The Wrangler

Griff made quick work of packing. Hefting both pieces of luggage and his weapons case to the downstairs door, he went in search of the owner so he could pay her. Getting free room and board at the Bar H was a huge leap in resolving Griff’s money problems.

What lay ahead for him? Above all, Griff didn’t want to disappoint or anger Miss Gus. She was clearly on his side. Val was another situation, however. Griff knew she’d be watching him critically for any mistake he made. And he knew that if he couldn’t do the work, she’d get him fired in an instant.

Losing this job was the last thing Griff wanted. Somehow, he had to understand Val and make her a team player and not his enemy. Even if she disliked his New York roots, Griff knew that his hard work and attention to detail would prove to her once and for all he was the right person to be hired. Above all, he had to make sure no one ever found out he was eyes and ears for the FBI. Not only would it turn the people of Jackson Hole against him, he’d been sworn to total secrecy. And you didn’t mess with the bureau. If he was going to find the goods on Downing, the FBI felt he was the perfect foil. After all, he had been born here and was now returning home. A lot of children came back to their parents’ nest these days. Downing would never suspect him. Nor would anyone else. And if Griff had any hope of keeping his dream of life as a wrangler alive, he had to keep his secret safe.

CHAPTER FOUR

SITTING DOWN TO a home-cooked dinner felt like going to a five-star restaurant to Griff. He’d come down from his room at the Bar H promptly at six, as Gus had ordered. Inhaling, he could smell apples and cinnamon in the air. The rectangular cedar table had six chairs, one of them placed at the head of it. Gus and Val were bringing the steaming plates of food to the table. Griff had had enough time to take a shower and throw on some clean clothes. He stood uncertainly at the opening to the kitchen.

“Would you ladies like some help?”

Gus poured applesauce from a pan into a bright green ceramic bowl. “No, you go ahead and sit down. Take that chair to the left of the one at the end of the table.”

“Yes, Miss Gus.” Griff couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Val looked. She’d put her thick red hair into a ponytail and tied it up with a bright green ribbon. She wore a faded apron of green and white checks across her slender waist, which reminded him more of the 1950s than present day. In fact, everything about the home shouted of that earlier era. Somehow, it was comforting to Griff.

As he sat at the table, Val brought over a bowl of mashed potatoes with a huge chunk of butter in the center. It was melting quickly, creating yellow rivers flowing down the mound of hand-whipped potatoes.

Gus hobbled over on her cane. “Now, young man, I hope you have an appreciation for organic, home-cooked food. These are apples off our trees out back. I have a root cellar and I store the potatoes, yams and apples down where it’s dark and cool. That way, they last a long time without rotting.”

Griff took the bowl of applesauce from her. “I have vague memories of doing something similar at our ranch when I was kid.”

“Good, then you’re not a complete loss.”

Chuckling, Griff saw the old woman crack a grin.

He watched as Val brought over a huge platter that contained the beef roast.

“Will you slice it up?” she asked, setting it down in front of him. She walked to the counter, grabbed a carving knife and fork, and brought them over to Griff. As Val handed him the utensils, she tried to ignore his looks. His hands were rough with many small, white scars across the backs of them. He was darkly tanned, which spoke of the time he spent outside. Why did he have to look like dessert to her?

“I’m not the world’s best at this,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I like,” Gus praised, setting down a bowl of streaming carrots that had been drizzled with butter and wildflower honey.

Griff quickly stood and pulled out the elder’s chair for her.

“At least some of your Western protocols are still workin’, Mr. McPherson,” she teased, slowly sitting down. Hooking the cane over the edge of the table, Gus added, “Thank you.”

Val carried the gravy boat over to the table. Griff walked around the table and pulled out her chair. She gave him a pained look, set the gravy down in the center of the table and sat down.

Griff sliced into the thick, well-done roast beef. “Everything smells so good.”

Val smiled a little. Once he’d sliced the beef, she took Gus’s plate and added a dollop of mashed potatoes to it. “Home-cooked food is the best.” Avoiding Griff’s gaze, she smiled over at her grandmother.

“Better than military food,” Gus grumped, taking the plate. She set it down and reached for the gravy ladle. “I know you said you loved the Air Force, but I’ll bet the chow-hall food paled in comparison.”

