Maddie Inherits a Cowboy

She’d soon find out.

As she traveled east, her cellular service popped in and out, mostly out, so she was surprised when she got a call. It was Connor, her research assistant and the only person, according to Skip, who was more of a tight ass than she was—which was why Madeline was glad she had him. If she forgot some detail, she was certain Connor would catch it.

“Where are you?”

Madeline took in the barren landscape. “Quite liter ally in the middle of nowhere. I’m driving to the ranch.

It’s more than four hours from Reno.”

“I tried to call three times.”

“Bad service here. You should see this place. Mountains and flat. That’s it. I’ve driven for more than thirty miles without seeing a house.” Madeline shifted the phone to her other ear. “What’s happening there?”

“Nothing on the professional front, but I went to visit your grandmother.”

“How is she?”

“Rambunctious.” Madeline felt a surge of relief.

Rambunctious meant no bronchial relapse. “There’s been complaints from the apartment next door. Loud music—”

“She’s losing her hearing.”

“Parties.”

“Give me a break.” Connor might be a detail guy, but he had a sense of humor.

“I tried to talk her into the iPod again, but no luck. She refuses to wear headphones.”

“Well, as long as she doesn’t get kicked out.” Grandma Eileen, also a professor of anthropology, lived in a retirement complex that catered to the academic set. She was seventy-two years old and very active. Madeline’s many cousins made sure she was never lonely, but it was Madeline and Skip that had a special bond with Eileen, who’d taken them in when their parents divorced and went to find themselves on different continents. Her grandmother was also the reason Madeline had been able to make peace with what had happened to her brother.

Grieve now or grieve later, Eileen had said, but she wanted Madeline to understand that she wasn’t going to escape the process. She hadn’t escaped, but after a year she had reached acceptance. The stage where she could remember Skip without sharp pain.

“Thanks for taking my visit,” Madeline said. Connor, who had next to no family of his own, considered him self one of the grandkids, so she knew it was no chore. “Are you sure there’s no news on the Jensen front?”

“Noth—” A sharp beep cut off Connor’s reply. No signal. Madeline snapped the phone shut.

An hour later she pulled into Winnemucca for gas. It was hard to believe she was still in the same state and that she’d passed through only two towns of any size since leaving Reno. The emptiness, the vastness of this land, was daunting. Not only that, it was damned cold and snowy. This was not the desert she’d envisioned from her brother’s enthusiasm about his new home. The mountains were pretty, much more rugged and barren than the ones she was used to, but other than that, what had Skip seen in this country?

Madeline adjusted her collar against the wind and screwed the gas cap on. According to the GPS, she had another hundred and eighty miles—and two more towns—to go before reaching her target destination.

She was nearing the town of Battle Mountain when it began to snow, and during the sixty mile drive to Elko what should have been an hour’s drive turned into an hour and a half.

Ty might have been angry when he’d told her to bring food, but Madeline took him at his word. As soon as she hit Elko, she stopped and bought a bag of groceries—mostly cereal and cookies. Carbohydrates fed the brain.

When she left the store, she was glad to see that the skies were clearing, although there was a good six inches of unplowed snow on the road. She loaded the groceries into the car and wearily got back in. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to reaching the ranch, but she was looking forward to not driving anymore. It had been one long day. And it was only half over.

THERE WAS NO WAY in hell that a car, even one with all-wheel drive, should have made it up Lone Summit Road after a snowfall. But damned if Madeline Blaine didn’t climb out of a Subaru Outback and wade through the drift to the gate at the end of the driveway.

Ty tipped back the brim of his black felt hat and watched from the corral where he’d just fed the bulls. A full minute later he knew he had to go help her. What kind of a person could navigate that road and then not be able to figure out a gate latch? Apparently one with a doctorate in anthropology.

He muttered a curse and trudged down the snowy drive with Alvin, his border collie, at his heels, walking in the same track Ty created. She was obviously het up to see the ranch, so see the ranch she would. He had a feeling when she was done that she was going to wish she’d believed him.

