Linda Miller - Once A Rancher

She was uneasy about Ryder; he’d crossed an alarming line, stealing from Slater Carson.

Okay, so it wasn’t armed robbery or drug trafficking, and she didn’t want to make too big a deal of it. Still, she’d seen too many kids head down the wrong trail in her last job, and the trouble often began with some small infraction.

Theft was theft.

Ryder was a decent kid with loads of potential, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep right on screwing up, because he was also a confused and lonely kid, and with his dad so far away and his mother permanently disinterested, he was especially vulnerable.

Well, Grace resolved for about the hundredth time since Ryder had moved in with her, if the boy was destined for a life of crime, it wasn’t going to happen on her watch.

Except that she had only so much influence over Ryder.

The hard truth was, Hank needed to man up, take responsibility for his son, give the kid some love and guidance. Yes, he provided financial support, but that was far from enough.

Ironically, though, if Ryder went downhill from here, Hank would blame her, not himself.

Did she care about Hank’s opinion? No.

But she did care, very much, about Ryder.

She smiled. The boy put on a convincing tough-guy act, but there was more to him, thank God. A lot more.

For instance, she knew he was secretly feeding a stray cat that had showed up on their patio a few days ago. She’d glimpsed the poor creature a couple of times, saw that it was thin, matted and skittish. When she’d tried to approach, the animal shot into the bushes and hid there, but Ryder had fared better. He’d set out pilfered lunch meat or a bowl of milk and then wait, crouching, almost motionless.

And the cat would come close enough to eat a few bites or lap up some of the milk.

That image of Ryder, that display of kindly patience, gave her hope.

Later, when she was officially off duty, she drove into town, visited the supermarket, planning to fix Ryder’s favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs. She added potatoes to her cart, then vegetables for a green salad, a stack of canned cat food, and some of the dry kind, too—along with a couple of ceramic bowls.

Back at the condo, which was part of the resort complex, she thought about how lucky she was to have this job. It was demanding, sure, but besides her salary, she had health insurance and a decent retirement plan, and she didn’t have to cover rent or mortgage payments.

Plus, nobody shot at her or yelled abuse simply because she wore a badge.

She paused in the parking lot to admire the place. The condo boasted three sizeable bedrooms, one of which she used as a home office, two bathrooms, a nice sleek kitchen and a Wyoming view that faced the scenic Bliss River. She’d decorated with a few antiques she’d inherited from her grandmother—an English case clock, a pewter pitcher she’d set on the mantel, a beautifully framed and very old charcoal drawing of horses standing in the snow, their manes ruffled by the wind. She’d also splurged and bought a new chocolate-brown couch, with scarlet velvet pillows for accent.

The low, square coffee table was new, too.

Feeling domestic, Grace carted in her briefcase, purse and one bag of groceries. Ryder abandoned the video game he’d been absorbed in and jumped to his feet.

“Need some help?” he asked, with a shy grin.

“Yes,” Grace answered, pleased. “There’s more in the car.”

Ryder rushed out the door, all legs and elbows, and when he returned, he was carrying the bag of cat kibble under one arm. The expression on his face made Grace double-glad she’d decided to cave on the adopt-a-pet question.

“What—” he began, looking down at the heavy bag clutched to his side.

Grace smiled, took the bags from his other hand and set them on the counter. Then she rummaged through them until she found the bowls. “I know what you’ve been up to, bud,” she said.

To his credit, Ryder didn’t try to dodge the issue. “He’s so hungry, Grace. Scared, too. There are things out there that could get him—”

Grace nearly choked up; she was so moved by the tenderness in Ryder’s young and so often sullen face, but she kept smiling. There are things out there that could get him.

Was that how Ryder felt, too? Alone in a big, dangerous world?

Probably.

Grace swallowed hard, forcing back the tears. “There are a few rules here,” she warned. “We’ll take the cat to the vet as soon as possible. He can’t come inside until he’s been checked out. He’ll need shots and neutering, and you’re going to have to do a few extra chores around here to pay me back. I’ll buy his food, but the rest is your responsibility, Ryder—and that includes cleaning the litter box. Do we have an agreement?”

Ryder’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You mean it, Grace? We can keep him?”

She laughed, wanting to hug the boy, but sensing that the timing was off. So she gave him a light punch to the shoulder instead. “Did you hear anything I said just now?”

How many times had this child been promised something and then been disappointed?

“I heard,” Ryder said, very softly. “Thanks, Grace. I mean, really, thanks.”

“Make sure you’re picking up what I’m saying here,” she said with mock sternness. “This is your cat, not mine. He’ll be dependent on you, and that’s a big responsibility.” She softened her tone. “Take good care of this little guy, and you’ll have a faithful friend for the duration. Can I count on you, Ryder? Can he?”

Ryder’s voice was hoarse when he replied, and his eyes glistened slightly. “Yes,” he said, and then cleared his throat.

He was growing up, Grace thought suddenly.

Or just growing.

When had he gotten so tall? She needed to take him shopping for new clothes, and soon.

“All right, then,” she said, turning to unpack the other groceries so he wouldn’t see that her eyes were moist, too. “Go feed your cat.” A pause. This was the best conversation she and Ryder had had so far, and she didn’t want to let it go. She blinked and glanced back over her shoulder. “What’s his name, anyway? Has he got one yet?”

Ryder’s grin practically lit up the room. “Bonaparte.”

Definitely unexpected. Grace raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice. Any particular logic behind it?”

“Sure,” Ryder said, plunking down the bag of kibble and opening the top to scoop out the cat’s dinner. “Napoleon Bonaparte started from humble beginnings and became one of the greatest generals the world’s ever known. And he declared himself emperor.” He took the second bowl to the sink and filled it with water. “I think that’s pretty awesome.”

“And there’s a connection between the general and the cat because—”

Ryder headed for the patio doors, bowls in hand, sloshing water on the floor as he moved. “I guess I just liked the story,” he said. “Look at it this way, Grace. I’ve been paying attention in history class.” He used one elbow to open the glass slider. “I told you I was going to try harder, remember?”

Grace’s throat felt tight again. She nodded, watching as Ryder stepped out onto the patio, dropped to a crouch and set the bowls down. He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t want to come here,” he reminded her cheerfully. “But now I’m actually starting to like it—a little.”

Grace chuckled.

That was progress, anyway.

“Bonaparte’s a great name,” she said.

She wasn’t sure if Ryder had heard her, not that it mattered. By then, the cat had come slinking across the flagstones on the patio, too scared to get close, but too starved to stay away.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STALLION, CHARCOAL-GRAY with a black mane and tail, was the living definition of the word wild. He stood, majestic, almost a part of the early-morning sunlight blazing around him like an aura, while his harem of mares grazed nearby.