Wendy Warren - Cowboy Comes Back / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride - Cowboy Comes Back / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride

“He built a mustang trap. A classic one, with a long funnel of camouflaged fencing that narrowed down into a hidden corral.”

Joe grunted again, and then urged his mount to move faster to keep up with the chestnut. “Prior to buying the Zephyr Valley ranch, I liked wild horses. That was before I was aware of the damage they cause to the range.”

Kade debated. Argue with a man who was paying his salary and was convinced he was correct? Or just keep quiet and ride? He chose the middle ground. Diplomacy. “Any animal, in numbers that are too large, can overgraze a range. Usually, in cases like these, the feds cut back on both mustangs and cattle so that there’s enough grass. But cattle are easier to regulate.”

“The difference between cattle and wild horses is that the government makes a profit from my usage. I’m paying them for the land.”

The chestnut suddenly shied, saving Kade from having to reply. He stopped the animal and turned it back. The horse cautiously approached the scary stick lying on the ground, blowing through his nose. Then eventually got close enough to sniff it.

Joe laughed. “I’m always amazed at what will spook a horse.”

“Sticks are bad,” Kade agreed. Blowing paper was the worst.

The two men headed for home after another twenty minutes, talking about horses as they rode. Joe had always dreamed of breeding horses, and now that he finally had a ranch, he could indulge himself. He was also planning to buy and sell colts, and it sounded as if he was employing the same strategies he’d used to get rich in the stock market. Figure out the bloodlines that should prove most popular in the future. Buy low, sell high. These three colts were his first investments. Kade believed the man had chosen well.

When they got back to the ranch, Joe loaded his horse. Kade went into the trailer and returned with two Cokes.

“Is your house so bad you have to live in your horse trailer?”

Kade said yes with a straight face. And it was that bad, just not in the sense that Barton meant. Kade figured if the man hung around town at all, he’d eventually hear that Kade and his dad had been estranged, even if he might not learn why.

Not many people knew the truth. Parker Danning had been pretty good at hiding the fact that he hated his only son—in public, anyway. And Kade didn’t think anyone knew about that last huge fight, the one where he’d finally fought back for real and proved that he could have taken his father … and then hadn’t.

Walking away had been hard, but Kade refused to be his father. He’d moved out that afternoon, into the bunk-house on Menace’s farm, weeks away from his eighteenth birthday. His dad had never come to find him and drag him home as he’d threatened to do in the past when Kade had tried to leave. In fact, his father had never spoken to him again.

“You should probably put a match to it and bring in a double-wide.” Joe gestured at the house with the Coke can.

“Tempting.” In many ways. “But I can’t afford a double-wide.” Kade spoke without thinking, then wished he hadn’t. His monetary woes were no one else’s business.

“If you train enough colts, that could change,” Joe said, snapping open the can. “And I will have more that need to be trained, if you’re interested.”

“I am—for as long as I’m here, anyway.”

“I may have to do what I can to see that you stay,” Joe said, and Kade had a feeling the guy wasn’t being totally facetious.

After the rancher left, Kade fed the four horses, then went into the house to put in a few hours of work. The place felt better now that he’d cleared it out, slapped some paint on the walls. He planned to spend the colt money on flooring, and if a real job didn’t materialize shortly he hoped that Barton would send more colts his way. Hell, he could make a fairly reasonable living starting colts, if he didn’t mind the uncertainty.

But he did.

He wanted security for once in his life. He’d never had it after his mother had left his abusive dad, effectively abandoning her son when he was twelve. The rodeo life was about as insecure a life as a guy could get, everything hinging on the next big ride. And then, when he finally made it big and thought he had some security, he’d come to find out it was all an illusion because he’d trusted the wrong person. He hadn’t been the only one. Dylan Smith had bilked several people out of funds. That didn’t make Kade feel one bit less stupid.

THE WESLEY BLM personnel enjoyed four days without Ellen Vargas at the helm, while she represented their office at a state conference. She returned on Friday in a bad mood. Obviously something had not gone as she’d planned.

No one cared to ask, and since there had yet to be a staff meeting summarizing the outcome, a few random theories floated around. But for the most part the crew was simply glad she was leaving them alone. It couldn’t last forever, though, and Libby was the one who took the first hit.

“Oh, Libby …”

“Yes, Ellen?” Libby asked politely. She’d been sitting in front of her computer, supposedly working on her report. In actuality she’d been stewing about Kade and her injured horse and what Menace had said about the two of them living in the same community. Again.

“I’d like to see you in my office. Please bring any information you have on the area surrounding the Jessup Creek and Zephyr Valley ranches.”

“Zephyr Valley ranch?” Libby had never heard of it before. It certainly wasn’t on any of the maps.

“It’s the Boggy Flat ranch,” Stephen said quietly. Libby turned to stare at him, but he didn’t look up—rather like a possum playing dead. Maybe if he didn’t move or speak again, Ellen would go away. Fortunately she did, her heels clicking briskly down the hallway.

Stephen straightened up once the coast was clear, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. His brown hair was sticking out at weird angles from where he’d been resting his palm on his head as he worked. He’d managed to find another project and he was pouring all of his energy into it in an effort to keep Ellen at bay.

“The Zephyr Valley?” Libby asked. “For real?”

“For real.”

Libby shook her head in disgust. What next? The Boggy Flat had been acquired by a wealthy Chicagoan a little more than a year ago, but Libby hadn’t known that he’d changed the name of the hundred-year-old ranch.

She opened a file drawer and pulled out the hard copy on the Jessup Valley area before following Ellen into the state’s most perfectly appointed office. There was a new flower in the vase. Another orchid.

Ellen waved Libby to a seat. “You’re the first person I’m meeting with concerning the conference I just attended. The wild-horse issue was thoroughly discussed and the heads of the other regional offices and I have concluded that we should concentrate our energies on managing the mustang herds grazing on the cattle allotments.”

“Manage in what way?” Libby asked. She thought she was managing those herds.

“Reducing numbers to a more reasonable level.”

“Define reasonable.”

“The cattlemen pay for the range, so ‘reasonable’ would mean the number of horses that can be sustained without affecting the number of cattle that normally graze there.”

“What about the deer, elk and antelope?” Libby was fully in support of using the range for cattle, but when the range was in poor condition, everything had to be scaled back.

“Funny you should mention that. According to my research, the mustangs in the Jessup Valley are taking range from native species.”

“I’d sure like to see that research.”

“I’ll see that you get a copy,” Ellen said, tidying the stack of papers on her desk as she spoke. “But in the meantime we’ll focus on areas that affect the economy.”