Sweet Mountain Rancher Read online

  “The other night after supper, a couple of your boys asked me when they could come back to the ranch.”

  Yes, Eden had heard them. Heard the diplomatic way Nate had explained that although he’d love to have them, the decision was entirely hers.

  “They’d have to stay at my house this time,” he continued, “since the ranch hands will be in the bunkhouse. It’ll be a little tight—I only have four bedrooms—but we’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure they’d love that.” And they would, too…if she got over her embarrassment in time to take him up on his offer. “I wouldn’t want to intrude or impose, though. Won’t you need the extra space for out-of-town relatives?”

  “The only one staying at my place is Sam, and he won’t mind bunking down on a cot in my room. He’s a firefighter in Nashville. He can easily keep the boys entertained with on-the-job stories. He’s got hundreds of ’em.”

  “Nashville is almost as far from the Double M as Baltimore…”

  “He had dreams of cutting a record,” Nate explained. “That’s what got him down there. To bring in a few bucks while he waited for his big break, he slung hash at a diner, and to fill his off-duty hours, joined a volunteer company. Turned out that was his calling, and when the city recruited him, he said yes.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’ve kept you standing here nearly as long as it took us to have lunch. Better let you hit the road, and do the same myself.”

  “Lunch was lovely. Thanks, Nate.”

  He was half in, half out of his truck when he added, “My offer still stands, you know. Just let me know how much you need and I’ll cut you a check. No questions, no strings.”

  At the corner, as he waited his turn to merge with traffic, he stuck his arm out the window and waved.

  Eden waved back and decided she wouldn’t mind a few strings. Wouldn’t mind them at all.

  *

  NATE WASN’T PARTICULARLY comfortable speaking in front of crowds—not even when the majority of the gawkers shared his last name—but thanks to his seasons with the team, he’d learned to fake it for the few minutes it took to answer reporters’ questions. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, and when The Bandoliers finished their song, Nate climbed the stairs, crossed the stage and stepped up to the microphone.

  “Y’all know Travis Miller, don’t you?” he began, pointing into the audience. A few hoots and hollers and a smattering of applause indicated that the boy had made a good impression on kinfolk and ranch hands during his day and a half at the Double M. “Well, I’m here to tell you that Travis is leaving for Fort Collins in a few short weeks, where he’ll be a veterinary student at Colorado State.” This time, the applause was longer, louder and punctuated by a shrill whistle or two. “Full scholarship,” Nate added. “And although the hour-long drive means he could come home every weekend, this young fella has signed on as a vet assistant near the university to help defray costs. So my advice is, do your backslapping and handshaking now, because for the next eight years, you’re only going to see this kid on holidays.”

  As he left the stage, Brett Michaels clapped him on the shoulder. “Next time I attend a town meeting,” he said, smirking, “I’ll let ’em know you’re available for a council position. Who knew a cowboy could give a speech that didn’t involve livestock?”

  Nate ignored the implied insult. He had more important things to discuss with the guy than what cowboys could and couldn’t do.

  “Walk with me,” he said, heading away from the bandstand and out of the barn. He’d been thinking about this for days, and decided that his idea would help Eden and the boys without making her feel obliged to him. The only glitch, as he saw it, was trusting Michaels to keep his mouth shut.

  “We step any deeper into the shadows, people might think we’re cooking up a real estate deal,” Michaels joked. “Don’t know how I feel about folks thinking I associate with ranchers.”

  Nate ignored the gibe yet again. “How ’bout extending that deadline you gave Eden?”

  The question made Michaels stand up taller and painted a smug expression on his face. “And how ’bout you mind your own business?”

  “I know exactly what that old place is worth.” Nate recited the day’s fair market value. “I find it hard to believe anyone in his right mind offered twice that, especially in these hard times, but it seems to me the guy can wait a month or two longer, give Eden more time to fix up her grandparents’ place before you kick her and the kids to the curb.”

