The Rancher's Homecoming

“We already talked about this. You know it’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“They’re wild animals, not pets. Besides, you’ll be busy with school.”

“Benita will help me take care of them.”

Their housekeeper barely tolerated dogs in the house. “Benita has enough to do.”

“We can make a place for them in the backyard. Like at the zoo. With a swimming pool and everything. Dr. Murry said raccoons like water.”

What answer could he give that would make her understand?

“Lyndsey, we can’t take them home. They belong here. In Sweetheart. Living free in the wild.”

“But the woods are all burned and the animals ran away.”

“The trees will grow back and the animals didn’t all run away.”

“They’ll die like their mother and brothers!” Her voice quavered with outrage.

“We’ll turn them over to someone who will take good care of them. Like the wildlife refuge Ms. Hennessy mentioned.”

“I want to see it first.” There was no arguing with her.

Well, she came by it honestly. If Sam wasn’t so bullheaded, he might have realized his marriage was falling apart long ago and taken action—he had no idea what action.

“Fine. I promise. Wherever the baby raccoons go, you’ll see the place first.”

“Kits.”

“Kits,” he corrected himself, aware that round had gone to Lyndsey. “In the meantime, until we leave Sweetheart, you can keep them.” He proceeded slowly through one of the town’s two stoplights.

“I wanna call Grandpa and tell him about Porky and Daffy.”

“When we get back to the mo—” Sam hit the brakes, checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was close behind him.

Annie, her grandmother and a little girl that had to be her daughter were walking along the sidewalk. Annie appeared to be struggling for control. Orla Hennessy, all of seventy-five, if not eighty, went in one direction and the little girl in the other. Neither paid attention to Annie, who’d momentarily stumbled in the confusion.

What in the world were the three of them doing out after dark?

Pulling onto the side of the road, he beeped the horn, thrust the transmission into Park and depressed the emergency brake. “Lyndsey, wait here. Don’t get out, you hear me?”

She sat up in her seat. “Where are you going?”

“To help Ms. Hennessy. I’ll be right back.”

She clasped the box to her as if Annie and her family were going to reach in and swoop up her prize possession. “We have to get Porky and Daffy back to the motel and feed them.”

“This won’t take long.”

“Ask her if she has a cage.”

Did she ever run out of questions?

“Hey, there.” Sam darted around the front of the truck to the sidewalk. “Out for an evening stroll?”

“Walking back from a friend’s house,” came Annie’s tight-lipped reply.

“Hop in, and I’ll give you a lift.”

“No, thanks. We’re fine.”

He was surrounded by stubborn women.

“Sam Wyler! As I live and breathe, is that you?” Granny Orla broke away from Annie’s grasp and propelled herself at Sam. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Sam returned the older woman’s hug, his throat surprisingly tight. “How are you, Granny Orla?”

She held him at arm’s length, giving him a thorough once-over, her eyes alight. “My, my. Handsome as ever. That granddaughter of mine should have never let you go.”

“I’m right here, Granny.” With both arms free, Annie had been able to secure a firm hold on her squirming daughter. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Granny winked at Sam. “I know that.”

He flashed a broad grin in return. “I always did like you.”

“That goes both ways, young man.”

The older woman barely reached the middle of his chest. As Sam recalled, neither did Fiona Hennessy. Annie must have gotten her height from her father, whom she hadn’t seen since starting first grade.

“You’re a cowboy!”

Sam’s attention was drawn downward to Annie’s little girl, a tiny imp who more closely resembled her grandmother and great-grandmother than Annie. Except for her compelling green eyes, which were the same shape and color as her mother’s.

“I am.”

“Do you have a horse?” She studied him with suspicion, as if having a horse was the measure of a real cowboy.

“Lots of them, actually. At my ranch in California. And a pony. From when my daughter, Lyndsey, was your age.”

“Can I ride him?”

“Nessa!” Annie gently chided the girl. “That’s not polite.”

“’Fraid California’s too far away.” Sam laughed, not the least offended. “But that’s a good idea. I should have the pony shipped out here for the Gold Nugget. Then your mom can bring you over for a ride.”

“What’s the pony’s name?”

