Julianna Morris - The Ranch Solution

Kittie didn’t move.

“Pick it up, young lady, unless you’d rather shovel horse manure from the barn.”

“Dad.”

“Better get the shovel, Burt,” Jacob suggested, taking their new sleeping bags from the trunk. It was hard letting someone else discipline Kittie. He had a hunch that tough love might be rougher on him than on his daughter.

Glaring at them both, she picked up the wad of gum and threw it in a barrel marked for trash.

“You folks are later arriving than we expected,” Burt said, stepping forward to help with the luggage. He read the baggage tag on Kittie’s neon-pink duffel, pushed it into her arms and went ahead of them with an easy stride, carrying the sleeping bags. Jacob followed with his own suitcase.

Kittie trudged next to him with an aggrieved mutter, but as they passed the largest barn, a young man came out and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Uh, hi,” she said, without even a touch of sarcasm or disdain—like his old Kittie.

Jacob stiffened. At first sight the guy appeared to be in his early twenties, but on closer inspection he was clearly younger. Great. That was all his daughter needed—a crush on another messed-up teenager.

The boy checked Kittie up and down. “You’re that city kid we’ve been expecting.”

“I’m not a kid, but I am from Seattle. My name is Kittie O’Donnell...uh, that is, I prefer Caitlin. Who are you?” She smiled shyly.

“Reid Weston. You’ll scare the horses in that getup,” he said.

He walked away and Jacob realized Reid Weston wasn’t a troubled teen—he was a cocky, underage cowboy. Kittie’s devastated expression showed he’d flattened her ego with a single comment. And what was that bit about Kittie wanting to be called Caitlin? It was the first he’d heard of it.

“Reid and his family own the ranch,” Burt explained, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll be seeing a lot of them.” He motioned them toward the hillside studded with tents.

The tents were utilitarian at best, with mattresses laid out on each side of a canvas partition, along with lanterns, a small bedside table and sturdy army-green footlockers.

“We don’t recommend keeping food in here.” Burt tossed a sleeping bag onto the mattresses. “We have the usual critters who’ll want to share it, but if you do have any snacks, be sure to put them in your locker and fasten it tight. Better yet, store all food in your car.”

“Hear that, Kittie?” Jacob asked his daughter. Kittie had a thing for red licorice. He’d bet a thousand bucks she’d filled her duffel bag with the revolting stuff.

She just stuck out her chin.

“The lanterns are rechargeable,” Burt went on. “Bring them to the mess tent in the morning if they need a charge, otherwise you’ll be taking care of business in the dark. No candles—it isn’t safe. Flashlights are okay if you’ve got ’em. The bathrooms and laundry and other facilities are in the buildings to the left, and the mess tent is over there.” He pointed to a large tent with smoke rising behind it. “Folks are mostly gathered for supper already—we start serving in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, we’ll be there.”

“No hurry,” Burt said. “Take your time and get comfortable. We don’t stand on formality.” With a short nod, he ambled toward the ranch house.

Jacob shot a look at Kittie. She’d assumed her defiant attitude, apparently having recovered from Reid Weston’s snubbing remark.

“I’m not shoveling any horse poop,” she announced and disappeared into her side of the tent.

* * *

MARIAH WESTON STALKED into the ranch house and slammed the door. She leaned against it and took several deep breaths.

“Problems, dear?” asked her grandmother.

“Nothing a two-by-four making contact with a certain cowboy’s privates wouldn’t fix. Hurt a guy where he lives and maybe you’ll get his attention.”

Dr. Elizabeth Grant Weston smiled resignedly. “Lincoln must have broken another heart.”

“Yes. We have yet another departing guest who hoped Lincoln had fallen in love with her and wanted to get married. For crying out loud, Linc keeps a supply of condoms in his shirt pocket! It’s pretty obvious what his intentions are. Did she really think he was going to change his ways and decide that wearing a wedding ring is better than being a carefree bachelor?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Cowboys don’t change—they just get older and stop having luck with the opposite sex.”

“Goodness, you’re in a mood today.”

“Can you blame me? I found Ms. Bingham smoking in one of the barns, so upset she almost set fire to the place.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Oh, dear. We don’t allow smoking. I wish we could extend the ban to chewing tobacco, but the ranch hands practically mutinied on the no-smoking rule.”

“I reminded her about the rules when I grabbed the cigarette and doused the smoldering hay. She apologized and the whole story spilled out in a hysterical swoop. Lucky me. I guess she just needed to tell someone. Linc always breaks things off at the last minute, but the women usually don’t take it this hard. Why are people so blind?”

“Patience, dear,” her grandmother urged.

Mariah rubbed her aching temples.

Patience wasn’t one of her strongest qualities. She did well with animals, not so great with people. Animals were straightforward; their emotions weren’t illogical. She felt sorry for Diane Bingham, but she honestly wondered how the woman could have imagined things working out with a cowboy. Diane was a born-and-bred city dweller with a taste for fast cars, sushi bars and nightclubs. She’d come to Montana on a whim and nearly gone crazy with the quiet before getting hot and heavy with Linc.

Linc had grown up on a horse, had never lived in a town with more than five hundred residents, probably thought sushi had something to do with sex and drove a decrepit truck from the 1970s that couldn’t reach fifty on a paved road.

The difference between ranchers and cowhands and most people was just too big. You might have a casual vacation affair, but you never expected it to become permanent. Mariah had learned that when she was fifteen and discovered that summer promises were too easily shattered...along with hearts.

Elizabeth patted her arm. “I’ll have your grandfather speak with Linc.”

“No, it’s okay, Ms. Bingham admitted Linc didn’t make any promises. But from now on he’s only working with family groups. We’ll keep him so busy that his sorry ass is too tired to do more than crawl into bed.”

“That’s usually where the trouble starts,” Elizabeth said drily.

“Don’t remind me. And they say country dwellers are naive. Is Reid in the office?”

“I think so. I just got home myself.”

Mariah headed to the back of the house, weary though it was only the beginning of the season and she ought to be brimming with energy. Ranching wasn’t easy. There were droughts, floods, lightning storms, disease, harsh winters, ornery cattle, unstable beef prices and a wealth of other problems to juggle. Yet those problems seemed minor compared to managing a bunch of greenhorn visitors and cowboy wranglers.

“Hey, Reid,” she said, stepping into the office. Their parents had converted a storage room into work space when they’d started the ranch vacation business. Originally they’d needed only a phone, a desk and a file cabinet, but the business had changed over the years, as had technology. Now the office was cramped with the newest equipment.

“Hey,” her brother said absently. He was bent over a book, reading intently.

“Studying?”

“Not exactly.” He looked up and pushed back from the old desk. “The travel agency phoned while you were out. Amy is waiting for the computer repair service to arrive, so I cross-checked the reservations that came in this week to be sure they were confirmed.”