Anna’s death to make sure their daughter would be safe and secure. Why shouldn’t they appreciate and enjoy the benefits?
Stop it, he ordered silently, kneading his throbbing temples.
Anna had been gone for over ten years, yet sometimes he missed her so much it was as if he had an aching, frozen hole in his chest. He knew that things would be different if she was still here. Anna wouldn’t have screwed up with Kittie, and they wouldn’t have needed to come to Montana, hoping for a miracle.
He’d jumped into the ranch vacation solution out of desperation, not really believing it would work. Yet at the same time, he’d clung to a kernel of hope that the U-2 would do some good. Now he was back to square one and unsure of what to do, though maybe getting Kittie out of her usual environment for several weeks would accomplish something.
In the distance Jacob heard the neighing of horses and other, more unfamiliar sounds. From the opposite direction came the rattle of plates, along with the chatter and laughter of people enjoying themselves. With any luck Kittie’s hunger would outweigh her antisocial mood—she was angry with him, not anyone else.
Hell, he hated feeling so out of control.
He ought to have realized the ranch’s website didn’t say they worked with at-risk children—it was his friend who’d called it a troubled kid’s boot camp.
At risk.
That was how Kittie’s principal had described her while ranting about the fire. Jacob donated to organizations with programs for at-risk kids, and now his daughter had the same label slapped on her forehead.
Jacob put his arm behind his head and gazed at the sturdy frame of the canvas tent, trying to think of anything but Kittie and how much he wished Anna was still alive. It astonished him that the ranch got so many guests. There were two or three dozen tents on the hill—if they filled to capacity very often, they must make a decent chunk of change each year. Of course, the U-2 had to make their profits during the summer season, since no one would stay out here in the winter.
Someone walked by outside and coughed, and Jacob made a face.
That was another problem with this place...no privacy. If he and Kittie got into one of their frequent shouting matches, everyone on the ranch would know their business.
* * *
KITTIE SAT ON a small hump of ground and sniffed.
She wasn’t crying—she was probably allergic to Montana. That was why her eyes were burning.
Her dad didn’t get it. Nobody did. And it didn’t matter anyway, because soon she’d be dead and buried and everybody would forget her.
The same as her mom.
Sniffing again, she picked at her black nail polish. It was stupid anyway. It wasn’t as if she had those fake nails that made your hands look cool. The school didn’t allow them any longer, not after Bethany Wilcox had stabbed herself at basketball practice last year. Everybody was mad at Bethany for a while after that, but no one stayed mad at the really, really popular girls, no matter what they do.
Her dad marched to their tent and Reid’s sister returned to the mess tent. Neither of them seemed very happy.
Kittie’s stomach rumbled.
The food smelled good, but she couldn’t go in there. She might see Reid and he didn’t like her, no matter what Mariah said about him protecting the horses. Besides, she wasn’t that odd to a horse, was she? Her friends thought she looked totally awesome—why wouldn’t a horse agree? They weren’t dumb.
Her dad hadn’t come back by the time everyone was done eating; he must be really pissed. Well, she was pissed, too. Nobody had asked if she wanted to come a gazillion miles from home and what was left of her life. Her dad had said they were going and that was that. So what if she’d set fire to a trash can and it got out of control? Big deal. Not that much got burned, and she didn’t mean to do it anyhow.
Someone began playing a harmonica and she heard some dorky singing—“Home on the Range” and junk. Kittie rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to be a dork like everybody else, even if they were having a good time.
There was a noise and she saw an old man coming toward her.
“Hello, young lady. May I sit down?”
Kittie started to say “Whatever” as usual, then stopped. “Okay.”
He sat and put a paper sack between them. She smelled chicken and other stuff. “I brought you supper in case you’re hungry,” he explained. He opened the sack and took out a foil-covered plate. “Simple outdoor cooking—that’s what we specialize in at the U-2. It’ll stick to your ribs.”
