The Rancher's Second Chance Read online

  What a fool. Stalking a stranger on neighboring land. What if she saw him?

  What if it was her?

  “Don’t be stupid,” he muttered under his breath. That woman in the tight skirt was not Laura Bell.

  A cold snout against his right hand jerked him around to see Goldie grinning and wagging her tail. How’d she get off the golf cart? Huffing a deep breath he reached for the old dog, but she edged away and limped off down the hill.

  Toward the big oak tree.

  Chapter 2

  Laura inhaled deeply, filling her lungs and her soul with the pasture’s warm earthy scent. Had it really been a dozen years since she’d walked this overgrown path? She stopped near the bottom and looked at her house poised like a ship on a high wave. Two granite ledges jutted out beneath the house, and ground squirrels taunted from the gray boulders. Stopping to scold her, they twitched their tails and chirped and then skittered between the crevices.

  Memories tugged her lips into a smile and she turned toward the corner where her property line T-d against the Hawthorne Ranch’s red pipe fence. Beyond the barbed wire on her left, the dirt showed through. The neighbor’s scrawny cattle had grazed the spring grass down to nothing already.

  To the south, Hawthorne land lay like a green blanket, protected from over grazing by good management. She wondered if Garcia still worked there, if Eli Hawthorne had come home after his tour of duty, or if there were new owners. Maybe that cowboy at the mailboxes.

  She hoped not.

  It was bad enough looking like a complete idiot in front of a stranger. She didn’t need a neighborly reminder of what a klutz she could be.

  As she neared the corner she picked up her pace, keeping her eye on the giant tree that anchored the pasture. Tears threatened at the sight of its tragic beauty, and she was a child again, running to crawl inside its big hollow heart.

  Thick bark lipped over the edges of a deep scar, and the tree stood as if supported by only the outer skin. No core, no solid trunk like other trees, just a stiff, crusty mantel that held it upright.

  She still didn’t understand how something could survive such damage and live wrapped around an empty space where once a heart had been.

  But she knew what it felt like.

  Leaning in, Laura pressed her hands and face and body against the rough, ridged skin and closed her eyes.

  “You live,” she whispered, and tears squeezed out beneath her lashes. “Teach me how you live without a heart.”

  A nudge at the back of her knee sent her whirling to face a smiling dog, its ragged tail sweeping the air.

  After a deep, steadying breath, she stretched a cautious hand toward the animal and it licked her fingers.

  “Goldie?”

  A whine rolled from the dog’s throat and it stepped in closer, pushing its head against her leg. Laura dropped to her knees and searched the retriever’s cloudy eyes. “Is it really you after all this time?”

  The dozen years hadn’t been kind to Goldie, either.

  Laura swiped at her tears and sank back against the tree. The dog stretched out, its head in her lap. How had Goldie known she was there?

  She scanned the Hawthorne pastures. Smaller oak trees scattered over the low hills, and an occasional black cow and calf, but no people. No Eli or Garcia.

  She’d love to see them again, sit at the big kitchen table drinking cold root beer, listen to Garcia call Eli muchacho tan feo—ugly little boy. How sweet to sail again in the tire swing at the barn, follow Eli down to the pond...

  Goldie let out a long sigh.

  “Who do you live with, ol’ girl?” She stroked the dull, yellow hair. “Did you ever have puppies?”

  “A couple of litters.”

  Laura’s hand and breath both stopped and she stared at the dog.

  “Had the first pups a year after you left.”

  The voice came from behind her, near the pipe fence. Afraid of what she’d see, she peeked over her shoulder.

  A cowboy stood on the other side, one boot planted on the bottom pipe, his arms draped across the top. A lopsided grin she’d recognize anywhere slid to one side, weighted down with a black eye patch.

  It couldn’t be.

  Goldie hefted herself to a sitting position and yipped a welcome as Laura dug deep for her voice.

  “Eli?”

  He climbed up, swung a leg over and paused. “May I?”

  “Yes, of course.” She stood, brushed off her jeans and fought the urge to run up the hill and hide under her car.

  Eli Hawthorne III jumped to the ground, leaning to the right when he landed. An angular jaw, lean muscle and about six inches in height had taken over since she’d left him at the pond with his mouth open and his fishing line sagging.

  He pulled his hat off, took a few steps forward and stuck out his hand.

  “Welcome home, Laura Bell, you ding-a-ling.” The grin cocked his mouth up on one side and knocked her back a full twelve years.

  In spite of her discomfort she laughed and took his hand. A man’s hand. Calloused. Warm. Capable of dislodging a resistant real-estate sign.

  “I...I didn’t recognize you earlier.”

  A familiar devilment sparked in his eye. “That was you?”

  She felt the heat return and ducked her head, grateful for the ball cap’s brim.

  “May I join you?” he said.

  Suddenly devoid of all her city refinement, she snugged her cap down.

  “Sure.” She gestured toward the tree. “Have a seat.”

  He leaned against the oak, left leg out straight, and set his cowboy hat upside down on the grass.

  Laura took a spot near Goldie who grunted as she laid her head on outstretched paws and closed her eyes.

