Roz Fox - His Ranch Or Hers

“So I hear. We’ll keep in touch. Good luck with Pet-Pig Woman.”

Zeke grimaced, gave the round little pig a last glance then started fixing supper. Midway through preparations, he heard the front door open and close, and then footsteps going toward the back of the house. Then he heard water running and figured Myra had opted to take a shower. It was probably something he should have done, he thought as he found dishes and set the table. Were they really going to eat next to a penned pig? Apparently so.

It wasn’t long before Myra appeared in the doorway. She wore slippers, clean jeans and a checked flannel shirt, and her shoulder-length, tawny-gold hair fell in damp waves around a face scrubbed clean of makeup. Zeke hadn’t paid such close attention before. Framed in the doorway, she seemed younger and prettier than he recalled while she’d dragged him through a snowstorm.

“Wow, something smells good. Can I help? Oh, I see you’ve even set the table. Sorry I was so long. I took time to oil the tack. Saddles and bridles are expensive. Oiled, they hold up better in the weather.”

Zeke shook himself loose from eyeing her. “Your timing is great. Go on and choose where you normally sit. I’ll bring everything to the table.”

Myra crossed the room and pulled out a chair. Like magic, steaming dishes began to fill up the table. Her mouth dropped open. “You made scalloped potatoes and green beans with almonds?” She blinked up at Zeke as he set a basket of homemade biscuits in front of her, followed by a slice of sirloin steak he pulled out from under the broiler.

“Dig in while everything’s hot,” he said. “Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers and turned to rummage in the fridge. “I saw butter somewhere.”

“In the top compartment on the fridge door.”

He carried the butter dish to the table even as Myra broke open a hot biscuit. “These are as flaky as my gram used to make. Mine are like lead weights. Everything looks scrumptious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“Before I joined the military, I worked in restaurants. I also pulled my share of KP duty prior to getting into a Green Beret unit.”

“I’ll do dishes tonight, but I draft you to fix breakfast.” Her mouth was full when he shot a deliberate glance toward her pet pig.

“I’ve never had bacon or ham on the hoof, but I guess I can make do.” He smiled crookedly as he cut a slice of steak.

Her fierce glare made plain that Myra wasn’t amused.

Chapter Two

“Orion is a hundred percent pet.” Myra’s tone was challenging. “Our local vet found him when she responded to a tip about a family who skipped town in the middle of the night leaving a goat, a donkey and a young indoor pig to fend for themselves. Some call him a potbellied pig, but he’s really a micromini. Jewell knew I didn’t have a dog or cat, so she talked me into adopting him.”

“Jewell?” Zeke looked blank.

“Our vet. You’ll meet her. She takes care of animals large and small, plus she heads the committee trying to obtain a habitat for our snowy owls.”

“I see. In the developing world, I got used to seeing animals in people’s homes that you never see in the US. Really, the quilt and squeaky toys in his pen tipped me off that you weren’t raising him for food.”

“Teacup pigs and microminis are intelligent, curious, funny, affectionate, clean animals. Orion was good company for Gramps, and now me.” She paused, her fork in the air. “I expect Mom will pitch a fit when I show up at their house with him.” Myra’s agitation showed in the short, stabbing cuts she made to her steak.

“Uh, hey, I forgot to pour coffee.” Zeke rose, went to the counter and picked up the pot. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“No.”

“Look, I was teasing about the pig. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Zeke poured their coffee and returned the pot to the burner.

She dropped her utensils and picked up her cup. But when their eyes met over the rim, Myra hurriedly averted her gaze. “Nothing to do with the Flying Owl is a joke.”

He gestured with his cup. “I...ah...don’t know a lot about cattle ranching.”

“No kidding.”

Leaning back, Zeke studied her, his expression pensive. “It strikes me you weren’t prepared to have me show up today to take over.”

Her eyes flashed. “Take over? Listen, you fixed a great meal. I want to enjoy it.”

“No problem.” He took a second helping. “I’m just getting way different vibes from you than I got from your family. Your mom went on and on about how anxious you are to get back to teaching in the city.”

Myra took more green beans, knowing she was being uncharacteristically surly. “My parents think I should be anxious. Especially Mom.” She couldn’t seem to stop resenting Zeke. But soon the only noise in the kitchen was the ticktock of the old wall clock and Orion rooting in his dish.

Zeke drained his cup and got up for more coffee. Retaking his seat, he said, “Is it safe to ask you about the ranch finances? I don’t want to cast aspersions on your dad, because he and your mother treated me really well. But did he give me an albatross? I can see the house needs work, but my brother said the land must be worth a lot.”

Myra’s heart gave a kick. She hunched forward. Had he given her an opening to lay it on thick and convince him the ranch was a dud? She couldn’t lie. It wasn’t in her. She took her time before looking him in the eye. “To my dad, who left here at twenty-five when he got married and began to build his own spread on a ranch that belonged to my mom’s parents, this has always been the old home place. As Gramps aged, he set up a trust with my dad, his only child. Were you insinuating you might want to sell?” Trying for casual, Myra took a drink.

When Zeke continued his silent regard of her, she gestured with her free hand. “I’d be willing to go to the bank and see what they’d allow me for a loan to buy you out.”

“You? I thought you couldn’t wait to get back to your teaching career.”

She shrugged lightly, not wanting to give away how badly she wanted to own this ranch. “Having lived here three and a half years, I’ve discovered I have a knack for ranching. It’s probably too late to get a teaching spot. Schools start soon.”

“I wasn’t thinking of selling. But if not teaching, what will you do?”

Myra shrugged again. “Maybe one of the bigger ranches needs a cowhand.”

Zeke toyed with his cup, then grinned. “On my drive here, on the other side of a town called Miles City, I saw a sign on a fence post. At the time it made me laugh. ‘Housekeeper wanted. Must be able to drive a tractor and work cattle.’ Maybe you’d do.”

She got up and started gathering their dirty dishes.

“So, no comment?”

“Miles City isn’t Snowy Owl Crossing. And I’d be leery of a job with that description. The term housekeeper could entail more side activities than I’d care to take on.”

“Like what? Oh...oh! I get you.” He blushed. “I’m not usually that slow on the uptake.”

It was her turn to stammer in embarrassment. “Uh, I actually meant it might mean the rancher also needed a nanny to take care of his kids.”

“Yikes! Are you kidding me?”

“No. At the grange hall it’s not uncommon to hear of some cowboy-rancher’s wife he met on the rodeo circuit finding ranch life not so glamorous after they have a couple of kids.”

“It does seem life out here might be lonely. How close is the nearest neighbor?” he asked, sliding from his chair to bring his dishes to where she stood loading the dishwasher.

“A...a mile or so from here.” Myra straightened. Their arms brushed, surprising her because she hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close. She stepped back and almost fell over the open dishwasher door.