To Court A Cowgirl. Jeannie Watt
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According to the doctor, his dad didn’t need a full-time caretaker but he did need someone close by, so Jason and Kate had decided that at least one of them would be there for the majority of the time. That didn’t sit well with Max. He wanted his kids close. Very close. But not watching over him. No, he was supposed to be watching over them and since his illness, his need to intrude into their lives had increased markedly. Thus the visit to Ray, although not entirely for the reason his father had suggested. He wanted a property where he could disappear when he came back home; close enough to town to easily spend time with his dad, but not so close that they ended up at each other’s throats. Like they always did.
Hopefully Ray could help him with that problem.
* * *
ALLIE BRODY NEVER in a zillion years imagined herself moving back to the Lightning Creek Ranch, yet here she was, lugging her suitcase up the front steps of her childhood home. The place where her father died, the place where her marriage imploded.
She should have her head examined.
No. She should toughen up. Her relationship with the Lightning Creek had never been easy, but it was time for her to make peace with the family ranch, especially since her little sisters were hell-bent on living there, or nearby in the case of Dani, whose husband owned the Staley house a mile to the north.
Allie set down her suitcase on the newly painted porch and dug out the key from her pocket—the same key her mother entrusted to her seventeen years ago, after her father’s untimely death from a heart attack, when she’d become second in command of the family. She drew in a breath and pushed open the door.
The house had been practically empty when she’d moved out after her divorce two years ago—what her ex-husband, Kyle, hadn’t claimed as his own she’d sold to help pay her college expenses—but her sisters Dani and Jolie had once again filled the rooms of the house with furniture and bric-a-brac. Well, Jolie more than Dani. Her middle sister had been quite comfortable with one chair and a bed, pouring her money into savings for the giant indoor arena that now stood next to the larger of their two barns. But now Dani was on the other side of the country and Jolie was on the other side of the state. Mel, the second oldest of the four sisters, was in New Mexico, and Allie was right where she swore she would never be—on the ranch, trying to hold things together yet again until her sisters returned to take up the reins.
For a moment she stood near the door, wondering if she could do this.
Loss.
That was what this ranch, this house, represented to her. Deep and painful loss.
Allie put her hands to her temples. She was strong. She could do this. Take back this house. As she saw it, she had two choices—move into the Staley house and visit the ranch twice a day to feed and care for livestock, or man up, pour herself a shot of whiskey, toast the past and head into the future here. In this house. Her unwanted birthright. Her sisters had made peace with the ranch. In fact, they’d all thrived there. In the place where she’d lost her husband, they’d all three found theirs.
Allie walked into the kitchen, opened the cupboard next to the refrigerator and, sure enough, there was a bottle of Jameson right where she had left it during her brief Christmas visit. Her sisters were beer and wine women, but on the occasions she imbibed, she was whiskey all the way, and right now only one small thing stood between herself and toasting the past. A shot glass.
After a few minutes of futile searching, Allie reached for a water tumbler. A glass was a glass and all that really mattered was the amount of alcohol poured in. Granted, a toast to the future in a water glass lacked the panache of tossing back a shot, but one had to work with what was at hand.
She carried the bottle and glass into the living room and set them on the sideboard beneath one of her more colorful oil paintings—a painting that had been stored in the attic with several others until Jolie moved home. Truth be told, Allie wasn’t wild about having her artwork back on the walls, but kept her mouth shut because she didn’t live at the ranch permanently and her sisters viewed her artwork differently than she did. Maybe it was good to have it up—another way to face the past, acknowledge and move on.
She opened the bottle and had just started to pour when the sound of footsteps on the front porch startled her, causing her to slosh a healthy amount of liquid both into the glass and onto the table.
What the hell? Or rather who the hell?
The Lightning Creek was not on the road to anywhere, except for the vacant Staley house, so anyone who was at the ranch had come for a specific purpose. She only hoped it was a friendly one.
Allie set down the bottle and crossed the living room, tamping down stirrings of apprehension. She paused at the window to peer out through the crack between the curtains, then took a quick step back. The guy on her porch was, in a word, big. He also seemed oddly familiar, even though Allie was fairly certain she didn’t know anyone that tall. Then it struck her.
Jason Hudson?
No. Way.
But when she peeked through the curtains again, it was indeed the hometown hero on the other side of her door. She’d just seen him on TV a few days ago in a campy commercial, doing the wide-receiver thing, catching pizzas thrown by his quarterback. So what was he doing on her porch?
It had to be a lost dog or something.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, tilting her head back to meet Jason’s gaze. He smiled at her. “Hi, Allie. Jason Hudson. I assume you remember me?”
She did. She remembered him using that crooked smile and charming expression to get pretty much anything he wanted after he and his wealthy California family had arrived in the Eagle Valley at the beginning of her junior year—including the valedictorian scholarship that should have been hers. She no longer held a grudge, but at the time she’d been outraged that when their GPAs had tied, he’d been given the top spot and she’d received salutatorian. She’d done a lot more extra curriculars...but he’d helped them win the state football championship. Sports topped good work.
“I do,” she said. Who in this town didn’t? Their big claim to fame—a professional football player. She took hold of the edge of the door as she gave him a once-over. He was taller than she remembered and solidly built, which was to be expected given his profession. He was also better looking than he’d been back in the day. His face had developed some fascinating planes and angles and his once blond hair had gone dark, which only seemed to make his eyes seem bluer. A charmer and a looker. Allie was no longer impressed by either description, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t affected by the guy’s sheer masculinity. It was all she could do to keep from swallowing dryly.
“What can I do for you?”
He cocked his head. “Any chance I could talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” She stepped back and let him come into the living room, figuring it was unlikely that a recently retired football player was there to do her bodily harm. Besides, they had once been in chess club together—not that he’d ever deigned to speak to her. They had traveled in different social spheres, with the exception of chess club.
“Nice place,” he said, looking around.
She shrugged and said thank you, even if it was all her sisters’ doing. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Your ranch, actually.”
The first red flag popped up. “What about it?”
“I, uh...” He frowned a little as one corner of his mouth quirked. Allie followed his gaze straight to the glass with the splash of amber liquid in the bottom sitting in a puddle of whiskey next to the bottle itself. She looked back at him, raising an eyebrow, daring him to say something. Anything. Like “wow, that’s a giant whiskey glass.”
He did not. Not on the subject of the whiskey anyway. “I heard that you’ve recently considered selling the ranch.”
Allie’s chin slowly rose as her eyes narrowed. “Where’d you hear that?”