Читать книгу A Rancher To Trust - Laurel Blount - Страница 13

As Dan Whitlock pulled his pickup to a stop in the middle of the quiet Oklahoma cemetery, his cell phone buzzed against his chest for the third time. He fished it out of his shirt pocket and checked the screen. Sure enough, he had two missed calls and a text from rancher Colton McAllister.

Call me.

Dan looked out the truck window at the snowy cemetery and weighed his options. He’d planned to get this private errand over and done with before he touched base with Colt, but the new boss of the Bar M Ranch wasn’t known for his patience. Might as well go ahead and call him back. Then maybe Dan could tend to his personal business in peace.

Colt answered the phone on the first ring. “About time.”

“I was driving. Sorry, Colt, but my advice is pass on these heifers. They look a lot better on paper than they do in person. I know how bad you want to get in on the Shadow Lady bloodline, but trust me, these aren’t your girls.”

Colt made an irritated noise. “I should have figured as much. Price was too good. I’ll start looking in a higher dollar range and see what I can find.”

The Bar M didn’t have that kind of money to play around with right now. Dan started to argue but thought better of it.

Not my call, he reminded himself, not anymore. As the elderly Gordon McAllister’s foreman, Dan had overseen the day-to-day ranch operations. But now that Colt’s grandfather had passed on, Colt had shifted from being Dan’s friend to being Dan’s boss. The younger McAllister preferred to handle things on his own.

“Anyway,” Colt said, “I appreciate you taking a look. You about ready to head home?”

Dan’s gaze drifted back to the scattered gravestones, sparkling icily in the brittle January sunlight. “Yeah, shortly. I have something I need to do first.”

“No rush on this end. Take your time.”

Dan could barely hear his friend’s muffled words over the whistle of the Wyoming wind and the sound of cattle lowing. Colt probably had his phone clenched between his chin and his shoulder, which meant his hands were busy with something else.

“You out choring? I thought you were supposed to be helping Angie take care of those new twins of yours.”

“I’m fixing that section of fence in the south pasture. I was going stir-crazy in the house, so Angie finally shooed me outside. Oh yeah. She said you had a phone call yesterday.”

“Who from?”

“Some girl, Angie said. She wanted to talk to you, wouldn’t say why. Angie thought it might be something important, though, because the number came up Pine Valley, Georgia. Isn’t that your hometown?”

Dan tightened his grip on the phone. “This girl. She give Angie a name?”

“Yeah. Bailey somebody, I think it was.”

Bailey. Dan’s skin prickled in a way that had nothing to do with the sharp air finding its way into the truck cab. “Bailey Quinn?”

“That sounds right.” Something in his tone must have alerted Colt, because his friend added, “You sound like you just took a punch in the gut. Who’s this Bailey girl to you?”

Dan didn’t answer. He stared through the fogged windshield at a nearby tombstone, darkened with age, the name barely visible.

Who was Bailey to him?

At one point in his life—everything.

Now? She was a memory so full of regret that the pain could reach across more than a decade of time and stop his heart cold. And she definitely wasn’t somebody he wanted to talk about. Not with Colt.

Not with anyone.

After a second or two of silence, Colt went on, “Angie told her you weren’t here, and she left a number. Said she needed to talk to you, please, as soon as possible. Nice-sounding girl, Angie said.”

“Text me the number.” He tried not to ask, but he couldn’t help it. “Did Bailey say anything else?”

“Not that Angie mentioned. Is this girl one of your folks, Dan? Because if you want to go back to Georgia and see about her, you go ahead. You’re not needed here, so there’s no reason for you to hurry back.”

“Well, that’s never a good thing to hear from an employer.”

Colt made a frustrated noise. “You know what I mean. And you also know I don’t think of you as an employee. You’re family to me and Angie, just like you were to Grandpa. Maybe your last name isn’t McAllister, but you’re one of us, just the same.”

You’re one of us. High praise from one of the most clannish families in all of Wyoming. “You going mushy on me, Colt?”

“If I am, it’s not my fault. It’s the twins. Nobody’s sleeping around here, and there’s way too much crying.”

“They’re cute little stinkers, though.” That was an understatement. Dan’s honorary niece and nephew were so adorable they could make any man hungry to have a couple kids of his own.

“Yeah, they’re cute, all right. That’s how they suck you in. Trust me, Dan. This parenting-twins stuff is harder than ranching any day. No wonder I’m going soft. It’s enough to send any man around the bend. I’ll get Angie to text you that number. And listen, if you’ve got some kind of trouble brewing back home, you head there without a second thought, okay? We can manage until you get back.”

