The Rancher's Prospect (9 page)

“I don't know, Betty,” he said finally, “we may have to skip it. With Grandma gone...” He drew a harsh breath; it was hard to say more. After rushing Andrew to the emergency room, the memories of Grandma Evelyn lying in a hospital bed were sharper than usual. “Next year for sure,” he promised.

“I understand. Do you need time to look at the menu?”

“Not for me,” Tara told her. “I'll take my usual Cobb salad and iced tea.”

“The Roundup chef salad with Roquefort,” Josh ordered. “Regular coffee, and lots of it.”

“Gotcha.” Betty made a note on her pad and headed for the kitchen.

Tara's eyebrows shot upward. “A salad? You're a rancher. Don't you usually eat a slab of beef with a few potatoes on the side? Or at least a burger?”

“That's a stereotype. Humans are omnivores.”

“I've known vegans who would disagree.”

Vegans weren't common around Schuyler, though they had a few vegetarians. Josh's teenage nephew, Jackson's son, had even gone vegetarian for a while, though Alex had ultimately decided he couldn't give up meat forever...mostly because he missed pepperoni pizza.

“In that case, I suppose your vegan pals are going to open a bunch of petting zoos when they convert everybody,” he said before gulping down the cup of coffee Betty had just poured for him. These days he practically lived on coffee, the stronger the better. He refilled his cup from the carafe Betty had left on the table.

Tara squeezed a lemon wedge into her iced tea. “Couldn't cattle survive without humans?”

“You mean out in the wild? Some breeds might, but not all. So if everyone became vegan, there would be a lot of cows needing homes, and they don't make good house pets.”

Tara smiled. “Interesting point.”

“Will you use it on your vegan friends?”

“They're more acquaintances, and I doubt I'll see them again. I've never gone back to a country where I've worked—there are too many new places to see.”

“Don't you stay in touch with the people you know?”

“We exchange an email or two in the beginning, but it doesn't last. We've all got our own lives.”

Their meals were delivered, and Josh noticed that Tara's salad came with dressing on the side and a bottle of balsamic vinegar. Apparently she ate here often enough that Betty had remembered her likes and dislikes.

Tara sprinkled vinegar over her plate and began eating, occasionally dipping the edge of her fork into the container of creamy dressing before taking a bite. No doubt it was one of the ways she maintained her alluring figure. As a rule the café served their salads slathered with dressing, but Tara's choice was undoubtedly healthier.

He dug into his own meal, ruefully aware that it was almost the same as a slab of meat with so much turkey, beef and bacon, piled on top—not to mention sliced eggs and various kinds of cheese. The owner of the Roundup Café was known for telling his short-order cooks that if a customer could see lettuce, there wasn't enough meat on top.

“You're obviously familiar with the Roundup Café,” he commented after they'd eaten awhile in silence.

“It's a quick place to come when Lauren is on her lunch hour,” she explained. “Of course, we don't get here as often now that I'm working at the Boxing N and other sites.”

Josh hesitated. The story of twins being separated was unusual—and intriguing—but it wasn't any of his business. Still, he didn't know what else to talk about.

“How is it that you and Lauren were raised separately?” he asked.

“Our parents died in an accident when we were babies, and the foster care system wasn't able to keep us together.”

“The day Alaina had her baby, I heard you tell my niece about Lauren being adopted and having her name changed. Did your adoptive parents change your name, too?”

“Actually, I was never adopted,” Tara said matter-of-factly. “Livingston is my birth name, and I grew up in foster care.”

He frowned. “If you were infants when your folks died, why weren't you both adopted? I thought people preferred babies.”

“There was a question about whether we had family somewhere. By the time the legalities were resolved, we weren't babies any longer.”

Josh frowned again. He wasn't an expert on social services and foster care systems, but something didn't make sense. “Why didn't they keep you together if they were trying to find your relatives?”

Tara didn't answer for a long moment and he had the oddest notion that she was getting hostile, but she finally shrugged. “One of my foster mothers told me that I'd been a cranky baby with colic. She said I was passed from home to home whenever they got worn out taking care of me. My guess is that Lauren was easier to handle and they decided to leave her in one place.”

Even Josh's nearest and dearest wouldn't call him insightful, but he got the sense that Tara felt responsible for the way she and her twin had been separated. But it was hardly her fault. A baby couldn't be blamed for having colic or being temperamental.

“So who found who?” he asked, hoping to get into less sensitive territory.

“We found each other, I suppose. She was old enough to remember her birth name when she was adopted, which helped. I put my name in one of those registries that help people find their birth families. When she did the same thing, we were able to connect.”