Madeline did not give up on the latch. She continued to wrestle with it right up until he stopped on the opposite side of the gate.

“Need help?” he asked mildly.

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You don’t want to know what I think…. “I’m surprised you made it,” he said after he pulled the mechanism that released the latch—the mechanism that Madeline had been pushing for all she was worth. She lifted her chin slightly when she saw how easily the latch sprang open.

“What do you mean?”

“The snow, the ruts, the road.”

She made a face. “I grew up in New York. I can drive in the snow and I don’t need one of those to do it.” She pointed at his four-wheel-drive pickup truck parked next to the barn a hundred yards away.

“Bully for you,” he muttered as she trudged back to her car and got inside. He and Alvin stood clear as she drove past, and then Ty shut the gate. Madeline had parked next to the truck and was out of the car, standing in the snow, when he and Alvin caught up with her.

“I’ll show you Skip’s house.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him as he broke trail through the calf-deep snow to the double-wide closest to the barn. Skip had lived in the newer of the two prefab ranch houses. Both were roomy, with three bedrooms and two baths and, under normal circumstances, quite comfortable. These were not normal circumstances, though. Skip’s place had been uninhabited for almost two years and Ty had a feeling Madeline wasn’t going to find the place all that inviting. Oh, well. He’d told her not to come.

Ty walked up the stairs and opened the door.

Madeline stalled out at the bottom step. “I assume there are no mice inside? It has been empty for some time.”

He had managed to keep the mice out so far—no small feat in the country—with a lot of caulk and steel wool. He figured that if he ever expanded to the point that he could hire help, or if he got another partner to buy into the operation, he’d need to keep the house up.

Perhaps that had been a mistake.

“No mice. I check frequently.” It was still hard for him to go inside Skip’s place, and cleaning it out had been a hell he never wanted to have to repeat.

Madeline slowly climbed the stairs with a suitcase in each hand. Her concern about mice only reinforced his belief that she wasn’t going to last long at the ranch, but he had to give her credit for not flinching at the amount of fine silt that had worked its way in through the edges of the windows and settled. One of the joys of desert life—even in the high country.

The only furniture in the two front rooms was a leather sofa that pulled out into a bed—in case Ty had company who wanted privacy, which was laughable because Ty never had company—and a small kitchen table with two chairs. The other rooms were empty.

Everything had been shipped home or sent to charity.

“I sent the bedding and towels and stuff to Goodwill.”

“I know,” she said briskly. She walked through the house, the floor squeaking beneath her steps. “I brought a sleeping bag.”

“You’re really staying.”

Her eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise, but the reaction seemed forced—quite possibly because of where she would be staying. The house was not inviting. “I told you I was.”

“Suit yourself.” The sooner she saw that everything was on the up-and-up, the sooner this walking, talking reminder of Skip would be out of his life.

“I will.” She glanced around and from the way she moistened her lips he had a feeling she was fighting to keep her placid expression. She brought her eyes back to his face.

“Not much to do here,” Ty explained. “No TV or anything.”

“I plan to use any free time I might have to work on a book I’m writing.”

Ty stared at her. “How long do you plan to stay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Three and a half weeks.”

Oh, shit. Why didn’t she just take out a gun and shoot him?

This went beyond not wanting to be reminded about Skip. Ty enjoyed his solitude. Hell, he embraced it. When he wanted company he went to town. He did not want it forced on him.

Madeline squared her shoulders. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get the rest of my luggage. I have a busy afternoon.”

Ty nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else he could do.

CHAPTER THREE

GOOD HEAVENS, SKIP, what were you thinking when you bought this place?

He’d said it was isolated, but Madeline couldn’t believe how far she’d driven on that darned Lone Sum Road before finally seeing the driveway and gate. Beyond the gate she’d recognized the view from the photos Skip had sent, but when Skip had talked of a ranch, she’d envisioned a big wooden barn and sheds and lots of board fences and corrals. Well, the barn was there. It was big and metal and ugly. The smaller buildings all looked as if they were a couple hundred years old, and the fences were made of wire. Wire.