Griff looked across the table at Val, raising his eyebrows. She wore a pale green blouse that showed off her slender figure. “You were in the Air Force?”

Unwilling to say much, Val filled her plate. “Yes, I was.” She didn’t feel comfortable confiding her life to a wrangler. He felt like an outsider in her kitchen, even though she knew McPherson wasn’t to blame. She hadn’t been home long enough to come to terms with her fate, much less deal with an attractive stranger now living among them.

Gazing at Val with newfound respect, Griff put a couple of slices of steaming beef on his plate along with heaps of mashed potatoes. He found he was starving, but it was as much for the company as the food. “How long were you in the Air Force?”

Val was hesitant. “I enlisted after college.”

“What did you do?” Griff saw the blanket of freckles across her cheeks darken. Was he being too nosy?

Gus chuckled as she ate the carrots with relish. “Val won’t say a peep. Not that it’s a secret. She held a top-secret clearance and was an intelligence officer. She also did fieldwork, finding drug runners. Talk about an exciting life.”

Griff couldn’t help his surprise as he heard that Val had expertise in exactly the area the FBI had enlisted his help for. But somehow, he was glad she wasn’t in such dangerous work anymore.

“Gus…” Val begged. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I understand, honey.” Gus patted her granddaughter’s hand. She turned her focus on Griff. “What about you, Mr. McPherson? Do you miss Wall Street?”

Griff shrugged. “I’m finding I’m missing it a lot less than I thought I would.”

“Did you really want to come back here?” Gus asked before she spooned some mashed potatoes with gravy into her mouth.

“At first, no. I was in shock, I guess. I thought with my credentials and knowledge, I could easily land another investment job. But that was fool’s gold. When I was running out of money and options, I did what a lot of other people did—I went crawling home.”

“Home isn’t such a bad place.” Gus gave Val a warm look. “I’m very glad to have Val home. But like you, she’s still getting used to it.”

Griff curbed his tongue. He had a hundred questions for Val, but the look on her closed face warned him not to ask them. Her mouth was usually full and shapely. Now, it was thinned with displeasure. “We owe thanks to our troops, no matter what service they’re in,” he said. “You all put your lives on the line for the rest of us.”

Heat nettled Val’s skin. She could feel the warmth creeping up from her neck and flow across her face. She hated blushing, but that’s exactly what she was doing. When she glanced up and saw the sincerity banked in Griff’s green eyes, she nearly choked on a carrot. Coughing, she quickly took a sip of water. Wiping her mouth with the white linen napkin, she managed, “Don’t paint a bigger picture of me than you have already.”

Stung by her gruff response, Griff wondered inwardly how he was going to get along with this woman. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gus shake her head. For a bit, the clink of silverware against the bright yellow plates was the only sound in the kitchen.

“Before you two go over the to-do list,” Gus finally said, “I made us a special dessert for tonight. Apple pie.”

Val couldn’t help but smile over at her grandmother. “Thank goodness for your cooking. Otherwise, we’d both probably starve,” and she managed a sour smile in Griff’s direction. She saw him respond immediately. There was a sense of abandonment around this man. And she could feel him trying to fit into the awkward situation they were all caught up in at the moment. She felt sorry for him. Val tried to put herself in Griff’s place: suddenly losing his job and all his money. Plus, he had no place to go. Val decided it would be hard. She finished off her carrots and mashed potatoes.

“My pies are famous in these parts,” Gus confided to Griff. “Have you ever tried apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese melted on it?”

“No, Miss Gus, I haven’t. But I’m willing to try it.” Griff quickly finished off his food. He was like a starving mongrel who’d come upon an unexpected bounty.

“I have a hunch,” Val said in a droll voice, “that you’d eat anything if it was home cooked.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Guilty on all counts.”

Chuckling, Gus said, “You aren’t like most gents I’ve met in my lifetime, Mr. McPherson. Seems you don’t ride a horse named Pride. Although you’re certainly a confident young man.”

Griff warmed to the elder. “My uncle and aunt made sure any pride I had was ironed out of me a long time ago.

“They instilled morals, values and a hard work ethic in me. They opened up their lives to me after our parents died.” His voice lowered with feeling. “And I’ll always be grateful to them for that.”

“They alive?” Gus wondered aloud.

