The Wrangler. Lindsay McKenna
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up on your reactions properly. After the fact, I talked to a therapist about abused children. It was then I realized you were terribly wounded and wouldn’t trust any man. Not even my Pete. And he was one of the most gentle, loving men you could ever meet.”
Dragging in a huge breath of air, Val felt as if the weight of the world was bearing down on her shoulders. “Gus, you can’t blame yourself for not knowing what was going on. I myself wish I’d done something. If only I’d called the sheriff. Or talked to one of my teachers.”
“Don’t go there,” Gus warned her. “You were innocent in all of his, Val. You were a trusting, vulnerable child.”
Hot tears wedged into Val’s eyes. With an angry swipe, she wiped them away. “I just couldn’t ever understand why my Mom lied to the doctors when she was taken to the hospital. She had a broken arm and collar bone, eyes blackened and both cheeks fractured. And she lied to them! She told them she’d been bucked off a horse, hit the pipe corral fence and then fell to the ground.” Gulping, Val stared helplessly at Gus. “They believed her! When you came here and told me that, I just felt like I was going to implode with rage.”
“You were raised in a toxic environment, so you thought love was being beat. You never knew any different as a child. How could you?”
“I’ve tried so hard to forget my past!” Val choked, the tears flowing down her taut cheeks. “When you asked me to come here, I threw up. I couldn’t hold back the fear, the memories avalanching me again.”
Gus scraped the chair back, picked up her cane and hobbled around the table. Leaning down, she slipped one arm around Val’s shoulders and kissed her red hair. “You’ve had nothing but pain from the time you were born,” Gus agreed. “But you listen to me. You’re a Hunter. You have the blood of my family running strong through you, Val. I know this is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but really, it isn’t.”
Val lifted her head, the tears blurring her grandmother’s deeply wrinkled face inches away from hers. “W-what do you mean?”
“Honey,” Gus said in a whisper, placing a kiss on her wrinkled brow, “the worst was living in this house when Buck was alive. He’s dead and gone now. I know you have the past to work through, but he ain’t here any longer. That makes this easier than the first eighteen years of your life, doesn’t it?” She gently held Val’s tearful blue gaze.
“I—I don’t know.”
“I do. Besides,” Gus said, gently wiping the tears from Val’s pale cheeks, “you have me. Together, you and I are a force to behold. We can bring this ranch back to life, and make it even better than before. We can make it beautiful, successful and you’ll have the money you need for when you want to retire.” Giving her a soft smile, Gus added, “Family should be a team, Val. Oh, it’s true, there’s always a rotten apple in every family barrel, but don’t walk away from it all just because of one person. Your ma put her heart and soul into the Bar H. Now, we’ll do the same. Together…”
CHAPTER TWO
THE SWEET SMELL of alfalfa hay entered Griff McPherson’s nostrils. He walked into the large, airy barn, carrying a huge baling hook in each of his hands. A ranch customer had backed his Chevy truck up against the lip of the wooden platform and was waiting for twenty bales to be placed onto its bed. Sweat trickled down the sides of Griff’s temples as he approached the first bale and quickly sank the long, sharp hooks into it. With a grunt, he hefted the eighty-pound bale out of the building and dropped it into the truck. He reveled in his strength, feeling close to the earth and to all life of late. Working at Andy’s Horse Emporium, a central place in the valley for ranchers to buy hay, feed and other supplies gave him deep and growing satisfaction.
Just having a job in this sputtering economy made Griff feel grateful as he walked quickly back into the barn. His well-worn boots thunked hollowly against the graying oak plank floor. Andy had taken pity on him when Griff’s brother Slade had kicked him out of the family ranch house. Mouth tightening as he leaned down and hooked a second bale, Griff turned and walked it out to the truck.
There was another full-time young man working at the Emporium with him, and between the two of them, they were kept busy all day long. It was hard, physical work and Griff absorbed it with quiet joy. It was a far cry from his days as a banker on Wall Street. As he hefted another bale and carried it out of the barn, he glanced up at the blue morning sky. How could he ever have left Jackson Hole, the place he was born and raised? The Tetons Ranch had been in his family for a hundred years. His soul was here. How could he have not come home as soon as he’d turned eighteen?
The third bale was dropped into the pickup. Griff leaped down into the bed of the Chevy and expertly arranged the bales so he could make a solid foundation for the rest to come. Inhaling deeply, his white cowboy shirt clinging to his body, Griff smiled to himself. In one easy, fluid leap he was back on the platform. Grabbing the hooks with his sweat-stained leather gloves, he moved into the shade of the barn. His mind lingered on his past life, working in derivatives at his uncle’s Wall Street firm. When the crash hit, he’d been out of a job. Coming home had been a rough landing.
The air was full of fine dust and bits of the alfalfa that had been trucked in for ranchers in need for their horses or cattle. The growing season in this part of Wyoming was only seventy days and not long enough to grow a crop of either alfalfa or grass hay. It all had to be brought in from nearby Idaho or from other surrounding states. And it made the price higher than usual.
Griff’s nostrils flared as he sank the hooks into the next bale. In about twenty minutes, he’d have the order filled, the bales neatly stacked upon one another, tied in place with the rancher’s stout nylon straps so they wouldn’t fall off during transit. The work satisfied him. It was far better than sitting in a chair staring at a computer and translating graphs and analysis. He was born into a Wyoming ranch family. And God, it was good to be back home even if it meant living hand to mouth. If not for Andy hiring him to work five days a week, Griff knew he’d have to leave Jackson Hole for a soup kitchen in a major city.
“Hey,” Andy hollered to him from the office across the way, “when you get done, I need you in here, Griff. There’s a lady in here lookin’ to hire a full-time wrangler.”
Straightening, Griff pushed the tan Stetson cowboy hat off his brow. “Fifteen minutes,” he called back. He saw Andy nod, raise his hand in acknowledgment and disappear back inside the main store. Lifting the hat off his head, Griff quickly wiped his brow. He could smell his sweat. It came from good, hard work. He now realized he’d been wasting away in New York City. Out west, he was once again hard-muscled, physically fit and ready to take on his newly evolving world.
* * *
VAL WATCHED ANDY return to the front desk where she stood waiting. She had received a warm welcome from him when she’d first walked in the door. He’d recognized her right away. “Griff will be in here in about fifteen minutes,” he told her.
Val felt leery. “Are you sure he’s a good wrangler, Andy?”
“Yep, I am,” the man said, ringing up her items at a cash register.
“But, you said he’s only been here a couple of months.”
“I know you’ve been gone a long time, Miss Val, but surely you know Slade McPherson? Owner of the Tetons Ranch?”
“Yes, of course. Everyone thinks well of him.”
“Griff is Slade’s younger fraternal twin brother. Now, you recall that at six years old these two boys lost their parents?”
Scrunching her brow, Val tried to remember. “I was young at the time, Andy. Humor me?”
“That you were. And you’re still young and beautiful, Miss Val,” he said with a wink. “Slade and Griff’s parents were killed in an auto accident. Red Downing, who owned the ranch next to them, was drunk when he struck them. All three of them died in that tragic event. The two boys were split up. Slade stayed with a local uncle and Griff got shipped out to