The Rancher's Prospect (18 page)

Josh watched, his mind churning. Tara was right. He
was
fortunate, and Grandma Evelyn's life was certainly more important than her death.

Then something awful occurred to him... Did Grandpa Walt wonder if he wished Evelyn had lived instead of him? Pain twisted through Josh's midriff. There wasn't any way to reassure Grandpa without making him think it was true.

* * *

T
ARA
GAVE
THE
STONES
in her tray an extra washing to allow Josh some time alone. He was a pain in the ass, but his devotion to his grandmother's memory was endearing. A lot of people would've tried to keep those feelings hidden.

Like her.

She sighed. It would be wonderful to stop being the cold fish that Pierre had accused her of being. Perhaps it would be different if she'd had someone in her life like Evelyn Nelson. Evelyn sounded remarkable. Josh's stories dovetailed many of his grandfather's tales.

Tara determinedly focused again on the stones in her box. It would be amazing to find a sapphire, but what were the odds? The mountain was part of the ranch, so Walt's grandfather
could
have found gems in the area while exploring as a boy, and it didn't sound as if he'd needed to dig for them. So if this was where the Nelsons often camped, why hadn't the stones been rediscovered? So far they'd searched without any success. Of course, Josh's ancestor might have gotten any gems that were near the surface, so anything left was deeper down...

Tara mentally groaned. There were too many tail-chasing questions to consider, and the biggest one that she'd tried to answer, over and over, was about Walt. In the end, if they didn't find sapphires, how would he react?

She wanted to believe he saw the adventure as the most important part of their journey into the mountains, but there was no way to know for sure.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

J
OSH
STRETCHED
,
TRYING
to loosen the knots in his back. If anyone thought gem prospecting was exciting and romantic, they should try searching for Montana sapphires, especially after sleeping on the ground.

The previous day he'd ridden out early to deal with the ranch payroll but had returned by evening. Though Tara's ability to handle the situation was far greater than he'd given her credit for in the beginning, he still believed it best for him to be there, as well. He kept losing track of the days on the mountain; it had only been the reminder on his phone that had alerted him about another pay period. Despite his decision to support the endeavor, Josh had almost been embarrassed by the load of food he'd hastily gathered to bring back with him—he'd originally gone into the mountains to bring his grandfather home, and now he was finding ways to prolong the interlude.

Josh finished washing his tray of stones in the creek and began looking through them. Walt was sitting nearby, sorting rocks, as well. His physical health had continued to improve, and he was even cooperating occasionally on things that were better for him, such as getting proper rest and not overdoing it.

Tara had gone back to camp to do her laundry and make lunch. In the beginning Josh had dreaded the times she left him alone with his grandfather, but those were improving, too.

“Do you think Tara is disappointed we haven't found anything yet?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Walt shook his head. “She's worried about me, that's all.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Not in so many words. You have to learn to read Tara's eyes, son. It's all there, no matter how hard she tries to keep it hidden.”

Josh tipped his head back to gaze up the mountain, unsure of what his own eyes might reveal. On the upper reaches, a bald eagle took off from a rocky crag, rising higher and higher on the currents of air. The powerful flight of the bird made him hold his breath for what seemed an endless moment.

A sigh from Walt suddenly drew Josh's attention. “Something up, Grandpa?”

“You reminded me of Evelyn just now. She loved eagles, anything wild and free. Sometimes I think she would have preferred being mauled by a mountain lion than having me shoot it to protect her. Luckily I never had to do more than scare one away.”

Josh was startled. For a second he saw pain in his grandfather's face, a grief so raw and terrible it made his own seem mild. It was gone quickly, but it made Josh think that Walt might be suffering far more than his family had realized.

“Tara feels the same about wild animals,” Walt said in a lighter tone. “You should have seen her face when she learned about the rifle. I told her it was mostly to scare critters off...though it didn't work with you.”

The sly joke was so unexpected it took a moment to sink in.

Josh laughed. Tara claimed he shared Grandpa's sense of humor. Maybe she was right about that, as well.

* * *

L
ATER
IN
THE
AFTERNOON
, while Walt rested, Josh kept thinking about his new perspective on his grandfather.

Over by the creek, Tara was working doggedly, taking less time than usual to admire the rocks that had washed down from the higher mountains.

Josh finally cleared his throat, and she glanced up.

“I've been thinking about what you said about Grandma and Grandpa,” he murmured. “You'll probably say, ‘I told you so,' but I'm starting to agree—he misses her more than any of us have realized.”

