Terry McLaughlin - The Rancher Needs A Wife

“ Reception ,” said Fitz.

Ellie selected a large skillet from the overhead rack and turned to adjust the flame under a burner. Jody spelled the word.

“ Remote .”

Will tipped his chair back against the wall with the hint of a smile as Jody continued the exercise.

“ Control .”

“Hold it right there.” Ellie spun around with the skillet in her hand.

“Oh-oh,” said Jody. “Bad timing.”

“Satellite reception?” Ellie glared at Fitz. “Remote control?”

Jenna’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Will’s smile spread across his face. Fitz’s innocent expression was a testament to his skill as an actor.

“It’s an experiment, Mom,” said Jody. “We’re studying subliminal advertising in English this week.”

“Subliminal,” said Fitz. “S-u-b-l—”

“I know how it’s spelled,” said Ellie. “And I know what the two of you are up to. And it’s not going to work.”

“I told you.” Jody glanced at Fitz with a sigh.

“You did not. You said it was a good idea.”

“The satellite TV hookup, not the spelling stuff. That was Fitz’s idea,” she told her mother.

“I can tell when something is Fitz’s idea,” said Ellie. “It’s usually harebrained and half-baked, and comes at me from every point on the compass for weeks at a time.”

“Got to give the man points for trying,” said Will.

Ellie aimed the skillet at him. “You stay out of this.”

“Thanks, Will.” Fitz gave him a comrade-in- arms nod. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m not risking my health on your account,” said Will. “I kind of like the idea of a couple more channels to watch late at night.”

“Since when do you watch TV at night instead of reading?” Ellie asked.

“Well, now…I’ve changed my habits of late,” said Will. “I thought it might be nice to watch some of those nature shows, but I guess there are plenty of other things I could find to do instead of reading.”

At the sink, Jenna made a strangled sound.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Maggie rose from the table and began to crack eggs into Jenna’s big mixing bowl. “Get the satellite hookup, Ellie. Better yet, get Wes to drag cable out here. Hell, have him dig a ten-mile-long ditch and put it all underground so you don’t have to look at it. It’s not like your husband can’t afford it.”

“That’s not the point.” Ellie didn’t sound too sure of the point any longer, but that wouldn’t pry her stubborn grip from it. Once she’d dug into something, it could take a few sticks of dynamite—or an extra-strength dose of Fitz’s charm—to shake her loose.

“While you’re at it,” Maggie continued, “I’d like to have a hookup at the cabin. There are lots of educational shows I could be recording for school.”

“Hundreds of them,” Jody added.

Fitz stood and carefully removed the skillet from Ellie’s hands. He set it on the counter and wrapped his arms around her waist. “We missed one of my old movies last night. The one where I played a downhill racing skier.”

Ellie smiled and softened against him. “That was Robert Redford.”

“It was? I get myself mixed up with him sometimes.”

“In your dreams, Kelleran.”

“That’s my favorite cue.” He bent and scooped Ellie over his shoulder. Ignoring her shrieks, he headed toward the stairs. “And I’m suddenly in the mood to continue this discussion in private. Jenna, kindly save some French toast for two. The missus and I will have our breakfasts later.”

Jody shook her head with a worldly sigh. “Looks like I’ll need a ride to school again, Aunt Maggie.”

“Sure, kiddo.” She watched with a smile as her brother-in-law toted his bride up the stairs. “I’d like a chance to discuss this subliminal advertising concept with you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MAGGIE SAT IN A lumpy booth at the Beaverhead Bar & Grill Friday night and stared at her best friend from her school days, Janie Morgan Bardett. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Wish I was,” said Janie as she shoved her empty beer glass to one side. “And on top of mistaking a grizzly for a brown bear, the idiot fumbled his load and the bear got within twenty paces before he finally got a shot into him.”

“At least it got so close there was no chance of missing a second time.”

Another autumn, another hunting season. Another round of tracking lore and venison recipe exchanges. Nothing much had changed in Tucker, it seemed, including the primary topic of conversation each year at this time.

Certainly nothing much had changed in Tucker’s only bar. The music in the jukebox, the beaver profile on the cocktail napkins, the ugly brown felt on the pool tables, the smudged walls and blue-hazed atmosphere, the aroma of hot grease and cold brews was all just as she’d left it fifteen years ago. Even the stale peanuts in the battered plastic bowls looked suspiciously familiar.

A loud crack behind their booth signaled the start of another round of pool. The betting was nearly as impressive as the bragging, if a woman had the kind of heart that fluttered over cowpoke paychecks and poorly disguised sexual analogies involving cue sticks and pockets. Apparently a pair of twenty-something coeds who’d hiked down from the Continental Divide found it all, like, totally fun.

“Speaking of fumbling loads…” Janie drummed her short-nailed fingertips on the table. “Why was Alan letting you investigate fertility treatments when he was…well…”

“Busy proving he wasn’t infertile?” Maggie sighed and took a fortifying sip of wine. Her personal life was a source of unceasing fascination, and Janie claimed her right, as former number-one confidante, to have first crack at the best and juiciest details. “Which he accomplished by knocking up one of his grad students.”

“I don’t understand.” Janie leaned forward. “I mean, all that effort with all those doctors, and then he goes and pulls something like that?”

“I don’t think it’s something anyone understands, including Alan. He had a history of risky behavior with grad students.” And as one of the most popular professors and academic advisors in the English Literature department of a Chicago university, he’d had a steady supply of fresh, young, poetry-adoring fans. “That’s how I met him.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t married when you were dating him.”

“That only makes it slightly less unethical,” said Maggie with a weary sigh. “Although I did drop the class after I started sleeping with him.”

“Why were you the one most at fault in that scenario?” Janie asked with a frown. “He’s the one who was hitting on students.”

Maggie’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “He didn’t have to hit very hard.”

“I hate to admit it, but he was a handsome bastard.”

“You don’t have to talk about him in the past tense. He’s still alive.”

“Yeah, well, he’s still a bastard, too.” Janie shook her head. “What did you see in the guy, anyway?”

“You mean, besides the incredibly good looks?” Maggie spun her glass in a slow circle. “He was everything I wanted to be. Sophisticated, refined. Knowledgeable about things like art and good food. He socialized with interesting, important people.”

“The one time I met him, he seemed like he had a stick stuck so far up his butt it would pop out his nose if he sneezed.”

Maggie grimaced. “He didn’t enjoy visiting here.”

And he’d elaborated on every reason why not. He hadn’t been able to find a common point of reference with any of the members of her family, so he couldn’t relax at the ranch. He was unable to comprehend Tucker’s ambiance, so he felt handicapped when trying to communicate with its citizens. He apologized for everything with genuine regret, and he made it all sound as if the root of the problem was his inability to appreciate things from a different perspective, but there was a simpler way of expressing the truth.