She thought he’d sent pictures of the view because it was so spectacular. She hadn’t realized there was nothing else to photograph.

Ty had disappeared and was hopefully hooking up the electricity, while Madeline carried her belongings into the frigid house, which was larger than she had expected. Skip had called it a trailer, but it was the size of a regular house with a woodstove on a ceramic-tiled hearth.

She made three trips through the snow between her car and the house, leaving the door propped open. The last trip was the easiest because she’d beaten the snow into a path. Then she took another look at her living quarters.

She should have bought more cleaning supplies.

And a bucket.

Madeline pulled a pad out of her purse and started a list, then went to the sink and turned the tap. Nothing.

So she wouldn’t be cleaning and she wouldn’t have heat until Ty got around to turning on the power. Perhaps Mr. Hopewell needed a nudge. Madeline had no intention of disturbing him any more than she had to during her stay, but she also had no intention of freezing to death.

She stepped outside, debating whether it was warmer inside or outside, then followed Ty’s tracks to the barn.

When she opened the door, Ty looked up from the contraption he was working on. He had a smudge of oil across his cheek and he seemed none too happy to see her. Or maybe he was ticked off at the machine…which was probably the generator.

Madeline had a feeling it was.

Ty shifted his scowl back to the machine. “It hasn’t been started in a while.”

“Will it start?” Because if not, she was on her way back down the mountain to the little town at the bottom. Except that she hadn’t seen anyplace to stay there.

“Hope so.”

“Does it have fuel?” Madeline asked.

No answer this time, so she concluded it was a stupid question. But she’d also learned during the course of her academic career at the university never to overlook the obvious.

Ty replaced the metal cover and tightened a wing nut. He put his finger on a toggle switch next to a gauge, then paused a second.

Madeline thought he was probably praying it wouldn’t start, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He flipped the switch and the machine began to shake as it chugged to life. And then the chug turned into a roar and the shaking turned into a steady vibration. Madeline automatically placed her hands over her ears and retreated out of the building. Ty followed, closing the door behind him and muting the sound. A little.

“Loud,” Madeline said as she dropped her hands.

“Welcome to life on a generator.” He started for Skip’s house and she followed. He stepped inside and went to the hallway, where he opened the furnace door and started banging around. A few seconds later a blast of heat shot out of the register next to Madeline. She stepped on top of it, sighing as the warmth blew up her pant legs.

“How about the water?”

“I’ll turn it on and get the hot-water heater going. Then…you’re on your own, although I have no idea what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to clean this place up tonight, and tomorrow we’re going to meet.”

“What if it doesn’t work into my schedule?”

“Then you’d better fit me in, unless you do have something to hide.” Madeline said it without thinking, then instantly regretted it when Ty slowly turned back to her.

“You’re not much like your brother, are you?” Madeline opened her mouth to reply but before she could say anything, Ty added, “I never saw Skip go for the jugular like you do.”

She was not going for the jugular. She was being truthful.

“Maybe if Skip had been more like me, he wouldn’t have been in business with you and he wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off. Ty swallowed—she saw his Adam’s apple move—then left the house without another word.

Madeline stared at the door. She wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into her, but was beginning to suspect, now that she’d met Ty, that she still wanted to blame him for Skip’s death.

SHE WASN’T THE LEAST BIT like her brother in temperament or in coloring, true, but there were similarities. Facial expressions, the cadence of her speech, the faint accent.

Except, regardless of what she said, Ty was right. She did go for the jugular. She pinpointed his weakest point and then thrust in the knife. She’d done it twice now—stabs at his honesty and stabs at his integrity. He had no doubt she’d twist the knife, too, if he gave her the chance. She looked the type, all high-and-mighty and so sure she was right.

Alvin followed him to the house, then glanced up at him when Ty opened the door.

“Yeah, you’re sleeping inside.”

Alvin preferred to sleep outside, but Ty wanted the company tonight. His house was equipped with a cabin kit, a switch inside for his generator, which was newer, quieter, more fuel efficient than the one powering Skip’s place.