No triumph crossed Tara's face. “I felt funny saying anything since I haven't known him that long, but when he talks about Evelyn, it's as if he's bleeding.”

“I guess we've been too close to see it.”

“Don't forget, you've been grieving, too. I'm a stranger, so maybe it's easier for him to talk to me. I don't think he wants you to worry.”

“You aren't a stranger any longer, you're his friend.”

Her mouth curved in a smile. “And nobody was more surprised than me to realize it.”

The sound of footsteps drew both of their attentions; Walt was returning from the campsite.

“I see not much has gotten done. You've been lazy,” Walt announced brusquely.

It was the sort of comment that usually rubbed Josh wrong, but Tara grinned, unperturbed. “We just didn't want to find any sapphires without you.”

Surprisingly, Walt chuckled, and Josh wondered if he'd learned something else...that his grandfather wasn't always looking for a fight when he said something annoying. Maybe he simply wanted to talk and didn't know how to begin the conversation.

* * *

J
OSH
KEPT
THINKING
ABOUT
his grandparents as they sat around the campfire that night.

“Grandpa, tell me something about Grandma Evelyn that I haven't heard before, okay?” he asked finally. “I'll understand if it's too hard to talk about it, but it would mean a lot.”

Walt gazed into the fire for a few minutes. “I don't know what you have and haven't heard. You know we met in San Francisco.”

“Yeah, in Chinatown, and she thought you were stubborn.”

“Bullheaded,” Walt corrected. “Come to think of it, you may not know that I was busy trying to convince an idiot that New Mexico was a state in the union, not a separate country. The idiot was Evelyn's great-uncle. She watched the fireworks between us and then came over to propose to me.”

Josh's mouth dropped open. “The day you met?”

“The same hour. It took me longer to decide.”

“How long?” Josh asked, his mind reeling.

“Five minutes, but only because I was playing hard to get.”

Josh laughed, feeling both joy and sorrow; it was odd how close the two emotions could be.

That was the first of several evening conversations, though he kept losing track of the time passing. When he got a chance, Josh scribbled notes in a notebook, sometimes by firelight after the others had gone to sleep. He carried the notebook to keep records on ranch business, but Grandpa's stories were far more satisfying.

Yet even when Walt laughed, his face alive with memories, Josh began to see the stark pain in his eyes. It was never far away.

One evening Josh finally leaned forward. “Grandpa, wouldn't it be easier if you hadn't loved Grandma so much?” he asked. “You wouldn't hurt this way now.”

Walt stared as if he'd lost his mind. “Boy, you've got it wrong. Having one day with the person you love is worth a lifetime of grief. The only thing I regret is putting off our dreams. We'd planned to travel and explore the world. God knows what I was waiting for, but we were both healthy and it seemed as if we had plenty of time. Now what do I have?”

“The Boxing N,” Josh said instantly. He'd give the ranch back to his grandfather if it would help.

“Evelyn was my life, not the ranch. I'm sorry that it's been so hard for me to stop...”

Walt didn't finish, but Josh knew it was probably the only apology he'd ever get for the way things had been the last several months. And in all likelihood, they'd return to their regular life when this trip was finished. Grandpa would fall back into the same old pattern—arguing and interfering, frustrated that things weren't being done the way he'd always done them.

Josh knew he'd have to look for a compromise, something that afforded them both some dignity. In the meantime, he didn't know what else to say.

“We'll work something out,” he murmured finally.

Grandpa nodded. Silently he poked the fire with a stick.

Tara didn't look up; she was reading on the other side of the flickering fire ring. She rarely joined in the conversation, giving them space to talk. Yet Josh was beginning to wonder what she thought about all of it.

A month ago he would have said it was impossible he'd spend weeks on Smaug's Mountain hunting for sapphires...with his grandfather, no less. Oh, yeah, and a beautiful, stubborn city woman who'd managed to get through to Walt when no one else had.

It still boggled his mind that he was here instead of watching over the ranch—it was critical to get operations back on track. But that would have to wait, at least for the moment.

* * *

A
T
TWO
THE
NEXT
AFTERNOON
,
Walt smiled affably and left for the campsite for his daily nap. Tara watched him go, glad that he was moving more freely, despite the lingering pain in his leg.

“He seems better,” Josh said, as if he'd read her mind. “But how did you get him to agree to that walking stick? He's refused to use a cane.”