  “I’m the first to admit that what happens to those delinquents is of no concern to me, but I’m not completely heartless. If she needs more time, she can ask for it.”

  “And you’ll give it to her?”

  “What’s it to you, Marshall? You sweet on the gal?”

  Nate ground his jaw. “For her sake, I’m hoping you’ll keep this discussion between us.”

  “Ah, so you do have feelings for her, and you’re worried she’ll kick you to the curb if she finds out you’ve been meddling in her business.”

  Nate searched for a way to deny it without telling a full-blown lie.

  “What are you two whispering about over here?” Cora wanted to know.

  Her sudden appearance startled both men, and Nate wondered how long she’d been there…and how much she’d heard.

  “You know better than to wander around in the dark, Ma. If you turn your ankle on a clump of grass, you’ll be months, recuperating.”

  Cora aimed a strained glance at her son. “Your concern is touching.” Her expression softened as she squeezed Nate’s forearm. “That was some speech you made on behalf of Travis. I had no idea you were such a smooth talker.”

  “I have a feeling there’s a whole lot you don’t know about this guy,” Brett said.

  “Melissa Peters was looking for you.” Cora pointed toward the bandstand. “She told me you promised her a waltz.”

  “Yes, yes I did,” her son said, winking. “Mmm-mmm-mmm, that girl sure does fill out a pair of jeans, doesn’t she?” He elbowed Nate. “Remind you of anybody? Nice talking with you, Marshall. And don’t worry, mum’s the word.”

  Nate could only stare as Michaels swaggered away.

  Cora placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. After a moment, she met Nate’s eyes. “You’re making a big mistake, son. He’s my boy and I love him, but I don’t trust him this far.” She held her palms an inch apart.

  He no longer had to wonder how much she’d overheard. “That boy of yours might fool us both and keep his word.” He grinned. “I won’t have to worry about you, will I?”

  She exhaled a weary sigh. “See that blade of grass over there?”

  Nate followed the invisible line between her fingertip and the green blades growing around a fence post.

  “Pick it for me, will you?”

  He looked at her uncertainly, but she kept pointing, so he went over and picked a random blade from the soil.

  “Take a good long look at it.”

  Again, he did as she asked. Had she succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease?

  “What do you see?”

  Nate shrugged and stated the obvious. “Grass.”

  “And what’s going to happen to it, now that you’ve picked it?”

  “Well, I guess it’ll die.”

  “And it would die sooner or later, even if you’d left it right where it grew.”

  She wasn’t making much sense. He took Cora’s elbow. “Why don’t we find you a place to sit and some lemonade? Maybe I can scare up a slice of pie or a piece of cake.”

  She allowed him to lead her closer to the crowded dance floor. “Too loud?” he asked, dusting off the seat of a chair.

  “I’m fine,” she said, slumping into it. “Wish I could say the same for you.” She pointed at the blade of grass, still pressed between his thumb and forefinger. “Mark my words. He’ll turn on you faster than that will turn brown.”

  Eden joined them, a red plastic cup of lemonade in each hand. “What are yo
u two whispering about over here?” Handing one to Nate, she put the other on the table beside Cora.

  He held up the cup, as if toasting the older woman. “Seems to be the question of the day, doesn’t it?”

  Now Cora was pointing at the dance floor. “They’re playing your song.”

  Nate met Eden’s eyes and read the concern on her pretty face. He held out one hand, and she slipped hers into it. “Didn’t know we had a song, did you?”

  He led her away from Cora, until they were out of earshot.

  “What was all that about?” she asked.

  They stopped at the edge of the parquet tiles. “Nothing really. Michaels was worried she’d break a leg in a gopher hole, wandering around in the grass, so I put her someplace safe.”

  “That was sweet of you.”

  The lively song ended and the band slid into a soft, slow ballad as he drew her onto the floor.

  “Think the kids are having a good time?” he asked, pulling her close.