It rumbled to life in its shed behind his house and the lights came on. Ty went over to his desk and turned on the computer. He had to turn down that specialty-foods company toeing into the organic market. He wouldn’t be able to supply as much beef as they wanted. Because of the demand for hormone-free, antibiotic-free beef—despite a market recession—he was actually doing all right. But he wasn’t able to supply volume. Yet. That’s why the money went into his herd, equipment and ranch improvements. He needed to expand. Skip’s idea, really. Skip had been a financial whiz kid and a good business partner.

Madeline, not so much.

But she was fully within her rights being here, taking a look at the property, living in Skip’s house. Hell, she could live there forever. But Ty was within his rights not to work on that damned antique generator when it went down. That was her concern.

Ty pulled a cast-iron pan out from under the stove and flicked on a burner, trying not to look out the window at the lights in Skip’s house. Lights that hadn’t been on for almost two years. If he’d known how all this was going to work out, he would have bought two cows, ten acres and continued to work at the feedlot.

IT TOOK ALMOST AN HOUR for the hot-water tank to do its job. Madeline was too impatient to wait, so she started cleaning with paper towels and water, pretty much making mud on the silty counters during her first swipes, and then after rinsing the thankfully strong paper towels, eventually getting the surfaces clean.

Once the counters were done, Madeline regarded the floors, also silt-covered. When she’d first set foot in the house, she’d wondered why there was no carpeting. She didn’t wonder anymore. Carpet would be a commando dust trap, even with a supervacuum.

Right now she wished she had a SuperVac. Or a broom.

Madeline pressed a hand to her forehead, then went to the counter where her cell phone was plugged in, for all the good it would do. She turned it on and found that it was still searching for a signal. Crap. She knew there’d been a signal at the turnoff for Lone Sum Road, because she’d talked to her grandmother, fending off questions about why she wasn’t finishing the semester at the college. Eileen knew about Dr. Jensen, but Madeline hadn’t yet broken the news that she, too, was under investigation. Connor and her cousins were under strict orders not to let it slip. Madeline didn’t want her grandmother worrying about her, so she’d intimated that she had a grad student who needed teaching experience, thus freeing her to take care of business at the ranch. Eileen had more questions, but fortunately Madeline lost the signal as she started up Lone Sum Road. It had been a good thing, too, since the last few miles had required all of her attention.

She turned off the phone, set it back on the counter. Apparently if she wanted to make a call to Connor for moral support, she was going to have to drive to the bottom of the mountain to do it. Not tonight. She walked over to where her suitcases sat on the dusty floor. She didn’t want to open them for fear of getting dust on everything in them, so instead she paced to the curtainless window and stared out at the lights of Ty’s house, a hundred yards away. The ranch was set up so that they had their privacy. Skip’s house was close to the barn and Ty’s close to the gate.

And both houses close to nothing else. The only sound was the generator, the source of her power, chugging away. How was she supposed to sleep with that noise?

Skip? Explanation, please? How did you handle this? Why did you handle this?

She probably wouldn’t be sleeping, so she might as well be cleaning. To do that she needed a few things Ty probably had. Madeline pulled on her coat and headed for the door.

The generator was louder outside. She didn’t have a flashlight, and the ranch had no yard light, so she made her way to Ty’s house by moonlight reflecting off the snow. When she got there, she knocked and was greeted by loud, serious barking.

A second later Ty opened the door, his dog regarding her suspiciously from behind the man’s long legs.

Madeline tilted her chin up. “May I please borrow a broom?”

Ty’s mouth tightened and then he nodded. He left the door open as he crossed to a utility closet in the kitchen. Madeline hesitated, then stepped inside, keeping her eye on the less-than-friendly-looking dog. Weren’t collies supposed to be friendly?

“And a dustpan?” she called when Ty pulled out a broom.

He reached back into the closet, pulling out a dustpan, along with a mop and bucket. He set the bucket on the floor and thrust the cleaning implements at her.

“Anything else?” he asked in an expressionless voice.

