The Texas Rancher's Return. Allie Pleiter
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bison, huh?”
“Your grandma sounds really nice. I told her I wanted to interview Daisy, and she said I had to ask you. Can I talk to Daisy for my school report?” Then as if it had just occurred to her that no one conversed with a bison—no one except Billy, that was—she added, “Oh, and you, too. Mom told me Daisy’s about to be a mommy. Maybe you could tell me more about that.”
Well, well, Brooke Calder, seems you belong in Markham’s office after all, Gunner thought. What a flawless scheme. He’d promised himself that he’d never let anyone from DelTex so much as pass through the gate onto his ranch—but what kind of lout would say no to a third grader? Had Brooke called, he might have hung up on her. But Gran would have his hide if he was rude to Audrey and turned down a little girl’s science project.
Gunner was cornered, and he knew it. Brooke Calder had managed to box him in as neatly as Daisy had blocked the car on the road yesterday. “You’re right. Daisy’ll calve soon. Maybe real soon.” A shred of annoyance at being so manipulated kept him from saying yes right away. And he was ashamed of it immediately. Mean was no real way to act toward a little girl—even if her mama worked for the enemy.
“So you’re saying I should come right away? Like today? Are they cute?”
Today? How did this turn into an immediate issue? “Are who cute?”
“Baby bison. Mama said Daisy was huge and scary.” At this, Gunner could hear Brooke gasp and shush her daughter on the other end of the line. That made him feel a bit better—served that woman right after putting her daughter on the phone like this.
“Yeah,” Gunner stammered, remembering Audrey’s original question, “I suppose bison calves are cute. Cuter than their mamas, I guess.” He was currently calculating just how much like her bold-as-brass mama little Audrey Calder was. He shot a glance toward Gran, who was giving him a look that warned “Don’t you dare turn that sweet little girl down.”
“Okay, you can come,” he said, feeling the invitation settle to the bottom of his stomach like a boulder of imminent regret. “How about after lunch?”
The squeal that filled the phone made Gunner pull the handset away from his ear and cringe. It made Gran grin. “Thanks, Mister Buckton. I’ll have the best science report in the whole class ’cause of this!”
Did she have to sound absolutely adorable? Ten minutes with Gran and the tyke would probably have his grandmother talked into a full-scale ranch tour for the whole class. The Blue Thorn, overrun with little kids—the notion made him ill. Gunner pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing the kitchen floor. “We’ll do our best to help you with your report, Audrey.”
“Call me Audie. Everyone does. I just said Audrey to be formal-like when making my request. After today, we’ll be friends.”
I highly doubt that, Gunner thought silently, scowling, shutting his eyes and reminding himself this was an innocent little girl who had no way of knowing the inconvenience she was about to cause. He was about to let someone from DelTex onto Blue Thorn land—Dad ought to be turning over in his grave right about now. “We’ll see you about 1:30? Check with your mama if that’s okay.” He hoped that would prevent Brooke from getting on the phone. He wasn’t sure he could resist a cutting remark—or six—if he spoke with her directly at the moment.
Confirmation acquired, Audie said an excruciatingly cheerful goodbye, insisting she’d “count the minutes” until 1:30. Gunner hung up the phone and tried to think of every possible reason he had to ride into town this afternoon.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gran narrowed her eyes as she took the handset from him.
“What?”
“I can see you conniving ways to get out of being here when they arrive. I can read you like you have a neon sign blinking over your head, son.” She put the phone down on the table. “If you’re the head of Blue Thorn, you host its guests.”
The head of Blue Thorn. Every day he felt what was asked of him as the head of Blue Thorn Ranch. The weight of proving himself beyond his rebellious past, the pressure to keep the ranch alive and thriving and in the family. It all kept him up nights. Gran had said she was on his side, had begged him to come home and take things over, but he could tell she was still hanging on to a bit of reserve—that she wasn’t totally convinced he could handle the job. He deserved that doubt.
Gunner retreated to the coffeepot. “Gran, do you have any idea who that was?”
“It was a sweet little girl doing a third-grade report on native Texan animals. Finally, a child who cares to do schoolwork beyond looking things up on a computer! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to dodge her the way you were thinking.”
“The person who ought to be ashamed is that darling little girl’s mother. Brooke Calder works for Markham. At DelTex. I met her yesterday when Daisy got out and blocked her car back on the west road. DelTex is...”
Gran waved a hand in Gunner’s face. “I know very well what DelTex is. I hardly think you can put a stubborn bison down to corporate maneuvers. Or a third-grade girl, for that matter.”
“That third-grade girl’s mama put her up to this.”
“Her mama fixed it so that her teacher assigned a report on native species and talked her into choosing bison and opened the northwest gate so Daisy walked out onto the road in front of her car?” Gran crossed her arms over her chest and got that look on her face, that guilt-inducing “what’s gotten into you?” stare of which Adele Buckton was a master. “That’s what you think?”
“Could be.” It wasn’t as far-fetched as Gran made it sound. Those big development companies would probably try anything to get what they wanted. How many times had gifts arrived at the house or some oh-so-friendly DelTex exec tried to invite himself onto the ranch in the name of “opening a dialogue”? What was to stop them from finding someone who fit his ideal of an attractive woman and sending her out onto his west road? Brooke Calder would probably earn herself a raise for conniving her way onto Blue Thorn land. “You know those people from DelTex have tried all kinds of ways to get their boots on our acreage. This could just be one more. There’s an awful lot of money at stake here, Gran.”
Gran didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to the cabinet and began to pull out cookie sheets. “What are you doing?” he balked, swallowing the urge to snatch the flat pans from her hands. This wasn’t a social call; this was likely a spy mission.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Gran said, eying him. “We have a child coming to the ranch. I’m baking some cookies.”
Gunner started to formulate a long list of reasons why that was a whopping bad idea, but the look from his grandmother silenced him. No matter what the land deed now said, Gran was still the final word on things at the Blue Thorn. If she could read him as well as she claimed, then Gran already knew what he thought of her plans to ply the Calders with cookies. His opinion on hospitality clearly didn’t matter, for she began to hum “There’ll Be Peace in the Valley” as she walked into the pantry for ingredients.
An earthquake. That ought to do it. Just send a small earthquake about 1:00 p.m., Lord, so I can call this whole circus to a halt. Gunner settled his hat on his head, muttering about pushy little girls and stubborn old women. Tornado, thunderstorm—I ain’t picky, Lord. Just get me out of this.
“Why do they call it the Blue Thorn Ranch?” Audie piped up from the backseat as Brooke pulled her little car up to the gate that marked the ranch’s entrance. A tall framework of timbers with BT at the center stood over a metal gate that joined two stretches of sturdy metal fencing.
“Every member of the Buckton family has bright blue eyes,” Brooke answered. “But I don’t know about the thorn part—we’ll have to ask.” Brooke punched a button on the keypad mounted by the drive, announced herself