Tara's face was smooth and cool, as if she was talking about two other people. Josh had more questions, but he didn't think it was smart to ask them. After all, they were strangers who'd spent most of their brief acquaintance sparring with each other, so intimate conversation was awkward.

At any rate, he didn't want to get better acquainted. Tara didn't belong in Schuyler, and by her own admission, she wasn't even good at staying in contact with the people she'd left behind. Neither quality made her someone he'd want as a friend
or
a lover. Now he just had to convince his body that those were excellent reasons to keep his distance.

* * *

“T
HANKS
FOR
THE
UPDATE
, Edith,” Carl said into his radio. “I'll check in later.”

He drove by the medical clinic and resisted the temptation to stop. As a rule he didn't suffer from self-doubt—he might even be improved by a bigger dose of humility—but Lauren's behavior continued to nag him at odd moments.

With any other woman, he would have said the mixed messages weren't worth the trouble. Lauren was different, though. She had a sweet vulnerability and compassion that had utterly charmed him from the beginning.

It was when he passed the Roundup Café and saw Josh McGregor and Tara Livingston sitting at a window table that he got an idea... Tara might be able to offer insight to her twin. At any rate, he ought to touch base with Josh about his report to the sheriff's office. A sabotaged fence was a serious matter in cattle country.

Carl made a U-turn, parked in the café's lot and went into the restaurant.

“Hey, Josh. Afternoon, Tara,” he greeted as he approached their table. “Good to see you.”

Tara grinned, and Carl noted it was quite different from Lauren's gentle smile. Interesting. The two women were physically identical in almost every way and Tara possessed a sophisticated appeal, but he found Lauren far more desirable.

“Did you get my report about vandalism at the Boxing N?” Josh asked.

“Yup. Do you have any missing cows?”

A grim expression crossed the rancher's face. “It's difficult to do a quick count on a big ranch, particularly since we're shorthanded, but I'm going to give it a shot in the morning. How much help a visual survey will be is another question. I'm still checking Grandpa's stock records against the herds to determine our actual numbers.”

“Let me know if you come up with anything,” Carl advised carefully. He didn't want to get involved in the conflict between Josh and his grandfather. It was hardly a secret—a few weeks ago the two men had gotten into a rip-roaring argument in front of the blacksmith shop. Cowhands who'd quit the Boxing N were also telling tales, saying they were worse than a pair of snarling bears fighting for food after hibernation.

Carl turned to Josh's lunch companion. “Tara, is there any chance we could get together to talk? When it's convenient, of course.”

She nodded. “I'd say now, but Josh is taking me back to the ranch to pick up my car, and I don't want to hold him up. Another time would be fine.”

“I'll be happy to give you a lift,” Carl volunteered.

“That's great.” Tara immediately got to her feet. “Josh has an order to get at the feed store. We were just discussing how long it would take to stop and load everything.”

Carl was almost gleeful, which he tried to hide as a sober, responsible law enforcement officer. “Then this works out just right.”

Tara nodded. “Josh, thanks for lunch, though it wasn't necessary.”

“I figured I should feed you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That makes me sound like a cow at a feedlot.”

“It was just to thank you for the help with Andrew,” he returned stiffly. He turned to Carl. “One of my hands had an accident. He's fine, but Tara assisted with getting him to the hospital.”

Carl restrained a laugh. He had the impression that Josh McGregor took after his grandfather, and being under an obligation wouldn't sit comfortably with Walt Nelson, either.

He escorted Tara to his cruiser but wasn't sure how to start the conversation. Instead he began telling her about an upcoming fund-raiser for the fire department.

“So, what's up?” she asked after they'd turned onto the Boxing N's gravel road. “I'm sure you didn't offer to drive me out here to talk about fund-raising.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. Actually, I've been thinking about Lauren and wonder if you could point me in the right direction. I'm not making much progress with her.”

Tara chuckled wryly. “I suspected that's what you had in mind.”

“Do you think she's interested? I'll back off if that's what she really wants, but I'm having trouble reading the signals. They're rather mixed.”

“I'm not sure I'm the one to ask. Lauren and I are still getting to know each other,” Tara explained. “Even so, I think she likes you.”

“Lauren likes everyone. I was hoping for more.”

“Then don't give up. Maybe you just need to try something new.”

Carl drew to a stop beside the car parked near the office. He'd been out to the Boxing N a few times, so he knew his way around. “I suppose sisters have to be loyal to each other. Especially twins.”

