Kathie DeNosky - Rich, Rugged Ranchers

Sophia chuckled at the scene straight out of a Saturday-morning cartoon. She went to the front door and stepped onto her porch. She spotted the back end of Blackie as he raced around the cottage, tail wagging, seeming to enjoy the sport. The little boy, on the other hand, red-faced from exertion and slowing down, looked ready for the game to end.

Sophia went down the steps and hid behind the front wall, listening for the patter of four paws hitting the ground. Just as the dog turned the corner, Sophia crouched down, surprising the animal. But Blackie was too quick for her. As she lunged, he did a last-second side shuffle and maneuvered away, trotting past her. “Blackie, you stop right now!”

The dog immediately froze, the lemon batter dripping from his mouth, his big brown eyes—dark and innocent—watching her with a curious stare. His little game was over.

The boy rounded the corner next and came to a halt several feet away. His chest heaved up and down rapidly. He had an I’m-not-supposed-to-speak-to-strangers look on his face.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m Sophia Montrose. I live here now. I’ll be working at Sunset Lodge.”

The boy nodded, then shot the dog a quick glance. Blackie had decided to sit his bottom down ten feet away to watch them, with the spatula still clenched between his teeth. Every so often, his tongue would come out to lap up some batter.

“What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

He paused for a split second. When he spoke, Sophia knew from the innocence in his voice, he was younger than he appeared. “Edward.”

“Hi, Edward. How old are you?”

“T-ten,” he said. “H-how—how old are you?”

The boy stuttered, and Sophia hoped it wasn’t because she had frightened him in any way. “I’m almost twenty-eight. Looks as if little Blackie has something of yours that you want back.”

“Y-yes, ma’am. Only, the s-spatula’s not mine. B-Blackie s-stole it from Nana’s kitchen at the lodge. And she’s gonna be m-mad. He’s not s-supposed to go in the k-kitchen.”

“I see. Well, I bet that if we talk for a minute and ignore him, Blackie will wander over here, and then we’ll get it back.”

The boy shifted his gaze to the dog, sunken down to the ground on all fours holding the spatula between his front paws, happily licking away. Edward faced her again with a dubious expression.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

Shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes when he nodded. “I live with my nana at the l-lodge. She’s the c-cook.”

Sophia was sure now that she wasn’t the cause of the boy’s stutter. He seemed comfortable with the fact that the words weren’t coming out smoothly, as though his manner of speech was something he’d gotten used to. “Well, then I’m sure I’ll be meeting her soon. I’ll be starting work at the lodge today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is Blackie your dog?”

The boy shook his head. “He belongs to Mr. S-Slade. I feed him and walk him and stuff. It’s my j-job.”

“I see. Does Blackie belong to Luke or Logan?”

The boy had to think about that a second. “Logan Slade.” His dark eyes blinked several times as if a light just dawned inside his head. “You w-won’t tell h-him, will you?”

“That Blackie got into the kitchen?”

He nodded.

“No, I won’t tell him,” she assured him with a smile. “But maybe you should tell your grandmother what happened.”

“I l-left the back door open and B-Blackie snuck inside to have b-breakfast with me.”

“He did, did he?”

“Nana wasn’t there at f-first, but when she came back, she y-yelled at Blackie and that’s when he grabbed her s-spatula right outta the b-bowl and took off.”

The culprit dog stealing right under Nana’s nose made Sophia smile. “I think Blackie likes lemon batter. I can’t blame him. I used to sneak a lick or two from the bowl when my mama made lemon chiffon cake.”

“Nana lets me l-lick the bowl s-sometimes, too.”

The dog finally left the spatula on the ground and trotted over to Edward. “There, you see,” Sophia said. “He came to you.”

Edward fluffed the top of the collie’s head several times and then lifted his dark-eyed gaze to Sophia. “He’s a good dog, u-usually.”

“Oh, I can see that he is.” Sophia bent down to stroke his rumpled coat and the dog gave her a long grateful look, tongue hanging out. She was no longer the enemy trying to take his treat, but an admirer willing to pet him.

“He’s quite a mess,” she noted. “I’ll get something to wash him down. Wait here.”

She walked inside the cottage and seconds later came out with a cloth soaked with hot water. “Go ahead and remove the evidence.”

She handed Edward the washcloth, and then strode to where the dog had abandoned the spatula. Bending down, she lifted the dirt-smeared utensil gingerly with two fingers dangling it by the wooden end that was the less filthy. “Your nana might want to retire this one.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Edward’s face crumpled. “She w-won’t be h-happy about that.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Maybe you could make it up to her.”

“H-how?”

“There sure are a lot of gorgeous purple wildflowers growing this time of year. Does your nana like flowers?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Most women love flowers. I bet your nana does. A handful of those purple wildflowers and a promise that Blackie won’t steal from the kitchen again might make her happy.”

The boy pondered that idea with a nod. She set the spatula in his hand and his gaze lingered on her.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the lodge later, Edward.”

“Okay.”

The youngster walked away with the dog at his heels. Just as Sophia was about to enter the house, he turned around one last time, giving her a long thoughtful stare.

She waved and walked inside.

Sophia showered and picked her clothes carefully for her first day on the job. She’d learned from her mother that the lodge guests wanted the flavor of the Old West, along with their luxuries. Dress professionally, but always keep in mind that this is a ranch establishment. A coral silk dress, cinched at the waist with a wide suede belt, along with a lightweight jacket rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of tan leather boots, gave just the right impression of professional and Western. After dressing, Sophia gobbled up a bowlful of cereal and slurped down coffee, ready and eager to start her day.

She had something to prove.

To Logan Slade.

But mostly to herself.

Half an hour later, Sophia walked into Sunset Lodge. She banked her feelings of nostalgia and disbelief that half of this glorious establishment was actually hers now and crossed the beautifully appointed lobby. Walking past a massive stone fireplace, cozy seating areas and cedar pillars, she turned to the left and headed straight toward the manager’s office. She found it in the exact location she’d remembered. The door was open, and she paused for a second at the threshold, her hand fisted and ready for a courtesy knock when Ruth Polanski’s voice stopped her in midmotion.

“Welcome, Sophia. Come in, please.” Ruth rose from her desk and came forward with a smile. Instead of putting out her hand in greeting, the older woman wrapped both arms around Sophia’s shoulders, brought her close and gave her a warm, loving hug. Sophia’s heart rang out. She hadn’t been held or embraced like this since her mother had passed and now this kindhearted woman—whom she wouldn’t have to fire—welcomed her with genuine affection. Sensations of loss enveloped her, making her miss her mother even more.

“Good morning,” she said, holding back her emotions.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ruth said. “How was your first night back on Sunset Ranch?”