A Wife in Wyoming. Lynnette Kent
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M, where they would be expected to learn how to do ranch work—riding, herding, roping, feeding, treating...whatever is on the schedule for me and my brothers to do, the kids would also do.”
“Yes. I know they would have a learning curve—none of them have a ranching background.”
“So they would have to learn how to ride, and ride pretty well. They’d have only a couple of weeks to acquire the kind of skills it takes a ranch hand several years to master.”
“You would be doing the main part of the work, but you’d be doing it anyway, so it’s not a loss for you.”
“As long as they didn’t do anything dumb and hurt themselves.”
“Well—”
“But you’re expecting us to be there to protect them and see that they don’t get injured, along with doing our own work.”
“I know it’s asking something extra, but I’ll be there, too, so I could do a lot of the supervision and help out—I was a pretty good roper in my day.”
“Sure. And you were a champion rider. I get that. What about the legal liabilities? Will the parents sign a waiver and a consent form, just in case something does happen?”
“People stay at working guest ranches all the time, Ford. They agree to hold the owner and the ranch workers blameless in case of injuries or...or death...if something happens. We would cover the Circle M and the Marshalls the same way. The parents would agree to it. And we’d have a medical consent form in case we needed care fast.”
“There is no fast medical care in Bisons Creek.”
“Ah, but there you’re wrong. We have a doctor coming to town this summer, and she’ll be opening her own clinic. If something happened, we’d be just a few minutes away.”
“Progress is wonderful,” he said drily. “So these kids, who aren’t the most upstanding citizens, are going to live and work at the ranch for three months, with access to our animals, our equipment, tools and house. We’re supposed to trust they won’t do any damage or take anything. We have computers, you know. Cell phones. TVs and radios and audio equipment. There’s beer in the fridge, whiskey in the sideboard. But you believe your kids will be immune to the temptations.”
Caroline was quiet for a moment, staring down at the table in front of her. Then she looked up at him. “I have to be honest—three of the boys were caught stealing candy from a gas station a few weeks ago. The manager took them to court, for their own good, he said.”
Ford sat up straight in his chair. “And you want to bring them into our home?”
“They’re boys, Ford. Little more than children. The judge was going to sentence them to community service all summer, but I persuaded her to let me try this program. I want to show these kids where choosing the right side can take you. I think they will be immune because bad behavior will carry penalties.”
“What kind of penalties?”
“If they fail this program, they return to the court system and end up with a juvenile record. They don’t deserve that. They’re not bad. Just confused.”
He blew out a deep breath, just as Angie sidled up to their table. “Dessert?”
Caroline shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.”
But Ford nodded. “Kate’s apple pie? With ice cream?”
“Coming up.”
He’d welcomed the interruption, though it only delayed the inevitable. He wasn’t a man who went around kicking puppies. But right now he felt like one.
Propping his elbows on the table, he captured Caroline’s gaze with his. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I served several internships in family law, dealing with these kinds of kids. I mentored them. I wrote briefs for their court appearances. I investigated their home lives, their schools, their friends. Do you know what I saw?”
“What?”
“Nine out of ten didn’t give a damn about what we were doing for them. And the ones who did couldn’t escape, even if they wanted to. I don’t think I caused meaningful change for a single kid I worked with.”
Caroline clasped her hands together on the table. “That’s terribly sad. But does it mean you stop trying?”
He wasn’t getting through to her. “Why are you so determined to implement this plan? What do you hope to gain?”
Her chin lifted, and a stubborn light came into her eyes. “Why are you so opposed to it?”
Ford shook his head. “You first.”
She blew out a short breath. “I honestly believe that everybody deserves a chance to succeed, regardless of their income, their family situation, their history. Kids in particular ought to be offered options for a better life. What I hope to gain is a better place to live for all of us.”
“So you’re basically trying to save the world?” He meant it as a joke, to ease the tension.
Caroline didn’t smile. “Somebody needs to. Why not me...and the Marshall brothers?”
“Because some people can’t be saved.” Ford folded his arms across his chest. “No matter what you do for them, they break the rules out of self-interest and simple, downright meanness. In the process, they often hurt the people around them, including the ones trying to help them.”
“These are kids, Ford. They’re not old enough for meanness.”
“This is my family, Caroline. This is our home, which I spend my life working to protect. You may believe a signature on a release form reduces our liability. As an attorney, I can tell you that lawsuits are easy to file and hard to evade. An injured kid could cost us thousands, even hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe cost us the ranch itself. More important, our reputations are vulnerable in this situation. One of those kids could claim they were molested on the ranch, and all of us would become suspect. Frankly, I’ve come too far in my professional and personal life to take that risk lightly. My brothers are good men—I would hate for them to deal with that kind of public harassment. You wouldn’t be immune, either. Your job—your whole life—could be ruined because of a teenager’s whim.”
She didn’t flinch. “I think it’s worth taking the chance.”
“I disagree.”
“You’re saying no.” Her face was pale, her big eyes wider than ever and, as he watched, they started to shine with unshed tears.
He let his arms relax, resting his fingertips on the table. “I’m really sorry, Caroline. I understand what this means to you, what you hope it might mean to the kids. But I’m saying—”
Angie slid a saucer laden with pie and a huge scoop of ice cream across the table in front of him. “Jerk,” she said before walking away.
He used his index finger to move the scoop of ice cream from the table back on top of the pie. “What I’m saying is that I’ll vote no when the time comes.”
Caroline frowned. “Vote?”
“That’s how the Marshalls make decisions.” Ford pushed the plate away. He’d lost his appetite. “Everybody gets a vote on something that affects the ranch as a whole. Like this program of yours.”
“What do you do if there’s a tie?”
“Wyatt’s the boss, so he gets an extra vote if he wants one.”
Hope replaced despair in Caroline’s pretty face. “So even if your vote is against me, there’s still a chance that the Marshalls as a family would agree?”
Ford sat forward, resting his arms on the table. “My vote isn’t against you.”
There wasn’t anything about Caroline to vote against, that he could