“Honestly, this isn't about confidentiality. I'm too new to having family to know what I should or shouldn't say. I just don't have any tips to offer.”

Carl gazed at her curiously. After all, if he and Lauren ever got together, Tara Livingston could become his sister-in-law. It was a big
if
, but he couldn't help considering the possibility.

“Lauren mentioned you grew up in foster homes while she was adopted. She feels guilty because she was the fortunate one.”

“There's no need,” Tara answered firmly. “It's just the luck of the draw, and I don't believe in whining about circumstances. I decided a long time ago to get on with my life.”

He grinned. “Healthy attitude. I can't tell you how many criminals blame their actions on a terrible childhood.”

“Annoying, isn't it? We could all find excuses if we wanted them.”

“Sure. Well, thanks for the encouragement. I think Lauren is pretty special.”

“Me, too,” Tara agreed, sounding a little surprised. “I want her to be happy, so if you're serious about her, you'd better be a good guy. You don't want to tangle with me—I'm a tough cookie.”

He held up his hand. “Scout's honor.”

“Great. Look, I don't know if it will help, but I know Lauren is particularly fond of pansies. You might try sending her a basket of plants in bloom.”

It was a terrific idea. “Thanks, I'll give it a shot.”

Tara slid out of the car, smiled in a friendly way and went into the office building.

Whistling, Carl headed back to town. He hadn't gotten everything he'd been hoping for, but he'd heard enough to come up with a new approach. He'd considered ordering roses or lilies for Lauren, but it had seemed boringly prosaic. Pansies fit Lauren much better.

If the florist in Windy Bluffs didn't have any plants, he'd buy them at the garden center and pay the florist to arrange them in a basket. That way Lauren should be able to avoid awkward questions at the clinic by saying they were from a grateful patient. It would be true, in a sense, since he'd seen the doctor there for his annual physical. Of course, sending flowers to Dr. Clinite had never occurred to him, but Bill Clinite didn't look anything like Lauren Spencer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
O
MUCH
HAD
HAPPENED
over the past few hours, the silence in the Boxing N office almost took Tara by surprise.

She glanced at her watch, wondering if Walt had returned from his doctor's appointment. Sarah McGregor had explained the orthopedic specialist was in Helena, almost two hours away. They might even spend the night.

Though it was after four, Tara decided she had enough time to print the payroll checks. The check stock had arrived that morning, and since she'd already set up the computer program, it should be easy to finish the job.

Soon she had the checks printed for Josh's signature and walked to the foreman's house to put a note on his door so he'd know they were ready.

The conversation with Sheriff Stanfield kept going through her mind as she returned to the office. Considering her poor romantic past, it was ironic that he'd asked her for advice about her twin. She only hoped she'd done the right thing. Lauren had appeared wistful when talking about Carl, however much she'd insisted they didn't click. It seemed equally clear that things had clicked on Carl's end.

Maybe Lauren just wasn't ready; she'd mentioned ending a long-term relationship in California, though she hadn't explained why. Hopefully it wasn't the reason she was putting the brakes on with Carl. The sheriff seemed to be a nice guy, and it was a mark in his favor that he was willing to back off if his attentions were unwanted.

Shortly after five Walt came into the office.

She smiled. “Hi, how was the drive to Helena?” she asked, knowing he probably wouldn't want to talk about seeing the doctor.

“Long.”

“Yeah, I have to go back soon and exchange my rental car. The company I used only lets you have one for a month at a time.”

“I've got a pickup you can use,” Walt proposed eagerly. “Free of charge.”

“That's generous, but I've never driven something that big. I'd better stick with a sedan.”

He looked crestfallen. “I understand, but remember it's available if you need it.”

“Thanks. By the way, you should know that one of the ranch hands went into Belle's stall earlier and it didn't go well. Mama and baby are fine,” Tara added hastily, seeing the elderly rancher's eyes fill with alarm, “but Andrew needed a few stitches and they're keeping him overnight at the hospital, just to be safe.”

Walt glared fiercely and slammed his right fist into his left palm. “I'll have the boy's head. None of the hands are allowed in there.”

Tara wasn't worried about Andrew. She'd already realized that Walt was more bluster than hurricane. “I'm sure he meant well and has learned his lesson. As for having his head, Belle took care of that for you.”

He snorted. “I'd better go check on her. Are you staying longer? There's something I want to speak to you about.”

Tara was meeting Lauren for dinner, but she had some time. “I can stay for a while.”