For a second Kittie considered refusing, but her stomach rumbled again. She pulled the foil back on the plate—it was barbecued chicken and beans and coleslaw and corn bread. The corn bread was buttery and drizzled with honey. She ate until she was ready to burst and washed it down with a bottle of cold root beer, which normally she’d say was for babies, but somehow tasted awfully good with the chicken and beans. It was the best food ever.
Mariah came out of the mess tent and glanced in their direction. She was kind of pretty. Dad hadn’t hit on her or anything, though he’d definitely checked her out...especially her chest.
Kittie wrinkled her nose.
Her dad acted as if she didn’t know about sex, but she was fourteen, not four. She knew all about it. Not that boys would notice her unless she had real boobs.
As if.
“I also put a plate in for your father. I hope he has a taste for medium steak,” said the old guy. He had deep creases in his skin and looked, like, ancient. “Would you do me a favor and take it to him?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Much obliged.” He took a piece of straw from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “My name is Benjamin Weston, by the way. And my granddaughter says you’re Caitlin.”
“Mariah is your granddaughter?”
“Yup.”
Kittie wiggled her toes. “Um, how does this ranch thing work?”
“It isn’t complicated. You’ll work with a wrangler and mostly do what he does.”
“So you can fix me,” she said resentfully.
Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Do you need fixing?”
“My dad thinks so.”
“Fathers worry. That’s their job. But we just want you to have fun finding out about ranching and what we do round here. That’s our job.”
“Oh,” Kittie said, still vaguely suspicious.
The sun was getting low in the sky and she felt tired all at once. It was hard work pretending everything was okay when nothing was okay. Some things were so broken they could never be fixed.
“I gotta go.” Kittie picked up the sack with the extra food in it. “Dad must be in our tent phoning Japan or something. What should I do with that?” She pointed to her empty plate and pop bottle.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You go ahead.”
Kittie didn’t know what to expect when she got to the tent, most likely her dad talking business on his cell phone. He worked an awful lot, but she’d bet he was still upset with her. Dreading another argument, she peeked around the partition.
He’d fallen asleep with his legs extended on the ground and his suitcase open on the bed. She tiptoed over, put the food down and tiptoed out. There wasn’t any TV and he’d taken away her MP3 player, so she curled up on her mattress and chewed her fingernails as it got dark.
Benjamin and Mariah were nice, and if they weren’t going to try to fix her, the ranch wouldn’t be so bad.
For a while.
* * *
MARIAH ROSE BEFORE DAWN the next morning. A lifetime of getting up to do chores had made it impossible to sleep longer. Her city life at college hadn’t changed her; it just made it obvious she didn’t fit in there.
“Hi, Grams,” she said, walking into the kitchen.
“Hi, dear. Are you in a better mood today?” Elizabeth asked as she mixed a pot on the stove.
“Working on it.” Mariah pulled the newspaper away from her grandfather’s face and kissed his forehead. “What’s new, Granddad?”
He grinned his irrepressible grin and waved the paper. “What do you think of this? It came in yesterday’s Pony Express delivery—last year’s ball scores!”
“Imagine that.”
The family had been getting the New York Times as long as the newspaper had been mailing out editions. It wasn’t necessary with the internet available, but Granddad said there was no substitute for the smell of newsprint.
He folded the paper and put it on the sideboard. “By the way, Luke phoned. If you have time, he’ll come by later so you can go for a ride together.”
Mariah smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see him before the barn dance next Saturday. I’ll call him. He can come with me when I go out to check on the greenhorns.”
Luke Branson was the U-2’s closest neighbor, but she’d hardly seen him for weeks, spring being one of the busiest seasons on their respective ranches. It would be better once they were able to get married. Not that they were formally engaged; it was more a mutual understanding for the future.
“When are you two going to set a date?” Grams asked. “I’d like to have great-grandchildren while I’m young enough to chase after them.”
“One of these days. Luke understands why I want to wait.”
Reid stumbled into the kitchen as Mariah was sipping tea and eating oatmeal. He served himself a bowl and stared at it bleakly. He showed an equal lack of interest in the eggs and whole-grain toast that Grams put on the table. Mariah knew from the light under his door last night that he’d been up late studying. He needed to get more sleep, but it was hypocritical to urge him to get good grades and then interfere with his studies.