He surveyed the traffic, which was light but a potential danger nonetheless. “Get in, and I’ll tell you about her on the drive home.”

“Can we, Mommy? Please?” Nessa yanked on Annie’s arm, stretching it to its limit.

Granny Orla was one step ahead of her great-granddaughter. “Fine idea.”

Outnumbered and clearly at her wits’ end, Annie sighed resignedly.

Sam allowed himself a grin as he opened the rear passenger door and helped the three inside. Annie didn’t avail herself of the hand he offered, but he didn’t let that deter him.

He had the opportunity of sharing her company for the next several minutes and intended to make full use of it.

Chapter Three

Sam’s daughter twisted around in the front seat the second Annie got into the truck.

“Did my dad ask you about a cage for the kits?”

“Just a minute ago.” She tried not to be swayed by the blaze of hope shining in the girl’s face. “I’ll get one for you by tomorrow and drop it off.”

“Really? Thank you!”

So much for not being swayed.

“What are kits?” Nessa asked, unable to sit still.

“Baby raccoons,” Lyndsey answered.

“Where? Can I see?” She leaned forward.

“When we stop the truck, if you’re good.” Annie placed a restraining hand on her daughter.

“We’ll be at the ranch tomorrow early,” Sam said. “The furniture truck’s due.”

Great. She was now going to visit Sam a second time at the Gold Nugget, and he was taking her home. What else could go wrong?

“Mind if I tag along?” her grandmother asked.

“You’re welcome anytime.”

“It won’t be till later, Granny. I’ll be coming straight from work, not stopping home first.”

“Haven’t seen the place in a while,” her grandmother continued as if she hadn’t heard Annie. “Not since last spring.”

“I wanna go, too,” Nessa chimed in.

Annie should have silenced her thoughts when she had the chance. At least Nessa seemed to have forgotten about the pony. For now.

“How are you getting along, Granny Orla?” Sam slowed, taking the turn leading to Annie’s street. She’d given him directions when they first climbed into the truck.

“Terrible.” Her grandmother went from animated to forlorn in the span of a single second. “We lost the inn.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am. Don’t know how we’re going to make it. Much less rebuild.”

“We’ll find a way. Don’t worry.” Annie’s assurance was as much for herself as everyone else in the truck. Especially Nessa. She might not understand everything they were going through, but she was astute and picked up on people’s moods.

“I told Annie I’d like to help with rebuilding Sweetheart.” Sam parked in front of the duplex. “Your inn and the entire town.”

“We’re fine.” Annie noticed his gaze traveling to the modest duplex. Grabbing her daughter’s hand, she wrenched open the door. “Come on, Nessa.” They were out in a flash.

“I want to see the kits.”

“Later, okay? It’s getting late and the kits are sleeping.”

“But we forgot Granny Orla.”

Nessa was right. Annie’s grandmother hadn’t moved.

“Come on, Granny. Mom’s waiting for us.”

“She is?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the apartment.”

“The apartment?” her grandmother repeated slowly. “What’s she doing there?”

Why now? Annie silently lamented. And why in front of Sam? She should have seen this coming. Any discussion about losing the inn brought on these...these...episodes.

“Please, Granny. It’s getting late.”

Sam came around the truck to the passenger side. “How ’bout I walk you to the door?”

The sympathy in his voice hit Annie hard. Half of her wanted to scream in frustration, the other half cry.

Nessa tugged on her hand. “Mommy, I have to go potty.”

“Okay, just a second.” Moving aside, Annie let Sam reach into the truck cab and coax her grandmother out.

Some of the older woman’s animation returned. “Can’t remember the last time a man walked me to my door.”

“Wait here, Lyndsey,” he instructed his daughter.

“The kits woke up. We have to feed them,” she protested.

Annie could hear their soft mewing.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Sam said. “They won’t starve.”

Lyndsey slouched and hugged the box on her lap, her lower lip protruding.

Though it wasn’t Annie’s fault, she felt responsible for the delay. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyndsey. When I bring the cage.” She made a mental note to remember. “Will the kits be all right till then?”

“Dr. Murry showed me what I need to do.” Her hand reached tenderly into the box.