  “Definitely. Better than they had over Memorial Day, and that’s saying something.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her long enough to find a couple of boys to verify her statement.

  “You look amazing. You should wear your hair down more often.”

  If the lights hadn’t dimmed, he’d probably see a blush coloring her cheeks.

  “You clean up well, too.”

  She’d better quit gazing up at him through those long, dark lashes, or he’d have no choice but to kiss her right there in front of the band and her boys and the whole Marshall clan.

  But he still didn’t know enough about her or her past. And until he did, he’d bide his time. Nate didn’t want to hurt Eden, but he sure as shootin’ didn’t want to be hurt, either. Holding her closer still, Nate shut his eyes and buried his face in her silky, sweet-smelling curls.

  “I’ve always loved this song,” she said, pressing an ear against his chest.

  “Me, too. I memorized it back in high school, thinking it would help me coax a kiss from Katie Marley at the end of a date.”

  “Ha. Really? And did it work?”

  “Might have…if she’d said yes when I asked her out.”

  Eden laughed and snuggled closer. “So let’s hear it, Romeo,” she teased.

  “You want me to sing?”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, you’re a brave one, I’ll give you that.”

  “Quit stalling. The song will be over before you know it.”

  Nate sighed, then started in soft and low. “I feel the wind sigh, the eagle soaring by…”

  “Don’t stop. You have a beautiful voice.”

  “Patches doesn’t mind it, but I’ve never sung it to a reallive girl.”

  “Be quiet, unless you’re going to sing.”

  He harmonized with the lead singer, who signaled Nate to join him at the mic. They’d danced close enough to the stage that Nate could reach out and grab the microphone stand from where they were. Instead, he shook his head and sent a signal of his own: There was no place he’d rather be than right here, in Eden’s arms.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EDEN WAS FOLDING bath towels when the doorbell rang.

  “Wow,” Brett said when she opened the door. “This place looks better every time I see it.” He stepped into the foyer and pointed over his shoulder at the flowers growing along the walk. “Where did you find the money for seeds?”

  “I didn’t buy them. I saved them from last year’s blossoms.”

  “I should have known. But how do you find time to plant and prune and weed, with everything else you do around here?”

  “Kirk and the boys help,” she said, closing the door behind him. “A lot. And as you know, we have plenty of volunteers, too.”

  Hands in his pockets, he glanced around and nodded appreciatively. “Yes, the place looks good, real good.”

  Good enough to sell, right now? she wondered, heart thundering. “It’s too hot to bake, so there aren’t any cookies, but I have lemonade and iced tea in the fridge.”

  “Surprise me,” he said, and followed her down the long hallway. “What do you call those flowers in the hanging baskets out there?”

  “Petunias,” she said, dropping ice into a glass.

  “They’re really purple, aren’t they? Do they have a name for the shade?”

  “Violacea, I think.” Chitchat wasn’t Brett’s style, and the fact that he’d chosen to partake in small talk today unnerved her.

  He slid onto a bench nearest her laundry pile. “That was some party at the Marshalls’ last week, eh?”

  “Yes. I think everyone had a lovely time.”

  He smirked. “Seemed like you did, all pressed up against that cowboy on the dance floor. Made me wish they had one of those betting wheels, so I could make a few dollars guessing when he’d plant one on you.”

  “You would have lost.” She could have added that Melissa looked more like a decal on his shirt than a dance partner, but the happy memory of being in Nate’s arms took the steam right out of it.

  “New curtains?”

  Eden added a folded towel to the tidy stack on the table. “Yes and no. They used to be pillowcases, but when the hems frayed, I hung them in here.”

  “Frugal, talented and gorgeous. What man could ask for more?”

  If she didn’t know him so well, Eden might say he was flirting with her.

  “Have you eaten? I could make you a sandwich.” Eden hated her tendency to cook and bake when she was worried. Hopefully, he’d say no.