“I saw you take food to Caitlin O’Donnell,” she said to her grandfather.
“The purple streaks in her hair are a nice touch, but she’s death on a stick gussied up in so much black. I’ll have to teach her to have fun.” Granddad rubbed his palms together and Mariah figured he was the one who would enjoy himself the most. Benjamin Weston was a kid at heart.
“You won’t have a chance—you aren’t the O’Donnells’ wrangler,” she said edgily. But it wasn’t her grandfather who aggravated her; it was the thought of Jacob O’Donnell believing he could dump his daughter’s problems on someone else. No one at the U-2 had time to babysit an unruly, privileged teen. “I don’t want any of us to get involved. Her father didn’t go into details, but apparently she has issues to resolve. We need to let him deal with them.”
“Teaching her to have fun won’t do any harm.”
“For heaven’s sake, Reid and Mariah have enough to handle without your interfering, Benjamin,” Grams scolded, sitting down with the rest of them.
“Guess you’ll have to keep me busy.”
Mariah knew they’d clasped hands underneath the table. Above all, Granddad was a romantic. However hectic things might be, late every afternoon he and her grandmother strolled up the shallow valley, arm in arm, as if they were still a courting couple. That was how Mariah wanted things to be with Luke, a closeness that just kept growing.
Elizabeth poured milk into her tea. “What about Caitlin’s mom? She should be here if her child is in trouble.”
“She wasn’t mentioned, but I feel sorry for anyone married to that guy,” Mariah said. “I bet they’re divorced.”
“Mmm, not necessarily. He’s quite attractive.”
“And rich. Shame on you, Grams,” Mariah teased. “What will Granddad think?”
“That I’m a normal, red-blooded woman who can appreciate a hunk from a purely aesthetic point of view.”
Granddad chuckled. “And fortunately I’m so handsome I don’t have to worry.”
Mariah ate her last bite of oatmeal and dropped the spoon in the bowl. It was time to start the day, one she hoped would turn out better than the previous...especially when it came to Jacob O’Donnell. She’d made a resolution to treat him the same as any other guest, no matter how much he annoyed her. The trick would be keeping that resolution.
Reid headed to the barn while Mariah and her grandfather went down to the mess tent where the wranglers were gathered for coffee. She loved seeing Granddad transform from cheerful jokester to tough-but-fair ranch boss. He didn’t know a ledger sheet from a gum wrapper, but he understood the practical end of ranching like nobody else. Ben Weston was close to a legend in Montana. She was trying to learn as much as possible from him before he retired.
“Hey, Mariah,” whispered a voice as she entered the tent. It was Caitlin O’Donnell.
“Go on,” she told her grandfather, who smiled at the teen.
Mariah looked back at Caitlin. “You’re up early. Is something wrong?” The first slivers of sunlight were barely visible on the eastern horizon.
“Um, yeah.” The agitated girl shifted from one foot to the other. “There’s an animal in my dad’s side of the tent. A really big animal. I think it’s a wolf and he’s snoring. He must have come in for the steak Mr. Weston gave me. I put the plate by the bed ’cause Dad was already asleep. Omigod, he’s dead and it’s my fault because I didn’t wake him up.”
Mariah hesitated.
She fully intended to make Jacob O’Donnell deal with his own daughter, only some things were ranch business, not personal. “I bet it’s just Pip.”
“Pip?” Caitlin trailed after her.
“Our dog—part Alaskan malamute and part mystery mutt. He’s a mooch and a thief, with a snore that raises the rafters, but harmless aside from that.”
They crept up to the tent.
“Pip, get out here,” Mariah whispered.
Pip’s distinctive snore continued unabated.
She gave Caitlin a sideways glance. “Go get some sausages from the cook in the black cowboy hat. Tell him they’re for Pip.”
The teen took off for the cooking area at a run. Mariah thought her reaction showed how much she loved her dad, though she’d probably deny it. In less than three minutes, Caitlin was back with a bowl of grilled sausages.
“Want a sausage, Pip?” Mariah asked softly.