Shaking his head, Griff said, “My aunt died two years ago of a heart attack. No one suspected it. She had complained about a week earlier about pain under her jaw, but we all thought it was a toothache. My uncle begged her to go to the dentist. She booked the appointment, but never made it. My uncle came home that evening and found her dead on the couch.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Gus gave him a sympathetic look. “What about your uncle?”

Griff smiled faintly and smoothed the linen napkin across his lap. “He died of heartbreak, Miss Gus. He loved my aunt in a way I’ve seen few people love another person. They were very happy together. And she was his world. He died three months after her, of an undetected brain aneurysm.”

Val felt her heart open as she saw sadness in Griff’s face. He’d lost his parents and then his guardians, and she felt deeply for him. “Your aunt and uncle sound like they were wonderful people.”

Griff saw tears glistening in Val’s eyes and was stunned by her response. In that moment, her guard was down. And his heart ached to explore her in every possible way. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Griff managed in a pained tone, “They were my world. They didn’t have to take in a grieving six year old, but they did.”

Gus blotted her lips with her napkin. “They might have lived in New York City, but they had solid Wyoming values. You can’t take the country out of a person no matter where he or she lives. And they instilled those principles into you.” She looked Griff up and down. His hair was short, recently washed and combed. Gus doubted he went anywhere without a red bandanna around his throat. His white cotton cowboy shirt with pearl buttons was pressed to perfection and clean. “I feel you’ll blossom here over time. You’re kinda like a tulip bulb—all covered with city-slicker soil. But once you shake off that city dirt, you’ll rediscover your roots here.”

Griff felt a deep warmth toward the women. They cared and it showed in their faces. “I’m already starting to bloom. I like waking up in the morning to clean, fresh air. And instead of skyscrapers outside my window, I have the Teton mountains.”

Rubbing her hands, Gus cackled. “And it don’t get any better than that!”

Val got up to clear the dishes, and instantly Griff was on his feet to help her.

Gus smiled. “That’s what I like, a man who knows his way around a kitchen.” She wagged her finger in Griff’s face. “Remember, I cook, you wash dishes.”

“It’s a great trade-off.” Griff filled his hands with plates. Val was collecting all the bowls from the table and setting them on the counter. For the next five minutes, Griff felt dizzy and as if in a dream. A slice of memory from his childhood flowed into his mind, stunning him, filling him with love and appreciation. He recalled his mother showing him how to clear a table after the family was finished with dinner. He’d been short and clumsy and had dropped a cup on the floor. Slade had chided him, but Griff remembered his mom leaning over to hug him and tell him not to worry. Carrying dishes simultaneously was all about balance and she was proud of him for learning.

His heart contracted with grief as he carefully placed the plates into the sink to rinse them off before transferring them to the dishwasher. The kitchen was warm, the fragrance of food a perfume for his lonely soul. The clink of dishes and silverware was pleasant music from the past. Griff wished he could confide in the women just how much this moment meant to him. They may have taken it for granted, but he never would. Dinner with family was something he’d pined for and rarely gotten when he’d come home to the Tetons Ranch. Slade had not wanted him around. He was angry with Griff for things that had transpired in the past, and saw him as a threat to his control over the ranch even though half of it was legally his. Griff understood his older fraternal twin’s reaction. Slade had put his whole life into keeping the family ranch solvent, and he’d nearly lost it. If not for Jordana Lawton, his new wife, winning the ten thousand dollars in the endurance race, Slade would have no ranch. Now, they were married and things were slowly improving. Griff felt an undeniable relief to know the Tetons Ranch would not only survive but, someday, thrive. And he’d been here to see it.

“Time for apple pie and cheese!” Gus crowed from her chair. “Val, you want to do the honors?”

Smiling, Val murmured, “Absolutely.” She put on a set of oven mittens, opened the oven door and pulled out a warm apple pie. Griff was standing at the sink, looking to help. “You can take three bowls down from that cabinet to the right of the sink.”

An incredibly warm feeling swept through Griff as he took out three red ceramic bowls from the cabinet. It felt so good to be part of a household again. Setting the bowls on the counter, he watched Val retrieve the cheddar cheese from the fridge. Her hands were beautiful, fingers long and movements fluid. Watching as she cut the pie and placed thick wedges into the awaiting bowls, Griff sliced the cheese.

