Pamela Tracy - Finally a Hero

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, without any respect in his tone. This was his second summer, and she hoped it was his last. He had a habit of disappearing when they needed him. Worse, some of the guests coming back from a trail ride complained that he didn’t talk and was cold and unwelcoming.

She couldn’t write him up for not talking, but it didn’t make him her favorite hand.

Leaving Patti behind the desk, Eva peeked out the big picture window. Her father’s truck wasn’t in the main lot. Maybe he was down at the corral with the new hire. A real horse person would rather meet the horses than the owner’s daughter. Right?

“You might as well call your father. We’re both curious. Let’s see how things are going,” Patti suggested. “It’s been over two hours since you checked up on him.”

Patti never thought twice about calling Eva’s father to ask questions, get advice and report. Eva never did, preferring to convince him that she could handle any problem herself.

Eva studied the expanse of desert and mountain scenery. Her home, and she loved every inch. “I think I’ll go down and check things out again. We have the vet scheduled for today.”

Patti raised one eyebrow; Eva rarely went near the horses. “I’m impressed. Twice in one day. If the horses faint, let me know.”

Eva stuck out her tongue before exiting the main house, grabbing a helmet from the ATV’s rear cargo box and hopping on. As she drove the half mile to the barn, she started second-guessing herself. The earlier visit hadn’t been bad. But would she be able to handle this second visit?

To distract herself from her fears, she focused her mind on her other problem—namely, the ranch’s business problems. Her father wanted the place to be a ranch first, and a resort as a distant second. Eva wanted to convince him to turn those priorities around.

In truth, the lodging part of the Lost Dutchman was less of a headache than the ranch part, the guests’ interactions with the horses. In the past five years, once a guest had tripped on the tennis court, resulting in a sprained ankle. On the other hand, they’d had a dozen broken bones and at least one lost tooth thanks to riders leaving the horses’ saddles before the planned dismount.

They needed to shore up the side of their business that made money with no liability. She wished her dad realized that. But, that was her dad, tunnel-vision. She couldn’t get through to him that they needed to modernize the Lost Dutchman. Their business would triple if he’d agree to put in a water slide and a lazy river, plus a separate pool just for adults—but no, for the past twenty years horseback riding had been the main draw, and he was convinced nothing else was needed. He’d only reluctantly conceded to include guided hikes, biking and tennis.

And this new hire, this project of Mike Hamm and her father, would undoubtedly be a horse person; summers on a ranch did that to boys. He’d just be one more voice shouting her down when she said they should have more to offer that didn’t include horses.

Her red shirt clung like wet glue to her back as she parked the ATV and walked to the barn. To the left, a wrangler hired just two months ago conducted an intermediate riding lesson. Without having to count, Eva knew that half a dozen children ages seven to nine were involved. They were the only age willing to ride horses in this heat. Their younger siblings were in the craft house. Their older siblings were probably either in the game room or at the pool.

They’d definitely all be in the pool if only her father listened to her.

By the time she entered the barn, she was too relieved to get out of the sun to mind being surrounded by horses. She spotted Harold, their foreman and head wrangler, in Palomino Pete’s stall. Pete was a quarter horse that had been in the family for decades. Eva had first sat on Pete’s back when she was six. She’d last sat on his back when she was eight—the last time she’d ridden at all.

A family of wild turkeys had managed to get in the arena while she was riding. Maybe Pete had never seen turkeys before. Maybe Eva had gotten excited and accidentally kicked him. Or maybe he’d just stumbled at the wrong time, while she was too distracted to hold on.

No matter the cause, the result was that Eva had flown from his back and landed on her head on a rock. Thirteen stitches and one minor concussion later, her father had said no to her getting on Pete’s back again.

She’d wanted to, or so Harold said.

But Jacob Hubrecht expected people to listen when he gave orders. Especially then, when Eva’s mother had been just six months dead and nothing felt like it should have at the Lost Dutchman.

Right now, nearing retirement, Pete never went on the trail rides. He was used only for the smallest of children who wanted a safe, brief ride. In all the years they’d had him, Eva was the only rider ever to fall off.

“Everything all right?” Eva asked, not venturing past the entrance to the stall. “You hear from Dad?”

“I expect your dad any minute, and Pete’s got a slight crack on his left front hoof,” Harold said. “Probably be okay by the time tourist season begins.”

They needed tourist season to start tomorrow! Thanks to the economic downturn, the Lost Dutchman Ranch couldn’t remember what feast was and too often felt the tightening belt of famine.

The Lost Dutchman would make it, though. Everyone wanted to be a cowboy for a day, week, month. Eva, who’d majored in marketing, knew how to promote the ranch. If only she could get her father to listen to her ideas.

And stop hiring unsuitable people when they could hardly afford the staff they already had.

“I really don’t like this change,” Eva muttered.

Leaving Harold to his job, Eva went back to the ATV and returned to the main house. Maybe the new hire hadn’t shown up, and all the paperwork, phone calls and arranging for a bed had been a wasted effort on her dad’s part.

If only she could believe that.

She parked in front of the steps leading up to the two-story adobe building that had started life as a one-room cabin. Only one wall remained of that original structure. Her dad had installed a pane of glass over it, and added a plaque that shared the history of the structure.

Her dad’s truck still was nowhere around.

The current Lost Dutchman ranch house was pretty much the same color as the desert surrounding it and boasted a combination of Santa Fe style and Old West relic decor. The front porch jutted out and had what looked like tree trunks holding it up. A replica of a Conestoga wagon was to the left of the porch; a modern playground was to the right.

Stepping from her quad, she noticed that the blue jungle gym needed a fresh coat of paint. One of the rocking chairs on the porch had a rattan backing that should have been replaced. Only the cacti did their job without complaint. They looked hot and dry.

Like Eva felt.

She stepped into the lobby and pulled her shirt away from her body. The sweat dripping down her back instantly chilled thanks to the air conditioning. Patti turned the thermostat down to seventy-two every time she was left alone. It didn’t matter how many times Eva cautioned her about the electricity bill.

“You heard from Dad?” Eva asked, moving back behind the desk to check reservations. No change in the last thirty minutes.

“No. He’s been gone longer than I expected.” Usually Patti had a sixth sense about Eva’s father.

“What do you think?”

“I think he went into town, looking like he was on a mission, and he’ll be back soon.” Patti didn’t say anything Eva didn’t already know. The difference was, Patti wasn’t curious.

“I’m back.” Her dad’s rich baritone voice came from the doorway.