Pip made a slurping sound. Within two seconds, he appeared through the tent flap, a happy, overgrown goof of a dog.
Caitlin released a tiny shriek and then clapped her palms to her mouth.
“Here you are, you old bandit,” Mariah said, setting the bowl in front of the animal. Pip inhaled every scrap. She scratched behind his ears and his tail wagged, merrily unrepentant at being caught where he wasn’t allowed. They’d tried to get him to understand that some people were nervous around dogs, but he couldn’t be convinced.
Everybody was Pip’s friend.
“He woke up because you asked if he wanted sausage?” Caitlin breathed, extending a cautious hand. Pip darted over, delighted to get attention from anyone willing to offer it—men, women, young, old, city dweller or country lover. He was a very democratic canine. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Mariah straightened. “If I tried getting him out any other way, it would wake everyone up.”
“Is he the reason we shouldn’t keep food in the tents?”
“One of them. We also get mice and ants and squirrels, among other beasties. Go on,” she said, motioning toward the mess tent. “You can meet whoever’s awake and let your dad get more sleep.”
* * *
JACOB STARED at the dark roof of the tent as Kittie’s and Mariah’s voices faded. It was almost like hearing his daughter the way she used to be—normal and well-adjusted.
He stretched. After midnight he’d woken up and checked on Kittie, eaten the corn bread he’d found on a plate of food by the bed and crawled into his sleeping bag. Later the dog woke him up again, but he’d been too exhausted to care. The animal was wearing a collar—what harm could it do?
Reaching over, he switched on the battery lamp. The remains of a steak, beans and coleslaw were scattered across his silk shirt. It seemed symbolic of his relationship with Kittie—an utter disaster.
“Argh.” He rubbed his face and got up. Perhaps a shower would clear his mind.
The heated restrooms were clean, serviceable and very basic. There were two buildings, one for men and the second for women. It was so early the place was empty. He felt more human after his shower, though until Kittie showed improvement, he wouldn’t feel completely right. It was strange how he could love his child to death and still be driven insane by her.
An idle, guilty thought occurred to him.... Did they have military school for girls? Was that even an option?
Everyone was up and moving by the time he was dressed and back in the tent. The air was chilly and there were good-natured complaints about the cold, teasing accusations that somebody had forgotten to pay the power bill and mad dashes for the restrooms to avoid a wait in line.
“Kittie?” he called, pushing aside the tent flap.
She wasn’t there.
Jacob spread his towel on the mattress to dry and headed to the mess tent. Inside there were cowboys drinking coffee, but no sign of Kittie.
“Anything I can do for you, Mr. O’Donnell?” asked Burt Parsons.
“Yes, I’m looking for my daughter.”
“She’s around. I’ll be your wrangler during your stay at the ranch. And that young fellow—” he gestured at a man who was nearly as deeply wrinkled and weathered as Burt himself “—will be coming along today, as well. His name is Ray Cassidy. Nice boy, Ray. You’ll like him.” Burt sounded quite serious calling Ray a boy. Maybe when a person reached a certain age, everybody else was young by comparison.
“In that case, I want to be sure that my daughter’s safety is your top priority,” Jacob said.
“Not to worry. We haven’t lost anyone yet.” Burt ambled off to the serving table, cup in hand.
Resisting the urge to pound the importance of Kittie’s safety into everyone, Jacob got his coffee and turned in time to see Mariah Weston arrive. He blew on the black brew as she spoke with the cowboys and cooks. Some of the men focused overly long on her curves, but they were discreet. Their interest was understandable. Her worn jeans were molded faithfully to her bottom and she wore a soft flannel shirt that did nothing to conceal the swell of her breasts.
A stab of awareness hit Jacob. No. Mariah was impossible, the complete opposite of the kind of woman who had always appealed to him.
In another few minutes Mariah flipped him a cool look. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but striking with those high cheekbones and vibrant hair. Was she a natural redhead? Her blue eyes and creamy, lightly tanned skin suggested she wasn’t, but he was no expert. He preferred blondes anyway.
Anna had been blonde.
Blonde. Beautiful. Fragile.