Annie had no doubt Lyndsey would make the vet proud. If only her father had shown half that much tenderness when handling Annie’s heart.

He did seem to be doing an admirable job with her grandmother, though. Was it possible he’d changed?

The front door swung open before Annie could dig her keys out of her pocket.

“There you are. I was getting worried.” At the sight of Sam, Fiona’s depression evaporated. “Sam Wyler!”

Annie’s mother hugged him fiercely, much as her grandmother had. The gesture made Annie acutely aware that she and Sam had yet to touch since his return.

“How are you?” Fiona asked. “Come in, come in.”

Annie ground her teeth. Say no. Please.

For once, her luck held.

“Thank you, Fiona, but I can’t.” He straightened his cowboy hat, which had been knocked askew during the hug. “My daughter’s waiting in the truck.”

“Bring her in, too. We’ll have some ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” Nessa jumped up and down.

“I appreciate the offer.” Sam shot a look at the truck parked on the curb. “But Lyndsey’s babysitting a pair of abandoned raccoons she found earlier today in a log, and they need feeding.”

“Raccoons?”

“Annie can explain.”

“Then you’ll have to come back another day. Your daughter, too.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m gonna ride a pony,” Nessa chimed in, forgetting all about her pressing need. “You said I could.”

Sam patted her head. “I have to buy some horses first.”

“High Country Outfitters are going out of business,” Fiona said, “and selling off their entire stable of trail horses. With no customers, they can’t afford the price of feed. You could probably pick up a few good head for a decent price.”

“Who do I talk to?”

“Will Dessaro’s their livestock manager. Anyone in town can tell you where to find him.”

“I’ll track him down first thing in the morning.”

Annie almost did a double take. How was it her mother knew about High Country Outfitters going out of business and she’d heard nothing?

Because she’d been busy with work and caring for Nessa and holding her family together.

And she hadn’t wanted to know. With each resident that was forced to move from Sweetheart, each business that shut its doors, she lost a small sliver of hope.

“I’d best get going, see to it those raccoons get fed.” Sam touched the brim of his hat and grinned at all of them. Annie the longest.

Her heart might be damaged, but it could still flutter. Which, to her dismay, it did.

If only Sweetheart were bigger than three square miles and one thousand residents—a number dwindling daily. Then maybe she wouldn’t be constantly running into Sam.

As she watched him stride confidently toward his truck, she wondered if that wasn’t what she secretly wanted. She had, after all, made an excuse to see him tomorrow.

She spun on her heels to find her mother, grandmother and daughter all watching him, too.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one susceptible to his charms.

* * *

THE PICKUP AND STOCK TRAILER looked out of place as it rumbled to a stop beside the old corral. So did the modern furniture that had been delivered hours earlier and set up in the ranch’s three bedrooms, kitchen and parlor.

Sam’s memories of the Gold Nugget were of a buggy sitting in front of the house, knotty pine rockers on the porch, blacksmith equipment hanging in the shed beside the barn and rooms filled with antiques and authentic reproductions used in filming The Forty-Niners. There had also been photographs of the stars and crew displayed on every wall in every room, along with articles on the actors’ lives and trivia about the show.

For some unknown reason, those photos alone had survived when everything else in the house was auctioned off.

In the evenings, after the tourists had left, the ranch would become eerily quiet. He and Annie would sit in the rockers or at the long oak table in the kitchen or lie on the squeaky mattress and box spring in the master bedroom and dream about the future.

If old Mrs. Litey, the longtime curator of the Gold Nugget, had caught them, she’d have skinned them alive.

And now, the ranch was Sam’s, thanks to the former owner deciding it was easier to sell the place than make the necessary repairs and upgrades.

A quick glance around revealed the ranch still needed a lot of work—starting with the corrals. The pine rails were broken and rotted in place and wouldn’t contain the horses he’d purchased that morning for very long. Fortunately, the construction contractor and his crew were arriving on Monday.

Sam walked over to greet the young cowboy emerging from the cab of the truck, a large shepherd mix tumbling out after him. Sam and Will Dessaro had spent a good two hours together, during which Sam inspected each horse in the High Country Outfitters’ string and negotiated the price. The deal was closed when he delivered the cashier’s check he’d obtained at the neighboring town fifteen miles away.