He was a bit awkward with the knife.

“Cheese alert, ladies,” he said. “These slices aren’t going to be exactly even.”

Picking two bowls up, Val accidentally brushed against his arm and tried to ignore his blatant masculinity. Griff was lean like a mountain lion. She controlled her voice as she responded. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Where this dessert is going, it won’t matter.”

Chortling, Gus called, “The stomach don’t care at all, Mr. McPherson. It’s just going to sing with pleasure at getting filled, is all.”

“You’re right about that.” Griff wrapped up the cheese and put it back into the fridge. Val took the bowls to the table and her eager grandmother. The pie smelled marvelous and Griff quickly moved to pull out Val’s chair so she could sit down. Again, she said nothing. What did he expect? After all, he was a stranger who had suddenly fallen into her life.

Sitting down, he confided to Gus, “You really know how to make someone feel welcome. Thank you.”

Grinning a little, Gus cut eagerly into her pie. “It’s a Wyoming custom to welcome those who come through our door and to treat them like family.”

Griff remembered that from so long ago. As he cut into the warm pie with cheddar cheese melting across its browned crust, more memories arose from his childhood. When Griff was five his aunt and uncle had come out from New York to Jackson Hole for a weeklong visit. It was something they did every year. He and his brother always looked forward to their arrival because they brought them gifts of toys. Their parents were dirt-poor and even though they never made the boys feel their economic status, the boys certainly never had much. But they were always extremely hospitable to any guests.

“Did your real mom cook and bake?” Gus asked.

“Yes, Miss Gus, she did,” he said, savoring the warm tartness of the apples and cinnamon along with the tangy sharp cheddar melting in his mouth. “My dad worked the ranch and she sewed our clothes, did the washing and kept us and the ranch house together.”

Val heard the far-off dreaminess in Griff’s lowered voice, and found herself hungry to know more about him. He seemed attuned to helping out women in the kitchen, which surprised her. Looking up, she asked, “Did your mom make you boys work in the house? Dry dishes? Clean up the table up after dinner?”

“Yep, she did,” Griff fondly recalled. “My brother and I were like wriggling puppies growing up. Mom harnessed all that energy. We learned to dry dishes standing on top of a stool at the kitchen sink as she washed them and handed them to us. Slade hated dish duty, but he liked dusting and sweeping. So we made an agreement to each do the chores we preferred.”

“Did she teach you to cook?” Gus demanded.

“No, but I wish she had. Slade liked to cook, so he was always in there watching Mom. Sometimes, she’d let Slade make chocolate-chip cookies.”

Val saw the gleam in his green eyes as he spoke. There was happiness lurking in the depths of them. And for whatever reason, it made Val feel good. To her utter surprise, an ache centered in her lower body. She couldn’t help but stare at his strong mouth. Griff smiled often. He reacted to their questions and took them seriously. Part of her was relieved to realize Griff wasn’t one of those proud cowboys. They were such a pain in the butt to deal with.

“I preferred being outside helping our father,” he continued. “Slade was always mesmerized by recipes and mixing ingredients together to create new things. Mom swore he’d grow up to be a chemist.” He chuckled fondly over those memories.

“What did you do?”

“I liked riding, Miss Gus. Our father gave us each a mustang gelding when we were three years old. I rode my horse as much as I could.”

“That’s good.” Gus spooned into her dish. “Because you’re going to get a lot of saddle time around here. We have one real nice quarter horse and an Appaloosa left. I’m sure Val will assign you one of ’em tomorrow.”

“I will,” Val promised. Their black Appaloosa, Freckles, had a white blanket with black spots over its rump. Griff would be well matched with the gelding, as it stood sixteen hands tall.

“I think you’re gonna be good for the Bar H, Mr. McPherson,” Gus said.

“Could you call me Griff?” He knew ranchers were always respectful and would call a person by their surname, unless otherwise asked.

“Why sure I can.” Gus smiled. “Griff’s a good, strong name. Why’d your parents decide to call you that?”

“My dad got to name the firstborn, Slade, but the agreement was my mom would get to name the second twin. She loved King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She was really into dragons and griffins in literature, so she called me Griff.”