Sighing, Jacob swirled the contents of his enameled metal cup. It wasn’t fair. Anna had wanted a baby so much, but she’d died less than three years after having Kittie, and a lot of that time she had been too weak to enjoy her daughter and be a mother.
He pressed his thumbs to his throbbing temples. He’d tried to do right by Kittie and by Anna’s memory, and yet he’d failed. Kittie was in trouble and he didn’t know what to do for her. If he could only put his finger on what was wrong.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Donnell,” Mariah said, yanking him from his thoughts.
“Hello, Miss Weston.”
Jacob noticed her gaze flick between his shirt and jeans—probably evaluating how suitable they were for the ranch—and almost asked if he passed muster. His irritation from the previous night returned, but he squashed it down. This was not a moment to be bothered with personality conflicts. By the same token, he wasn’t going to apologize for coming from the city and not knowing how to chase cows.
He cleared his throat. “I need to discuss safety issues with you. I’m a businessman, so I know why you require a signed waiver in case of an accident. As a father, though, I can’t help being concerned.”
A range of emotions flitted across Mariah’s face. “A ranch isn’t the same as a city park, but I’ve assigned our most experienced wrangler to you and your daughter for the duration of your visit, and a second one while you’re learning the ropes. Caitlin should be fine if she behaves herself. Now, your registration form says you’ve ridden before...?”
Jacob nodded. “We used to go horseback riding every week,” he said absently, still chewing on Mariah’s comment if she behaves herself. It gave him a nasty sensation in his gut—Kittie never behaved herself these days.
“I’m guessing you rode at a private stable with a riding track.”
“It wasn’t a ranch. We live in Seattle. But we haven’t gone out for several years.”
“That won’t be a problem. The horses I’ve chosen for you are older, savvy and unflappable. You ought to be all right on them—they’re practically catatonic,” Mariah said, a bit too smoothly.
Jacob leaned forward. “I want my daughter to be safe, Miss Weston, not bored. What good will the ranch do her if she’s bored?”
Mariah didn’t blink. “The U-2 isn’t boring, but we do insist that our guests don’t stretch their limits too far.”
Limits?
That was like waving a red flag at a bull, yet before he could react, she went on, “Vacations here are meant to be fun, not dangerous. My grandmother is a doctor and lives on the ranch. My aunt is also a doctor, and she lives in town behind her clinic. They’ve mostly treated our guests for aching bums, upset tummies, cuts, scrapes and sprained ankles. Since you haven’t ridden recently, I suspect you’ll be added to the aching-bum list.”
Nonplussed, Jacob opened his mouth...and then closed it. He wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or patronized or if Mariah was simply doing her job by informing him of the ranch’s medical support. Taking into account the few amenities the U-2 offered, having two doctors available was a surprise. He just prayed they wouldn’t be needed. Kittie had her mother’s rare blood type, so he always ensured adequate emergency services were present wherever they traveled. In preparation for this trip, his staff had learned there was a well-equipped clinic in the local town, but they hadn’t said a doctor lived on the ranch.
“I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Remember those friends I told you about? Their son came home with a cast on his arm. He broke it at the end of his visit here.”
Mariah’s expression chilled, no doubt from the censure in his tone. Fine, she should know he wasn’t accepting her word without question.
“It happens occasionally—usually when people aren’t practicing reasonable caution or when parents don’t keep tabs on their children, assuming someone else will do it for them. That can happen anywhere, even in the city. Anyway,” she murmured, swinging her legs over the bench to stand up, “your wranglers will catch up with you after breakfast. We work hard on the U-2, so you might want to make sure Caitlin has a healthy meal before starting out. Have a pleasant day, Mr. O’Donnell.”
Jacob glared.
He wanted to call to Mariah’s departing back that he worked hard in Seattle as well and of course he’d ensure that Kittie had a decent breakfast...except it was pointless. Especially about Kittie. He knew perfectly well he couldn’t force his daughter to swallow a bite of food if she didn’t want to. And considering the precarious state of their relationship, she’d probably refuse to eat if he said anything about it.