“Because a walking stick isn't a cane...and because I brought two, one for each of us. He wasn't happy about it at first, but I pointed out that they're popular with hikers of all ages. I found them at your sister-in-law Emily's gift emporium—apparently they're hot items.”

Tara halfheartedly flicked her finger through some wet stones. She'd felt moody all day. The way Walt talked about Evelyn was a reminder that she'd probably never have that kind of love in her own life. She just wasn't the kind of person that people liked much, no matter what Josh claimed.

Josh was different, though, and there was no reason he couldn't have it all. It was insane that he had put love on a schedule—something he'd contemplate
after
achieving success on the ranch. When would enough be enough? If he wasn't careful he'd turn into an old man, watching his siblings with their children and grandchildren, wondering had happened to the years.

In a way, he was exactly the same as Walt, putting the Boxing N ahead of everything else. Walt's plans to travel with Evelyn could never happen now, but at least he had other memories. What would Josh have?

Still, he had chosen to join in with the sapphire hunt. It would be nice to think he might be learning
something
, for his own sake.

By the creek Josh shifted so his shadow wouldn't cover the stones he was sorting. “I can't believe how much Grandpa has opened up about Grandma Evelyn. I've always assumed he was closed and distant, but you never thought so, did you?”

“It's different for me. You're filtering everything through a lifetime of experiences.”

“Maybe. He almost talks about the ranch as if he hates it now, but he hasn't been able to let go, either.”

“I don't think it's as simple as loving or hating the Boxing N.”

“I suppose.”

Tara wondered if Josh truly understood what his grandfather was trying to say about priorities. Walt didn't think ranching was a bad thing. He loved the Boxing N. It produced good beef cattle and fine horses and provided employment for a large number of people.

But Walt also knew he could have given the ranch to Josh a long time ago. He and Evelyn could have been traveling the world on the day of the accident; instead they'd been hit by a drunk driver less than a mile from the Boxing N gate.

Walt Nelson had learned his lesson at a terrible cost. Tara suspected he wanted his grandson to learn it without the high price tag.

* * *

C
ARL
EYED
THE
drunken rowdies at Ryan's Roadhouse. He'd responded to a 911 call from the bartender, saying three out-of-towners were trashing the place.

“Okay, fellas, I'm Sheriff Stanfield. What's going on?”

“None of yer frickin' business, buddy boy,” shouted one of them, every word slurred. With no more ado, he lunged forward and threw a wild punch, too drunk to know what he was doing.

Carl ducked easily and brought the guy to the ground, only to be struck from the side.

He turned and saw a twenty-something biker wannabe dancing around with a knife.

City fellow
, Carl decided,
probably stuck in a dead-end job and looking for a little vacation excitement
. The thought alone nearly made him smile—he'd come a long way since moving to Schuyler from St. Louis. But any humor fled at the look in the other man's eyes; most likely he was high on something other than liquor.

“Take it easy, pal,” he said, watching carefully.

“Can't tell me what to do.”

The guy lunged, and Carl grabbed the hand holding the weapon, twisted his attacker around and kicked the legs out from under him. Within seconds he was handcuffed on the floor next to his friend.

His deputy had dealt with the third guy with equal speed.

“Okay, Noah, let's get them loaded in the cruiser.”

“Adrenaline must be like Novocain, Carl,” Noah gasped. “You're bleeding.”

Carl glanced down and saw an expanding red stain on his khaki uniform shirt.

Damn.

Noah got on the radio while the white-faced bartender held out a handful of clean bar towels.

“Thanks.” Carl pressed the towels to his rib cage. “Sorry about the mess on the floor. Noah, I'll have this stitched later. We'll get these yahoos into lockup first.”

Though Noah looked doubtful, he didn't argue. But while they were loading the trio into the back of the cruiser, another sheriff's vehicle screeched to a stop nearby. Two men jumped out.

“Hey, boss.” It was another one of his deputies, George Winston, and he calmly surveyed Carl's injury. “I see you've sprung a leak.”

“It's not too bad.”

“Good to hear, but we'll book these guys while Noah takes you to the clinic.”

“That won't work—it's closing time there,” Carl said quickly. “The one in Windy Bluffs is open later.”

“Nope, the Schuyler clinic is expecting you.”

“But—”

“No buts.” George crossed his arms over his chest. “Your rule, remember? You get hurt, you see the doc. Noah will drive you. Take my cruiser.”