“You made good time.” He shook Will’s hand. The man’s grip was firm, his features strong and appealing. “Thought you might have some trouble loading all these horses by yourself.”

“Not likely.”

“Should we back the trailer up to the gate?” he asked.

“Don’t need to.”

This would be interesting, Sam thought as he watched Will open the rear of the trailer and lower the ramp. Only then did Sam realize all the horses stood loose, except for the first one. He alone was haltered and tied.

“Don’t you think you should—”

Before Sam finished his thought, Will was leading the haltered horse down the ramp. The nine others followed out of the trailer, one by one, nose to tail. The dog trotted along beside them. To Sam’s surprise, all ten horses stood quietly as Will opened the corral gate and then pushed inside, eagerly exploring their new home. Will swung the gate shut and latched it.

“I’m impressed,” Sam said.

“Not a contrary one in the bunch.”

Sam was a believer and convinced he’d made a good investment.

Together, he and Will unloaded bags of feed from the trailer’s front compartment and stacked them under the lean-to. Next, they ran a hose and filled the water barrel.

“Be back in an hour with the rest of them.” Will had promised he could deliver all nineteen horses in two trips, and it looked as though he was a man of his word.

“Any chance you can stick around afterward and maybe tomorrow? Help me with the horses?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not interfering with your job?”

“High Country Outfitters is out of business. You just bought what was left of my job.”

“Sorry about that.”

Will shrugged. “I noticed some of the horses have loose shoes.”

“Is there a farrier in town?”

“I did most of the shoeing for High Country.”

“Any experience with cattle?”

“My grandmother raised me. She ran near a hundred head.”

Will was looking better and better by the minute. He also knew the mountain trails.

“You’re not by chance good at cross-country skiing?”

“Have all my own gear.”

Well, well. “Anything you can’t do?”

“Cook.”

That made two of them. Lyndsey had already complained about breakfast and lunch.

Sam pushed his hat back and grinned. “You by chance in the market for a new job?”

“You offering me one?”

“I need a livestock foreman and someone to supervise the trail rides. Take guests on guided skiing excursions in the winter months. I’m thinking you have the experience.”

“Okay.” Will started toward his truck. His dog, resting in the shade of a bush, sprang instantly to its feet.

“Is that a yes?” Sam called after him.

“You need something in writing?”

He laughed. “We’ll talk details when you get back.”

“Fine by me.”

Sam decided he liked the Gold Nugget Ranch’s first official employee. The female guests were bound to like him, too, though Sam suspected Will would keep to himself.

Pressed for time, Sam went over to the corral and checked on the horses. Several bunched at the railing for a petting. The rest stared at him as if wondering why they hadn’t been given any pellets.

“When your buddies arrive.” He patted an overly eager black-and-white paint that could easily break through the railing if he weren’t so docile. “And when I figure out what exactly I’m going to use for a feed trough.”

By all accounts, there’d been no horses on the ranch since The Forty-Niners ceased production. He’d considered himself lucky to find that old water barrel in the barn.

There must be something else kicking around he could use. If not, he’d ask Will. The man struck Sam as being the resourceful type. And there was always the feed store.

He was halfway to the barn when a rusted-out sedan pulled into the ranch and stopped, the exhaust spewing a cloud of gray smoke when the engine was cut. Seconds later, a woman with an assortment of children spilled out of all four doors.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Mr. Wyler? My name’s Irma Swichtenberg. These here are my children.”

The tallest, a teenager, tugged nervously on her hair while the shortest, a toddler, snuggled a stuffed toy.

“What can I do for you?” Sam asked.

“Miss Hennessy sent me your way.”

“Annie?”

“No, sir. Fiona. I worked for her. At the inn. Housekeeping. She said you might be looking to hire someone.” The woman swallowed nervously. “I’m a hard worker. Honest and dependable. Carrie watches the little ones for me so I won’t ever miss a day.” She placed a hand on the teenager’s shoulder.

Sam could see Irma Swichtenberg was a proud woman and that asking for a job didn’t come easy. For all he knew, she single-handedly supported her small family. Judging by the shape of their worn clothes, she was at the end of her resources.