“Griffins were often found on the shields of royalty,” Gus noted with pride. “They had the body of a lion, the head and wings of an eagle. In mythology, they were considered heroic, courageous, and represented strength.”

Smiling faintly, Griff was impressed with her knowledge of the ancient symbolic animal. “My mother shared many stories about griffins with me. She said that they would find gold in the mountains and make their nest out of the metal. I remember she told me that I’d grow up and be very rich someday.” His heart filled with pain. “And she was right about that. When I worked at my uncle’s company, I was worth millions. I wish she’d lived to see that.”

Val frowned and said nothing. Seeing the anguish in his eyes, she felt badly for Griff. No one should have their parents torn away from them.

Gus sighed. “I can’t even begin to know how it would feel to lose millions.”

“I stupidly tied everything up in derivatives. My uncle was always chiding me to put a chunk of it into the blue-chip stocks, instead. I didn’t listen.” Griff shrugged. “If I had, I wouldn’t be flat broke as I am today.”

Val absorbed the pain and the frustration embedded in his deep voice. When she glanced up, Griff was frowning down at the half-eaten dessert in front of him. She could see he was thinking about the past, about the horrendous mistakes he’d made. But didn’t everyone make mistakes? Oh, yes. Everyone made plenty. But to lose millions? Val couldn’t fathom that. She cleared her throat. “Maybe this is your chance to rebuild your life back here in Wyoming.”

Griff caught and held her blue gaze. For once, the walls that kept him from reading Val’s face weren’t up. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m hoping I can find the fabled gold of the griffin here, where I was born.”

Chuckling indulgently, Gus said, “Oh, I think you have what it takes to be successful, Griff. Now, your focus is different. I don’t know too many wranglers who get rich, but over time, you can build a nice nest egg.”

“That’s my plan.” Finishing off the dessert, Griff sat back and rubbed his belly. “That was really good pie. Thanks, Miss Gus. It’s almost like I’m home again...”

“Well, get used it, Griff.”

Val rose. “Will you help me clear the table, Mr. McPherson?”

Inwardly, Griff’s heart sank. He’d wanted Val to call him by his first name, too. The set look on her face and her tight jaw told him she was going to continue to keep him at arm’s length, though. “Of course.” He scooted the chair away from the table. “It’s the least I can do for such a great five-star meal.” When he aimed a smile over at Gus, she blushed like a teenager. Griff wanted to reach out and carefully hug the elder.

“Griff, you’re a delight,” Gus crowed. “I’m happy to see you here with us.”

As Griff thanked her and carried the empty bowls over to the sink, he wondered if Val felt the same way.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DAMMIT, ZACH, WORK faster!” Curt Downing’s fine, thin nostrils flared as he stood on the wooden dock at the Horse Emporium. The twenty-year-old kid, still gawky and pathetically thin, wrestled with an eighty-pound bale of hay. The bale was winning. There was no use trying to make a cowboy out of this kid. Placing his hands on his hips as he watched his three wranglers working efficiently to transfer a hundred bales on the waiting flatbed, Curt fumed. If he didn’t need Zach Mason, the grandson of Iris Mason, owner of the Elk Horn Ranch, he’d have fired his ass a long time ago. But the kid was useful to him in other ways.

With the two hooks, Zach hurled the bale onto the flatbed where another wrangler stood impatiently waiting for it. Releasing his heavy load, he saw Downing glare at him. Zach wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He hated what he was doing. Shuffling back inside the huge two-story barn to get another bale, he wished he was in his rented room in town, smoking a joint. Marijuana soothed and calmed him. His heart still ached, missing his mother, Allison. She was in a federal prison, serving out a twenty-five-year term for trying to kill Iris Mason, his grandmother, and Kam Trayhern. Kam, his stepfather Rudd’s illegitimate daughter, had come home to claim her inheritance. Allison had seen her, as well as Iris with whom Kam was bonding, as a threat and tried to have them murdered to save the inheritance for her own kids: himself and his sister Regan. He still blamed all of them for his mother being torn from him.

Stopping at a table, Zach grabbed a bottle of water, opened it and slugged down its tepid contents. His large Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly. Tossing the empty container into a barrel next to the table, he pulled off his baseball cap and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. The prickly alfalfa hay nettled his sensitive skin, turning it a splotchy red.