  “How’d you know it was me?” she said.

  “I didn’t. Not until you asked about the puppies.”

  An uncomfortable idea slithered in. “You were spying on me?”

  He laughed, a little too nervously, she thought.

  “No, I—uh—I just followed her over.” He nodded toward the sleeping dog.

  Laura plucked at a dandelion. “How do you suppose she knew I was here?”

  Eli’s mouth twitched but he didn’t say a word.

  “I think she understands English.” Laura steepled her knees and linked her fingers around them.

  “And Spanish,” he said.

  She cocked her head with a quiet laugh, remembering. “You’re right. Sometimes she’d run the other way when Garcia scolded her.” She looked at Eli. “Is he still around?”

  “Yes and no.” Eli’s one eye held her gaze for a long moment, then shifted. Clear blue-gray like she remembered. Like the pond.

  “He’s still here, but he’s gone this week. His granddaughter’s getting married Saturday in San Diego. He’ll be back Sunday.”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  “She was never around. Lived with her parents down south.” He tugged at a grassy tuft. “She spent a few weekends here after you left, but never really took to the country. Didn’t like to fish.”

  Laura warmed beneath his teasing glance and relaxed a little. “Would you believe I never went fishing again after we moved?”

  “No. I wouldn’t believe it.”

  She leaned back on her hands and lifted her face to the sun. Derek would have had a fit if she’d suggested such a thing.

  Goldie whimpered and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Chasing rabbits?” Laura said.

  “Nope. Geese.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She told me.”

  “You’re still full of stories, aren’t you, even after all these years.”

  He looked stricken. “But they’re all true.�
��

  “Yeah. Like the one about a giant blue-bellied trout that lived in the pond. There’s no such thing as a blue-bellied trout.”

  One side of his mouth slid up. “But you didn’t know that.”

  “Not when I was ten.” She looped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on top. “I believed everything you said back then.”

  His brows hitched together in a quick frown and he adjusted the patch. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

  “Thanks.”

  Fighting tears at his sudden change of topic, she focused her attention on the scrubby growth shadowing his chin, and the hatband dent that creased his straight brown hair and marked a forehead two shades lighter than his face. He shot a look her way and she marveled to see the boy in the man.

  He jerked his head toward her hilltop. “You come back to sell the place?”

  “No.”

  Surprise quirked his left eyebrow. “So that’s your silver bullet?”

  She smiled, sat up straighter.

  “Where’d you learn to drive?” he asked. “The Autobahn?”

  “Funny.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Seriously. When I heard it coming, I thought it’d been shot out of a gun. Did you forget about the S-curve?”

  She raised her chin and looked down her nose. “No, I didn’t forget about the S-curve. That car can handle it. So can I.”

  He snorted. The same snort that used to make her so mad she could kick him.

  “I see you haven’t changed,” she said.

  Her remark drew a dead-level, one-eyed stare.

  “I mean...”

  “I know what you mean.” He ripped out a handful of grass and tore it into tiny pieces. “It’s almost good to hear, considering.”

  “What happened?”

  He tugged at the patch. “Shrapnel. They tried, but couldn’t save it. Just as well, because it hurt like...” He shot her a quick glance. “Crazy.”

  Her heart squeezed. “It must be hard—riding and all.”

  “You adjust. Compensate. Make concessions.” He tossed the grass in the air along with a question. “So you looking for a renter?”

  She studied the house atop the hill. “No. I am the renter.”

  He didn’t make a sound but she felt a snap in the air, like an unseen electrical current. She was afraid to look at him.

  A sudden squawk jolted her upright and she turned to see a large Canada goose ogling them from the other side of the pipe fence. It honked again and aimed a black button eye as if sizing them up for the kill.

  Eli picked up a pebble and side-armed it at the bird. It hollered again, flapped its great wings and waddled away. He popped off another small stone and the gander flounced up the hill, angling toward the pond.

  “Pest,” he said.

  “Friend of yours?” She couldn’t hide the amusement spreading across her face and rippling through her body.

  “He thinks.” Eli snorted and shook his head. “He thinks he’s a dog. My dog.”

  She fell back in the grass and laughed until tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t laughed in a long time and it felt good.

  “It’s really not that funny,” he said, and flicked a pebble at her tennis shoes.

  Struggling to catch her breath, she pushed up on her elbows. “It is to me.”

  He conceded a half smile. “You’re really something, Laura Bell, you—”

  “Don’t you dare call me that.” She jerked off her cap and threw it at him, and her hair uncoiled and fell over her shoulder.

  His one-handed grab caught the missile and he stared.

  “What?”

  “You... Nothing.” He tossed back the cap.

  She twisted the strands together and tucked them under her hat, all the while watching him push to his feet.

  He reached for his cowboy hat and offered to help her up. “It’s good to see you again. I never thought you’d come back.”

  She took his hand and its warmth seeped into her skin. She remembered Derek’s cold thin fingers and shoved both hands in her jeans pockets.

  “I thought I’d give it a year, get a job substituting this fall in Spring Valley.”

