Tina Radcliffe - The Rancher's Reunion

Rose inhaled sharply.

Ouch. Business or not, Margaret didn’t understand who ruled the culinary roost at Sullivan Ranch. Rose O’Shea did, and she’d done it single-handedly for over twenty years.

“What time is that party tonight?” Will asked, interrupting the uneasy silence.

“Seven. Of course you’ll be there early so we can take care of some KidCare business before everyone arrives,” Margaret said. She caught Will’s eye, making it very clear she expected full cooperation.

“Probably won’t make the party early,” Will finally answered Margaret, as he walked to the sink and rinsed his mug. “This is Annie’s first full day back.”

Margaret blinked with surprise. “I see. Then we’ll expect you at seven. Don’t forget a tie.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t.”

There was a strained silence before Margaret spoke again. “Ed has those brochures ready for you. They’re in the car if you’d like to collect the box now.”

Will pursed his lips, then nodded and grabbed his hat.

Margaret adjusted her jacket. When she turned to Annie, control was back in place. “I’ll see you again, Annie. We’ll plan to do lunch once you’re settled.”

Annie smiled, though somehow she just couldn’t see her and Margaret doing lunch.

“Thank you for the coffee, Rose,” Margaret added, following Will.

Rose gave a curt nod.

When they were well out of earshot, Annie rubbed her hands together. “Well, that was fun.”

“Don’t even get me started,” Rose fumed, clearing the table. “That woman thinks she can run Will, the same as she runs her husband.” Rose took a deep breath. “Now, what do you want to eat?”

Annie opened her mouth to suggest pie, but shut it quickly as Rose continued: “And don’t you dare say pie.”

The old ranch Jeep, a rusty black model minus doors, roared to life. Will shifted gears, guiding the vehicle along the bumpy dirt and gravel road, leaving a wake of dust.

“Sure you’re up to this?” Will asked.

Annie pushed her windswept hair out of her eyes and tucked the strands behind her ears. She slapped a navy ball cap emblazoned with the University of Tulsa logo on her head, and turned in the seat to face him. “Are you kidding? After all that sleep?”

“But your leg?”

She had pushed the seat back as far as possible to accommodate and protect her extended left leg. Will glanced down at the uncovered wound. Her pant leg was rolled up to her knee, and with the dressing off he could see the incision on the back of her calf. It ran horizontal, at least four inches, with a small vertical zigzag. Tight stitches pulled the skin together. Several large abrasions around the area were scabbed and healing.

The bullet, Annie had told him on the phone, penetrated the muscle and then exited, leaving the area a nasty mess. The surgeon opened the area to clean and remove shards of glass along with embedded dirt and gravel from her fall. Now that the infection was under control, the wound appeared to be healing nicely.

So why was it he cringed every time he glanced at her leg? Will did not consider himself fainthearted. He could handle any number of emergencies related to the animals on the ranch, yet he found himself skittish about this. Maybe because it was Annie who’d been hurt. An involuntary shudder went clear through him.

“You’ve seen worse accidents at the rodeo.”

“Not the same thing. Trust me.”

“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it. I hurt my leg. It’s healing. End of story.”

He said nothing to her curt response, noting only that she seemed out of sorts since Margaret Reilly’s visit.

In fact Rose was the same way. Plain cranky.

Rose he understood. She’d run the Sullivan house since his mother left. At times he wondered what kept Rose here in Granby with him and the ranch. She had never married, often saying the Sullivans were all the family she needed, and later including Annie in her circle of love.

His father had often told him a kitchen was only big enough for one woman. Will figured Annie didn’t count because she was like a daughter to Rose.

Margaret Reilly? Well, that was another story. She got on Rose’s last nerve.

On several occasions during strategic planning meetings at the ranch, Will had to pull Margaret aside to explain Rose’s role at the ranch wasn’t simply housekeeper. No, Rose O’Shea couldn’t be defined by the words housekeeper or cook. Margaret had a hard time understanding, but at least she’d stopped giving out suggestions for redecorating the house and reorganizing the kitchen in front of the feisty older woman.

He wasn’t too sure why Margaret irritated Annie. Must be a woman thing.

The campground appeared in the distance and Will pointed as they approached. The perfect spot, it was nestled in a protective shelter of trees. The tall redbuds, elms and birches were planted by his grandfather William Sullivan.

“Finished those cabins a few weeks ago,” he told Annie. “Along with the shower facility. The covered areas over there are for picnics, barbecues and activities.”

Six cabins, each able to accommodate four campers, stood in a semicircle to the right. The clearing to the left was for pitching tents.

“You’ve got showers and toilets?”

“Don’t want them coming to the house, do I?”

“This is roughing it, Okie style? Those cabins are adorable.”

“Adorable?” Will nearly choked on the word. “They’re not adorable.”

“Sure they are. So you’re planning on quite a few campouts?”

“More than quite a few. We’re booked nearly every weekend from now to the end of the summer.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “Will, that’s a lot of work.”

“You bet it is, and this has been over a year in the making. Besides campouts we’ve got one-night events like hayrides and church meetings. The riding lessons have picked up too.”

“Who does the lessons?”

“I wish I could say I do them all, but mostly I rely on Chris LaFarge and his wife, Joanie. Chris is a vet tech over at Doc Jones’s practice.”

“You’re busy.”

“There’s an understatement. I spend most of my time on the phone troubleshooting and scheduling. The frustrating part is trying to get any real work done in between calls. Getting to be a joke.”

“Sounds like you need a personal assistant.”

“Margaret said the same thing.”

“That’s because she probably has a personal assistant.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t afford that kind of expense. By the spring I’ll know if I can draw my own paycheck as an employee. There’s no way I can bring anyone else on board at this point.”

“So explain to me again how the Reillys play into all this?”

“Ed Reilly came to me with the idea. KidCare is the middleman in this operation. They negotiate the programs and outsource to operations like Sullivan Ranch. KidCare takes a percentage of profits right off the top along with a fee I pay them for things like marketing. I deal mostly with Margaret on a day-to-day basis.”

Annie tilted her head, listening.

“You’ve never heard of KidCare, but trust me, for a homegrown operation, they’re huge. Lots of influence and lots of money. At first Ed offered to finance the changes I’d need,” Will continued. “But that didn’t sit well with me. I’m fortunate KidCare is interested in working with Sullivan Ranch, but I don’t want them to own me.” He adjusted the rim of his straw Stetson. “How did you pay for the work?” Clearly Annie wasn’t shy about asking questions.

“I sold the land in the north pasture to the Dearbornes.” Will shifted uncomfortably. Just saying the words made him nervous.