Walt made his way out the door, limping worse than usual. After the trip to Helena and back and being examined by the orthopedist, he had to be exhausted.

A few minutes later, he returned and sat down again. He was silent for a long moment, and Tara kept working. She'd decided that sometimes he needed to gather his thoughts—not memory loss, just a struggle to figure out exactly what to say and how to say it.

“My daughter has been asking about the dance we've always held at the Boxing N,” he said finally. “About whether I want to have it or not. She brought it up again on the drive home.”

Tara leaned forward. “Someone mentioned it at the Roundup Café this afternoon. It sounds like a big deal.”

“I'm not fond of parties, but it was real important to Evelyn,” Walt muttered. “She experimented with recipes and made sure everything was exactly the way she wanted. I didn't figure we'd have it with her gone...just wouldn't be the same.”

Tara thought about Josh's face when Betty had mentioned the barn dance—warm nostalgia, with a hint of sorrow. Walt looked the same.

“Now I keep thinking how disappointed she'd be,” Walt continued. “There isn't much time left, so I wondered if you'd help me get it together.”

“Uh, sure.” The idea of planning a town barn dance was mind-boggling to Tara—she'd never even thrown a dinner party—but how could she turn him down?

“Keep track of your hours and let me know.”

“Don't be ridiculous. This is for fun.”

She sat on a nearby chair with a notebook and carefully began listing everything Walt thought was important, adding numbers from the phone book for the contacts they'd need to make.

“Evelyn always cooked up a storm,” Walt told her, “but we'll have the deli deliver food. I'd considered doing that anyhow, before the... I mean...so it wouldn't be so much work for her. Not that we've ever provided all the eats. It's sort of a community potluck. Everyone brings something.”

Together they called the deli and got on the catering schedule. The owner was thrilled to hear the annual event was being held after all and promised to do everything possible to help make it a success.

“Tomorrow we'll decide on a menu,” Walt said after hanging up.

“Then I can email it to them,” Tara offered.

He rubbed the side of his face. “I suppose that internet thing isn't so bad. Evelyn told me I was being as stubborn as a mule about it.”

“I had the impression you didn't have a computer here on the ranch,” Tara said.

“Just Evelyn's... Haven't been able to face going in her little office at the house. She, uh, didn't have any ranch records on it, only personal things. Guess it's useful for that, but it seems as if everybody spends so much time staring at a computer screen, they aren't going out and living.”

It was a valid point. Tara had known people who'd worked all day at a computer station, only to go home and spend the evening on Facebook and Twitter.

“The internet has its drawbacks,” she admitted, “but it speeds up a lot of stuff, and the amount of information you can get is amazing.”

“I guess.”

At six thirty, she stood. “Sorry, I need to get going. I'm having dinner with my sister.”

“See you tomorrow.”

When she saw Lauren, Tara didn't say anything about Carl; she just chatted about her day and listened to what her twin had to say in return. It was weird. People expected them to have a normal sisterly connection, even though they'd only known each other for a short time. Lauren was clearly eager for their relationship to progress faster as well, but Tara doubted she understood how difficult it was for her to let down her guard.

* * *

W
ALT
WAS
WAITING
when Tara arrived at the Boxing N the next morning.

“I heard you got more involved in the emergency yesterday than you told me,” he said gruffly. “If my grandson hired more experienced hands, accidents like that wouldn't happen.”

She smiled noncommittally. “What matters is that Andrew will be all right.”

“Humph. Are you going to make coffee?” Walt asked hopefully. He'd gotten into the habit of sharing a pot with her every day.

“You bet.”

While the coffee brewed, they worked out additional details for the community barn dance, including sending Walt's order to the deli. Since the event was a long-standing tradition, it mostly required determining what jobs Evelyn had done personally and hiring someone to take over. The other tasks, such as preparing the nearby pastures for parking and sports would be assigned, as usual, to the Boxing N cowhands.

When Walt finally settled back with his third cup, Tara started sorting another stack of papers. She found the ranch records fascinating, although it was clear where Walt's heart lay. Anything to do with the cattle was haphazard and cryptic, liable to be tucked in any corner of the office. On the other hand, his horse-breeding records were neatly kept in a ledger with an embossed leather cover.

The Boxing N office promised to occupy a fair amount of her time in Schuyler, but she didn't mind. It was the only large job she'd committed to; the rest were quite a bit smaller...things like auditing a small business's previous year's accounts and helping a dentist set up a better filing system. She'd gotten offers to take on additional local contracts, but at the moment, she was enjoying the pace of her life. Besides, her time at the Boxing N didn't feel like work. It was different than anything she'd done before, and where else would she be able to go horseback riding in the middle of the day?