  “No, thanks.” He held up his glass. “This’ll do.”

  Eden breathed a sigh of relief. “An ice-cream cone, maybe?”

  “What flavor?”

  “Neapolitan.”

  “Okay, sure. Why not?”

  Will you hush! What in the world is wrong with you!

  “It’s awfully quiet around here. Where are the boys?”

  “They’re out back, tossing a football around with Kirk.”

  “Ah, Kirk Simons, former Stanford quarterback. Hard to believe he settled—”

  This wasn’t like him. Not like him at all. Why had he stopped himself from delivering the insult? A chill snaked up her spine, despite the mid-July heat.

  “Any word from Templeton?” he tried.

  “No.” She stopped folding. “Why do you ask?”

  Brett shrugged. “Paying him to do nothing is part of the reason you’re having problems making ends meet. Seems to me if he’d done his job, the tenants wouldn’t have ruined Pinewood, and you could sell it. Think what a great cushion that much cash would make in your bank account. Peace of mind. All that good stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t need a cushion,” she said, snapping a fresh towel, “if you weren’t bound and determined to sell Latimer House out from under me.”

  If he noticed her brusque tone, Brett chose not to mention it.

  “I was sorry to hear Judson turned down your loan request.”

  How did he know about that? She’d told only three people about that meeting—four, counting Judson, and she found it hard to believe any of them would tell Brett about it.

  “Have you seen Stuart lately?” she asked him.

  “Not in person. Why?”

  Unless he was lying, that left only Nate. She hadn’t thought anything of it when the two of them had walked off to chat on the Fourth. But now—

  “You know what I wish sometimes?”

  Eden had no interest in Brett’s wishes. Or his hopes and dreams, for that matter, but rather than spew a third gruff retort, she added another folded towel to the pile.

  “I wish you’d give up this counseling stuff and come to work for me. With your management skills, you’d whip my whole office into shape inside of a week. Your people skills are unrivaled, and the amazing progress you’ve made with Travis Miller, former breaking and entering expert, is proof. Who would have thought he’d earn a full scholarship to Colorado State? I hope he knows it’s because of you that he
graduated with honors.”

  “First of all, Travis earned those honors himself. And secondly, all of the boys had issues when they came here.” Breaking and entering, truancy, car theft, solicitation, shoplifting, armed robbery—the list of their combined offenses would fill the chalkboard in the back hall. “But they’ve all worked hard to overcome those difficulties, and for the most part, they’ve been successful.”

  She hoped the same would be true for Thomas someday, too. Eden plucked another towel from the heap and gave it a good flap.

  “From now on, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t refer to them as ‘kids like that,’ okay?”

  He tossed what was left of his cone into the trash can and rinsed his hands. “I’m sorry, Eden. I hope you know I meant no disrespect.”

  She knew nothing of the kind. But fear that he might put a rush on the sale of Latimer House kept her from admitting it.

  “You’re right,” he said, sitting across from her again. “They’ve come a long, long way, due largely to their own work. But there’s no denying how big a role you played in their successes.”

  Eden could kick herself for offering him that ice-cream cone. Why didn’t he just hurry up and leave, or at the very least tell her why he’d stopped by today. This verbal Ping-Pong match had already grown tiresome.

  “I hated my stepfather when he first moved in with us,” Brett mused.

  Where was this going?

  “But if it wasn’t for his firm hand, I probably would have ended up just like your kids. You’re doing everything you can, but you can’t be a male role model.” He grinned. “I mean, just look at you.”

  She imagined herself stuffing a towel into his mouth and smiled slightly.

  “My mom is always after me to volunteer for something. So what if I stepped into that position, here? I could dole out a little fatherly advice—or discipline—when it’s called for.”

  Put the man who’d once kicked a trash can all the way down the driveway because the lid wasn’t on tight enough in charge of impressionable, vulnerable teenagers? Yeah, right!