“How good a cook are you?”

“Passable.”

“The place needs a lot of cleaning. Been empty awhile. And I’m hardly the neatest person. My daughter’s worse.”

“Not much I can’t handle or won’t.”

He believed her.

“I really need a job, Mr. Wyler. I’ll work cheap.”

Sam had made a promise to himself to help the people of Sweetheart and that included providing employment for as many of the locals as possible. That aside, he’d have hired Irma anyway. He liked and respected her that much.

“No need to work cheap. I’ll pay you a decent wage.”

When he named the rate, Irma’s hands flew to her mouth. “You’re not joshing me, are you?”

“Can you start in the morning? 8:00 a.m.”

“I’ll start now!”

“That’s not necessary.” He chuckled. “We’ll decide on your schedule tomorrow. Might only be part-time until we’re ready for guests.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wyler.” She rushed toward him, grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’m grateful to you.”

“My daughter and I are the ones who are grateful to you. Otherwise, we might starve or be buried alive in a mountain of dirty clothes.”

She smiled shyly, displaying slightly crooked teeth. “I’ll see you at eight sharp.”

Something told him Irma would be here at seven forty-five. “Looking forward to it.”

Gathering her brood, she hurried them to the car as if afraid Sam might change his mind.

Unlikely, he decided. So far, he was more than pleased with his staff. And he had Fiona Hennessy to thank.

If she and Annie weren’t so determined to rebuild the inn, he’d hire Fiona to manage the Gold Nugget. He needed someone trustworthy, competent and with her vast hospitality experience. Someone whose skills would allow him to be a long-distance owner.

Sam made his way toward the barn in search of Lyndsey. She’d been in there the entire time with Porky and Daffy. A few good meals had made all the difference to the kits. They were active and curious and had already figured out their long, sharp claws were perfect tools for scaling the sides of a cardboard box.

They were also kind of cute, Sam had to admit, with their little button noses, whiskers and black face masks.

Lyndsey had moved them into an old wooden crate until the cage arrived. She couldn’t be a more attentive and devoted caretaker. Sam was proud of her. And worried. He tried not to think about how she’d take losing the kits when the time came.

She was just where he’d left her, sitting cross-legged in the center of the barn floor. Sunlight poured in through cracks in the wooden walls, painting a pattern of stripes on her and the crate beside her.

“Hi, Dad.” She cradled Daffy, the smaller of the kits, in her lap, his front paws balanced on her towel-covered forearm in the manner the vet had instructed. Daffy lustily drained a bottle of kitten formula.

“How’re they doing?” Sam asked.

“They like the canned cat food!” Her face radiated delight.

“Dr. Murry says they’ll eat almost anything.”

“They licked it off a spoon.”

Sam’s earlier concern returned. “They didn’t bite you, did they?”

“Oh, Dad.”

He took that as a no and breathed easier.

“Grandpa said he can’t wait to see them.”

“Lyndsey, sweetie.” He reached for her. “You—”

She stiffened and pulled away. “Don’t say we can’t take them home.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

Withdrawing his hand, he squatted beside the crate and gave Daffy a little scratch. Porky was attempting to squeeze his apple-shaped head between the narrow openings in the crate.

“I can’t believe how much difference one day makes.”

“Porky purred and kneaded my arm when he ate.”

“No fooling?” Sam attempted to pet Porky. The kit jerked instantly back and growled at him, his fur standing on end. He looked and sounded more comical than threatening.

“Dad! Be careful. You’ll hurt him.”

“Hurt him? What about me?” Sam inspected his hand. “I’m the one who almost lost a finger.”

“It’s instinctive. You have to move slowly.”

He turned at the sound of Annie’s voice.

She stood in the entrance to the barn, wearing her NDF uniform and holding an empty cage.

“Hey. Thanks for coming by.” He pushed to his feet, noticing the exhaustion on her face. “You okay?”

“Just beat. We ran erosion and water repellency tests all day in the field.”

Despite her busy schedule, she’d found time to locate a cage for Lyndsey and deliver it. If he could, he would take her in his arms and the hell with the consequences.

“Sounds grueling.”

“It was.”