“Thanks, Colt.” Dan disconnected the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He sat in the chilling truck cab, thinking hard.

So after all these years, Bailey Quinn had called him.

Her face came into his mind as clearly as if he’d seen her yesterday. Eyes such a rich, dark shade of brown that you could only make out her pupils if you were close enough to kiss her. He recalled the soft curve of her cheek and the sassy way she’d tilt her head when she was teasing you—which, Bailey being Bailey, was most of the time.

Years back, not long after hiring on at the Bar M, Dan had been out checking a fence line on a June morning. A pretty, dark-feathered bird perched on a strand of barbed wire had cocked its head at him in just the same way. Pain had ricocheted out of nowhere with such force that his knees had almost buckled under him.

And that was just a dumb bird.

Even though the phone hadn’t vibrated, he took it back out of his pocket and squinted at the screen. Nothing. Likely it would take Angie McAllister a while to get around to texting him Bailey’s number. Colt’s wife had her hands full wrangling their three-week-old babies, Josie and Finn.

In the meantime, Dan might as well do what he’d come here to do.

He turned the sound up on his phone so he wouldn’t miss the text, got out of the truck and threaded his way through the graveyard, his boots crunching in the snow. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.

“Hey, there, Gordon.” Dan removed his brown Stetson and then reached down and brushed the mounded snow from the top of his old boss’s tombstone.

Gordon Finnley McAllister. The name was engraved deeply into solid gray granite Colt had chosen for his grandfather’s memorial stone. It was one of the few decisions the new rancher had made that Dan hadn’t privately second-guessed. Granite was a good fit for the stubborn old man he’d known.

Gordon McAllister’s mind and body had been toughened by the wild land he loved, but the old rancher’s heart had been shaped by the Lord he’d followed faithfully—and gentled by the wife who lay slumbering beside him now. Josephine Andrews McAllister had always missed her Oklahoma home, so Gordon had buried her here, among her people. And when his time came, he’d asked to be laid beside her instead of in his beloved Wyoming. That request had shocked a lot of people back in Broken Bow, given how passionately the old man had loved the family ranch.

It hadn’t shocked Dan at all. He knew Gordon had loved his Josephine more.

Dan cleared his throat. “Colt wanted me to take a look at some heifers a couple towns over, so I thought...while I was in the neighborhood.” This felt awkward. But he forced himself to keep on going. “Colt’s doing you proud, Gordon. He’s got the makings of a solid rancher. Not as good as you, not yet. But one day he will be. I’ve stayed on to help get him started, like I promised you I would. But he’s just about got his feet under him now, and I’m thinking...” Dan fought the lump that had risen up in his throat. This was hard. “I’m thinking maybe it’s getting time for me to up stakes and move along. That’s why I came by. To let you know. And to bring you something.”

He fished a brass token from his coat pocket. It gleamed dully in the palm of his hand. “This is the chip I got from my support group when I was one year sober. You came to see me get it, eleven years ago this March. Getting through that first year without a drink was the first thing I’d done right in a long time, and one of the toughest. I’d never have managed it without you and that church you kept dragging me to. I’ve carried this thing with me ever since, but now I’m leaving it here with you.” Dan gently placed the token on top of the grave marker. “I came here to thank you, Gordon McAllister, for taking me in and forgiving me when I didn’t deserve it. I’ll owe you a debt for the rest of my life, and me leaving the Bar M won’t change that any. If Colt or Angie or those great-grandkids of yours ever need my help, I’ll be there for them. No matter what. You’ve got my word on that.”

He stood there for a long moment, his hand covering the token, the cold of the stone seeping into his fingers. Finally he lifted his hand and cleared his throat.

“That’s all I needed to say, I guess. I’d best be getting along. Rest good, Gordon, here with your Josephine. You’ve earned it.”

Then Dan settled his Stetson back on his head and started back toward the truck.

His phone chirped loudly just as he was settling into the seat. Angie had sent him a number, followed by, Colt says you go on to Georgia if you need to. Don’t worry about us.

He wasn’t worried about the McAllisters. Colt could run the Bar M just fine without Dan’s help, even with a pair of brand-new babies thrown into the bargain.

But Dan had never planned to go back to Pine Valley, Georgia. He had his reasons for that, reasons that still tore him up when he allowed himself to think about them.