  “I figured you’d be married by now with a couple of kids.”

  She looked past him to the oak tree, studied the scar for a long moment. “Almost.”

  He followed her gaze and ran a hand down the curved lip of the long wound. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  She shrugged, took a deep breath and pushed it out between tight lips. “It’s okay. We’ve all got wounds. Some just show more than others.”

  She moved closer to the tree, splayed her fingers on the bark and leaned against her hands. “I’m so glad it hasn’t changed. When we first moved away I was afraid it would fall over or be hit by lightning and burn.”

  Eli reached higher up the trunk. “These old oaks are pretty hardy in a grass fire. And it’s been a while since we had one burn through the valley.”

  “I’m glad it’s still here.”

  “Remember how we used to fit inside?” A true smile lit his face.

  “Like two acorns in a squirrel’s nest.”

  He chuckled. “That’s what Pop said.”

  “How is he?”

  “Gone.” Eli didn’t move or change expression or offer an explanation.

  “Well.” She took a step back. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  His gaze locked on her again and she felt scrutinized.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  He leaned over and patted Goldie on the side. “Come on, girl. Time to go home.”

  The dog raised her head as if testing his intent, then sat up with a grunt.

  “I was so surprised to see her.” Laura bent to hug the yellow neck. “I’m amazed she’s still alive. How old is she now?”

  Eli squatted, cupped Goldie’s muzzle in his hand and looked her in the eye. “Nearly fourteen. She won’t be around much longer.”

  Close enough to smell the dust and sweat on his clothes, Laura also heard the catch in his voice and her throat tightened. “You didn’t keep any puppies?”

  “Wish I had.” He stood and adjusted the patch, tugged on his hat brim. “Come over sometime. We’ll go riding.”

  “To Slick Rock?”

  He jerked his head down in a single nod. “Yeah. To Slick Rock.”

  Chapter 3

  The next morning Eli dumped soft-chew food in Goldie’s barn dish, climbed onto the four-wheeler and drove to the west side to move sprinklers. One at a time he hooked them to the quad and pulled them through access gates into neighboring pastures, then set them to run for a couple of hours. He’d move them again around noon.

  Subtle but certain, the emerald hills around his valley acreage were fading, and without water the pastures would dry up, as well. Then he’d have to buy more hay and his cow-calf pairs would eat him out of business.

  Water meant life.

  Moving sprinklers took longer without Garcia’s help, but Eli needed the exertion. Something to block the recurring vision of Laura’s hair tumbling down in a black wave. His heart kicked in time with the pulsing water arcing over the fence lines. When he saw her at the tree yesterday in jeans and a ball cap, she looked more like what he would expect—not the slick city gal from the sports car earlier. He wondered—which was the real Laura?

  Satisfied with the sprinklers, he took the dirt lane to the bottom pasture and Lady H.

  The mare grazed unhurriedly, her bronze coat a bold contrast to the pasture’s deep green. A week-old filly walked close by, all leg with a bottlebrush tail and enough spunk to toss her head and prance a few steps away. But not far. Not yet. She trotted back to nuzzle her mother’s
flank and to tell the world with a twitching tail that life was good.

  Eli once believed that himself.

  He turned his head to see the pair more fully. Pop would have been pleased—though not with the bottom line. Developers feeding off the bad economy had already offered to buy the place. Eli couldn’t bear to see it converted to a country club and golf course. Though he may have to put a few links out on the southeast end himself if any more calves disappeared.

  He gripped the handlebars tighter at the thought of someone steeling his profits and turned toward the barn. Weeds crowded the drainage ditch. Pop would never have let things get out of hand or overgrown. When he ran it, the ranch looked more like a Kentucky horse farm than a small cattle operation.

  After Afghanistan, eighteen months of rehab convinced Eli that he could return to the ranch, that he could carry his end of the load. But finding Pop slumped against the tractor one morning nearly did him in. Garcia helped get Pop into the truck and to the hospital, but they both knew it was too late. Elijah Hawthorne’s heart had failed him.

  Eli parked in the barn’s shade and turned off the engine. He looked out over the pastures, the oaks, the black mamas and their babies, and the truth stirred deep in his gut. Pop’s heart hadn’t failed him at all. It had taken him out one more time and let him die doing what he loved, not cinched down in a hospital bed.

  Eli hoped he’d do as well when his time came.

  A cold wind rushed through his heart and in his memory he launched again from the Humvee, landing hard against a wall.

  Death knelt beside him, watched his life pool dark and thick in the dust. Numb and deaf, Eli closed his eyes and saw the cattle, the pond and Laura. His prayers had gone unanswered.

  A medic stopped the bleeding.

  Later, Eli wished he hadn’t.

  Goldie whimpered and the ranch came into focus. Eli rubbed both hands over his face, trying to scrub the recurring vision from his mind.

  He stepped off the quad and filled the dog’s water dish and left her to sleep.

  Maybe his prayers had been answered. This ranch was home and he loved it, regardless of where he’d been and what he’d done and what had happened to him. And it was Garcia’s home, and Goldie’s.