Tara was especially looking forward to sorting out the truly
old
Boxing N documents, along with the historic editions of the
Schuyler Outpost
newspaper she kept finding. She'd seen enough yellowed deeds, geological reports, ancient breeding records and bills of sale from over a century ago to get excited. Of course, the further back in time she went, the fewer papers and records she expected to find, a reminder that her career was a necessity of the modern age. She suspected an old cigar box had once been the primary storage facility for many businesses.

And it was in the older records that any sapphire information might be found, but Walt had reluctantly told her to concentrate first on what was needed for current operations.

She brewed another pot of coffee and poured Walt his fourth mug.

“Mighty good,” he grunted. He eyed her cup. “How can you drink it with cream and sugar? It covers up the flavor.”

She smiled. “How can you drink it black? Cream and sugar bring out the flavor.”

Walt's eyes gleamed. Tara had discovered he liked it when she gave him a sassy response. The old guy had plenty of edges, but they got along well, possibly because she had her fair share of edges, too.

They chatted and had several spirited debates over the next few hours. Then he left, saying something about having another “danged appointment.” Presumably this one was in Schuyler, since otherwise Sarah McGregor would surely have insisted they stay in Helena for the night.

It wasn't a huge surprise when Josh came to the office soon after Sarah had picked up her father. He seemed to avoid his grandfather whenever possible.

“Hi,” he said. “I, uh, wanted to thank you again for yesterday. Also for getting the payroll straightened out. Do you know when you'll have online bill-paying established?”

“Soon. I've been checking in to who offers it as a service and what they require.”

“Great. Prompt payment is important for a rancher's reputation. Unfortunately, that will be something new for the Boxing N.”

Although she'd seen enough to know he wasn't wrong about Walt's haphazard approach to the ranch's business, she wanted to defend the old man.

“Your grandfather seems to be respected in town,” she returned stiffly.

“Merchants know they'll get paid, just not when.”

“Surely that's true of many ranchers. I understand it can be a marginal business, especially now that people aren't eating as much red meat.”

“Grandpa and his brother did okay, despite changes to the market. But that might be what prompted them to decide what to do with their ranches when I was a kid. They wanted to be sure the Boxing N and Crazy Horse would stay in the family, so when I was eight, they made a plan to give one to Jackson and the other to me.”

Tara's brow furrowed in concentration. “I don't understand. Lauren told me you had a sister, Madison, who is younger than you. There was no plan for her?”

“She wasn't interested in ranching.”

“Really? How old was she when the decision was made? Three or four? It's rather patriarchal to decide she wasn't interested in ranching before she's even started school,” Tara observed in a dry tone.

Josh's face tensed. “Maddie was in preschool. Grandpa and Uncle Mitch established an additional trust fund for her, along with ones for Trent and Alaina after they were adopted. It's an equitable distribution.”

“I understand Trent wanted to work in construction from a young age, but it's sexist to assume Madison and Alaina wouldn't fall in love with ranching while growing up.”

“They didn't,”
Josh emphasized. “But if they change their minds, they can buy ranches with their trust funds.”

“That isn't the same as owning the historic family ranch, as you well know.” It wasn't Tara's business, so she wasn't sure why she was yanking Josh's chain. Maybe she just wanted to see what would happen if she provoked him.

“Don't ask me to justify their decision. I was a kid, so obviously I wasn't involved. Besides, Uncle Mitch and my grandfather have put all of us in their wills.” Josh was clearly becoming irate. “Nobody is getting overlooked for
any
reason.”

“Good for them. It's nice to know the McGregors and Nelsons have carefully mapped out the lives of the next generation.”

His jaw tightened further, making the angles of his face even more striking. And the way his eyes flared made her think he was aroused in another way, as well. Interesting... She might not have a passionate nature, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. What would happen if she kept pushing?

“Parents are
supposed
to influence their kids, but no one has controlled anybody,” he ground out. “We're all doing what we want to do.”

“Why didn't you work here on the ranch instead of in Texas before your grandpa retired?”

“I told you before that Walt was challenging. I tried coming here during my first college break, and Grandpa treated me worse than the greenest cowhand. Even my mother said it might be best to go somewhere else.”

Tara cocked her head. “All right, there's something else I don't get. If the Boxing N is so important to Walt that he couldn't bear to retire, why didn't he just plan to leave it to Sarah? Is it because she's a woman, or because she married the Boxing N's biggest rival?”