Which was why he didn’t allow it.

Then again, if Bailey Quinn had reached out to him after what he’d done, after all these years...she must need something.

Something big.

He recalled something Gordon used to say when they’d hit a snag in their work. “Sometimes you gotta go back a few fence posts, son, and fix a crooked one before you can go forward. Ain’t no fun, but it’s the right thing to do. Every man makes his share of mistakes, but they ain’t nothing to be ashamed of unless you leave ’em standing.”

Dan had left some pretty busted-up fence posts standing back in Pine Valley. He should have done what he could to fix them a long time ago, but he’d kept putting it off. It was no easy thing, going back to the place where you’d behaved the worst, facing up to what you’d done before you found your feet and your faith.

He was at a turning point right now. He was about to strike out on his own again, away from the shelter of the Bar M and the McAllisters. He needed all his fence posts as straight as he could get them, and it looked like God had just handed Dan an opportunity to get that done.

Whether he liked it or not.

Lord, what do You want me to do here?

Dan knew the answer almost before he’d finished the question. The things he’d done and the people he’d hurt—like Bailey Quinn—deserved a lot more from him than a phone call. It was long past time for him to face up to them and make whatever amends he could.

Dan looked back down at his phone and slowly typed out a reply.

Headed to Georgia. Tell Colt to text me if he needs anything.

Then he hit Send, dropped the phone on the seat and shoved the truck into first gear.

“Lucy Ball, drop that right now!” Bailey Quinn jogged around the corner of her old clapboard farmhouse, trying to keep the mischievous Jersey calf in sight. “You’ll choke!”

The long-legged red calf tossed her head and flexed her jaw, crackling the plastic of the stolen water bottle she held clenched in her teeth. She was having fun, and she was in no hurry for this game to be over.

The calf loped by the chicken coop, making the young Barred Rock pullets flutter and cluck, before slowing to a stop by the open barn door. Bailey halted, too, just at the corner of the back porch, her heart pounding.

“That’s right,” she murmured coaxingly. “Go in there, where I might have a shot at cornering you!”

The valuable calf had been a farm-warming present from her friends Abel and Emily Whitlock.

Abel had shaken his head ruefully when Bailey thanked him. “Let’s see how you feel in a year or so. I know you’ve been wanting a milk cow, but they’re a sight more work than most people realize. They’ve got to be milked rain or shine, whether you’re sick or not, Christmas Day same as any other. Then there’s the milk you’ll have to deal with. A good milker will give you gallons a day. That’s a lot for one person to deal with. And you can’t sell raw milk at that store of yours, not unless you get state certified, and that’s near about more trouble and expense than it’s worth.”

Bailey had only laughed. She didn’t care if owning a milk cow was going to be a lot of work. In fact, she was counting on it.

Now that her organic grocery store was well established, she’d been hungry for a new challenge. She missed the invigorating struggle of building up a fledgling business. Working hard was what made her feel alive. And the tougher the work, the more Bailey liked it.

Given how this was going, that was a good thing. The minute she’d seen the calf’s fluffy red topknot, Bailey had christened her Lucille Ball after the iconic redheaded television star, and Lucy seemed determined to live up to her name. A day didn’t go by that the animal didn’t find some kind of trouble to get into. She was cute as could be, but right now Bailey almost wished Emily and Abel had given her a toaster.

Lucy blinked her long-lashed brown eyes at the barn doorway for a second or two. She gave her head another sassy shake, making the water slosh noisily inside the bottle. Then to Bailey’s dismay, the calf kicked her heels and started off again, heading back toward the front yard.

Bailey blew out a sigh. “I do not have time for this today,” she informed her squawking chickens as she stalked past them.

She really didn’t, but she fought a smile as she spoke. Yes, she had a lot to do, but she wasn’t complaining. This crazy overload was exactly the tonic she’d needed.

It wasn’t just the store. She’d been feeling restless for about a year now, ever since bookstore owner Anna Delaney had married Hoyt Bradley. Since then, Anna and Hoyt had welcomed their first baby together. Another friend, pastor’s wife Natalie Stone, was expecting her second child in a few months. And Emily Whitlock had not one but two sets of twins to take care of, in addition to managing the local coffee shop.

Bailey was over-the-moon happy for them all, but lately she’d felt her usual zest for life ebbing a bit. Okay. A lot. It was just that, compared to all the exciting and meaningful stuff going on with her friends, Bailey’s life had seemed a little...