“Cleaner?”

He didn’t say a word as he went to a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of 409. He walked back to where she stood, guarded by his dog, and dropped the bottle in the bucket. It landed with a small thunk.

Madeline squared her shoulders. The guy did not like her. The message was oh-so clear in his closed-off body language, his refusal to speak. Well, she had invaded what he probably, erroneously, thought of as his turf. In a way, she understood his reaction, but it wasn’t going to have any effect on her behavior toward him.

After she had gathered the cleaning supplies and stepped back out onto the porch, he finally said, “If you’re going to clean tonight, you’d better hurry.”

She turned back with a frown. “Why?”

“You have half an hour before I turn off the generator.”

“I have what?” She really hoped her jaw didn’t drop.

“Half an hour. We don’t have enough fuel to run your generator full-time, and frankly, it’s too old to run full-time.”

“Does your power go off, too?” she demanded. Over his shoulder she noticed a computer sitting on the desk, a search-engine screen clearly visible. He had internet. She couldn’t even get a cell signal.

“Of course,” he said, and although his expression remained passive, she had a feeling he was enjoying this.

“When do you turn the power back on?”

“In the morning for a few hours. Do you have a flashlight?”

“In my car,” Madeline said in a faint voice as she weighed the ramifications of this new and unexpected information.

“Don’t plan on using a lot of water while the gen’s off. No power, no pump.”

Her eyes flashed up to his face. “Excuse me?”

“You have a water storage tank, but it’s not huge. Don’t take a shower or anything.”

For the second time that night Madeline was left staring at a closed door.

Was he being serious? Or inventing rules to make her miserable?

If he was… If he was, Madeline had no way of finding out. She was in over her head here, but damned if she was going to cry uncle.

She lifted her hand and pounded on the door. For a second she didn’t think he would answer, but he did, swinging it open, a harsh expression on his face.

“What?” he asked in a deadly voice.

“Would you give me some warning before you turn off the electricity?” Madeline said calmly, making Ty feel like a jerk for growling at her. But damn it, he wasn’t used to having other people around, insulting his integrity, then knocking on his door and borrowing cleaning supplies.

The sane thing to do would be to teach her how to operate the generator so she could turn the power on and off herself. It was hers, after all, but no one within sixty miles worked on the machines, so if it went down, it could be down for days. In the dead of winter. That wasn’t an option. He didn’t want her trying to move in with him.

“I’ll knock on your door. You don’t need to answer.

Just get into bed before the lights go out.”

“Thank you.” Madeline gathered her supplies and trudged off down the path through the snow to Skip’s house, the mop bobbing as she walked. Ty watched her for a moment before closing the door.

When he went back to his work—a rural development grant for pasture improvement—he couldn’t concentrate.

He doubted he’d be able to focus as long as Skip’s sister was on the property, and that wasn’t good, since she appeared to be putting down roots.

Ty waited until he couldn’t stay awake any longer before letting himself out into the cold to turn off Madeline’s generator. The porch steps clunked under his boots as he climbed. He gave two loud raps, then turned and retraced his steps, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He hadn’t bothered to put on gloves. He didn’t want to talk to Madeline and he didn’t trust her not to open the door and either ask a question or make an observation. Sure enough, he heard the door open behind him, but pretended he didn’t. A second later, it closed again. Bullet dodged.

He waited in the barn for a couple minutes to give her time to settle, then flipped the toggle on the generator. The house went dark. He hoped Madeline had gone straight to bed, as he’d suggested. But he had a sneaking suspicion, given the flashlight beam arcing through the interior of the house, that she hadn’t.

Welcome to life off the grid.

CHAPTER FOUR

OKAY, SKIP. I WANT ANSWERS.

Madeline burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag she’d laid out on the leather sofa. She hadn’t folded the couch out into a bed, for fear of the amount of dust she might find inside. She hadn’t started cleaning, either, not wanting to suddenly find herself in the dark. But for some reason, Ty had waited almost an hour before turning off the electricity. Wasted time.