Boring.

Well, not anymore. Not since she’d gone to that informational meeting about foster parenting hosted by Anna’s bookstore, Turn the Page.

Bailey had only gone to help Anna with the refreshments and to support Jillian Marshall, the local social worker who was giving the presentation. Bailey had never expected to walk out of there with a packet of paperwork clutched in her hand and a new dream burning in her heart.

But she had. The pictures of those little faces had stirred up a dream she’d given up on a long time ago. As the “surprise” only child of older parents, Bailey had longed for brothers and sisters. She’d promised herself that someday she’d raise a big, rambunctious family of her own—preferably on a farm with plenty of animals and homegrown vegetables.

At the time, of course, she’d assumed she’d share that life with...somebody special.

That part hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped. But according to Jillian, single women could be foster moms. That nugget of information was a game changer. Bailey could build her dream family all by herself by giving a loving home to kids who needed one.

And since she couldn’t do that in a cramped apartment, Bailey’s first order of business had been sinking all her savings into a down payment on the biggest house with the largest acreage she could afford. Which also happened to be a really old house that needed an awful lot of work.

Jillian had shaken her head when Bailey had given her a tour. “Honey, I hate to tell you, but this place is going to have to be overhauled from top to bottom if you want to pass the home-study safety inspection.”

Bailey hadn’t flinched, even though her bank account was anemic now. “No problem. Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll find a way to do it.”

“Well, for starters, you’re going to have to put a fence around that pond there. Bodies of water have to be fenced off. It’s a rule.”

When Abel had heard about that, he’d trucked over some extra fencing material he’d had on hand. Bailey had argued, but all she’d gotten was a lecture on looking gift horses in their mouths.

So fencing was today’s project. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going well, even without the impromptu calf chases. So far, she’d gotten exactly three fence posts in, and she’d been at it for an hour and a half. She definitely had her work cut out for her.

But first she had to catch that ridiculous calf. The question was, how?

As she walked by the barn, an idea struck her. She ducked inside and scooped a small amount of grain into a bucket.

When she rounded the side of the house, she saw Lucy standing in the front yard, nosing the water bottle along the ground. When the calf heard Bailey approaching, the animal picked up her stolen toy and tensed, ready to scamper off again.

“See what I have?” Bailey rattled the bucket.

The calf took three curious steps in her direction and halted. Bailey shook the grain again. That did it. Lucy dropped the bottle and trotted in Bailey’s direction. Bailey backed up slowly, leading the calf toward the barn and jiggling her bucket enticingly with every step.

Five minutes later, Bailey was latching the big wooden doors behind her and dusting off her hands.

One problem solved, fifty bazillion to go. And she had no idea how she was going to manage most of them.

But, she reminded herself, Jacob Stone’s last sermon had been all about how God often called ill-equipped people to do His work. “If you feel like what you’re being called to do is impossible but is something the world needs, you’re probably on the right track,” the minister had said. “Just focus on doing what you can and trust Him for the rest of it. And always be prepared for Him to work things out differently than you might expect.”

Well, Bailey couldn’t wait to see what God was going to do with her situation, and if He wanted to tuck some surprises in along the way, that was fine by her. After a year of feeling purposeless and bored, this excitement was a welcome change.

On her way across the yard, she stooped and picked up Lucy’s discarded plastic bottle. Returning to her fence, she stashed the slobbery container next to the last post she’d managed to get in and pulled on her work gloves. She hefted up her new post-hole diggers and focused on the spot she’d marked for the next post. Raising the heavy diggers as high as she could, she rammed them downward, biting into the soft brown soil.

She’d clamped out three more skimpy scoops of dirt when she heard the sound of a vehicle crunching up her rutted driveway. She turned to see a silver Ford pickup nosing its way toward her.

Just what she didn’t need right now. Company. Oh well. Maybe it was a friend she could draft into helping her get this fence up while they visited.

Bailey’s eyes narrowed as she got a better look at the truck. She knew pretty much everybody’s vehicle around here, but she didn’t recognize this one. It was a newer model, but it had the dings and scrapes of a work truck. She squinted, but the afternoon sun was glaring off the windshield. All she could tell about the driver was that he was wearing a cowboy hat.

Definitely not from around here, then.

Curious now, she studied the approaching vehicle, stripping off her canvas gloves and dropping them on the ground. Who could this cowboy be, and what was he doing way out here?

Only one way to find out. The truck rolled to a stop, and Bailey headed toward it. The driver unfolded himself from the cab when she was about half the way across the yard. He was tall and lean, but there was a muscular set to his shoulders. Too bad she didn’t know him. This guy could probably set a fence post in no time.

“Hey, there,” she called in a friendly voice. “You lost?”

The man had been scanning her place, but he turned his head toward her when she spoke. When he did, more than fifteen years of Bailey’s life crumbled away, leaving her face-to-face with a part of her past she’d tried very hard to forget.

Dan Whitlock.

Bailey stumbled to a halt, not quite believing her eyes. But it was true. After all these years, Dan was standing in her driveway.

For the past couple of days, ever since she’d dialed the Wyoming number she’d found on the internet, Bailey had been jumping every time her phone rang. She’d wondered if Dan would even call her back—and how she’d handle it if he did.

But he hadn’t called her back. He’d shown up in person.

She had absolutely no idea what to do right now.

He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.” The voice was definitely Dan’s, but the gentle drawl of the deep South had been melded with something else, something stronger and brisker. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but a fellow back in town told me I might find a girl named Bailey Quinn up this way. Would you happen to know where she lives?”

Bailey had to swallow twice before she could speak. “It’s me,” she managed finally. “Dan, it’s me.”

“Bailey?” As Dan moved toward her, she saw that his voice wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He walked with the rolling gait of a man accustomed to spending a good portion of his day on horseback, and he limped a little on his left leg.

As he came close, he pulled the hat off his head. Not everything about him had changed. His hair was still the same dark mahogany, its waves pressed flat against his head. The same greenish-brown eyes skimmed over her, head to toe, before meeting her own.

He looked every bit as dumbfounded as she felt.

“It is you! Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first. You look so...different.” His eyes dropped to the teeth that had endured five long years of belated braces to correct her overbite.

Now that he was standing right in front of her, the memories Dan had jarred loose felt even more overwhelming. Her heart was thudding so hard it actually hurt.

Bailey took a deep breath. Settle down, she told herself firmly. You can handle this.

She could. She didn’t just look different. She was different. The night Dan had left her had marked the lowest point in her life. But after a few weeks of wallowing in self-pity, she’d washed her tear-splotched face and decided enough was enough.

Over the next few months, she’d toned up, given up sugar, ditched her glasses for contacts and straightened her crooked teeth. And while everybody else raved over how different she looked, Bailey knew the really important changes had happened on the inside.

She stood on her own two feet now, and she trusted her head a lot more than she trusted her heart. She’d learned those lessons the hard way, and she couldn’t afford to forget them, no matter who pulled up in her driveway.

She forced a shrug. “It’s been a long time, Dan. People change.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “I guess they do.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Finally, Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I guess we can move on to the main event. Why are you here, Dan?”

“You called me.”

“I called you,” Bailey repeated. He made it sound so simple, as if the two of them facing each other after all this time wasn’t the most complicated thing that had ever happened in her entire life. Her jangled nerves found that ridiculously funny. She tried her best to swallow her laugh, but it just came out through her nose in a strangled snort. “And instead of—I don’t know—calling me back, you decided to drive all the way here from Wyoming?”

“I wasn’t in Wyoming. I was in Oklahoma tending to some business. Not that it would have mattered.” He drew in a long breath. “I’d have driven here from Alaska, if that’s where I’d been. You and I both know that I owe you that much. At least.”

“Maybe you do.” Bailey saw no point in skirting the truth. “But I gave up on collecting that debt a long time ago.”

He didn’t flinch. “I figured. That’s how I knew this had to be about something important. You’d never have called me otherwise. It’s true, what you said a minute ago. People do change. I’ve changed. I don’t expect you to take my word on that, but it’s why I’m here. So just tell me what you need from me. If there’s any way I can give it to you, it’s yours. No questions asked.”

Bailey’s knees had started wobbling, and that irritated her. The unfairness of this whole situation irritated her. She wasn’t supposed to be standing two feet away from Dan while they had this conversation. All of this was supposed to happen over the phone, and that would have been plenty tough enough, thank you very much.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

But she should have been. She, of all people, should have known that Dan Whitlock had a knack for sending a person’s well-crafted plans spinning sideways.

She clamped her hands together, digging her short fingernails into her palms. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Dan. Because the truth is, you’re right. There is something I need from you.”

“Okay.” His eyes never left hers. “Name it.”

“A divorce.”