Return To Marker Ranch. Claire McEwen
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chain saw. Her water was the real crime here.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your illegal junkyard, then.”
He stilled. Her blow had hit home. “That’s just low. You know I didn’t steal it. Don’t be like the rest of this town and judge me because of my family.” His smile was gone and his voice was quiet. “I’d expect a little more kindness from the Lori I used to know.”
“Kindness?” Her voice went shrill, and she stopped herself. Tried to breathe. Tried to bring her words lower. “This from the guy who didn’t even bother to knock on my door before he drilled a well over mine?”
“I’m new at this. I didn’t know.”
“It was your responsibility to know.” Kindness. Her rage made her breath catch. How dare he call her unkind, when he’d been so cruel the last time they’d seen each other? “I’ll give you some kindness...by telling you a hard truth about ranching. There is no room for excuses. If you screw up, you’ve got to own up to it and fix the problem right away. Because your land, your animals, your staff, your family, they all need you not to screw up. They rely on you for everything, and your mistakes can affect them in huge ways. So don’t waste your time on excuses. Just fix the problem.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate.”
She gaped at him. He’d always done that. Seen right through her into what was really going on. Lately it felt like every move she made had an extra weight attached to it. The weight of all the people who needed Lone Mountain to survive this damn drought. Who saw ranches going under all around them and were counting on her to pull a miracle out of her pocket.
Tears hit the back of her eyes—an acid burn. No way was she going to cry in front of him.
“I’m doing fine.” She threw the old chain saw in the back of her pickup and jumped into the cab, slamming the door and rolling up the window so she didn’t have to hear him.
But he didn’t speak. Just stood there, stolen Weedwacker in hand. She U-turned in his driveway and cursed when it turned into a bumpy three-pointer, the deep potholes rocking her truck back and forth and making her escape even more undignified. Then, finally, she got straightened out and clattered away.
With stolen glimpses in her rearview mirror, she could see him standing there, so still, watching her leave. When she got to the Keep Out sign, she allowed herself one more glance. Then she rounded the corner and he was out of view. That’s when the tears overflowed—too hot, too much, so she had to jerk her truck to the side of the road and just sit, the back of her hand over her twisted mouth, trying to stop the ancient sobs from coming through.
THAT WENT WELL. Wade dropped the Weedwacker and leaned against the wall of the old shed. Disappointment and frustration surged in a filthy wave that had him turning to slam his fist into the wall, sending splinters of plywood flying.
His dream of ranching was rapidly becoming a disaster. He hadn’t anticipated the size of the mess his dad and brothers had left behind. Piles of stolen property hidden in the sheds and barns, or just lying around in the fields. Remnants of a meth lab in the old homestead cabin up in the woods. Every building in need of massive repair. Every pasture overgrown, every fence half-down. And now his one accomplishment, his brand-new well, had destroyed the water supply of the woman he’d loved since they were kids.
He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have come home. Buddies from the service had gone home to parades, flags waving, the whole town excited to see them. But Wade was a Hoffman, which meant people from his hometown would be happier to see the back of him. Lori included, evidently.
But she had reason for her anger. He could assemble a weapon in seconds, creep through an Afghan desert without being seen, but he had no idea how to run a ranch. He definitely had no idea how to site a well. And now he’d taken her water.
He shouldn’t have hired a driller from out of town. Someone local would have known about Lori’s well. But the local guys were pricey, and Wade was just about broke.
She was right. He should have gone by to talk to her first. He was a decorated veteran, but he was also a coward. He’d treated her so badly when they were young. When he’d taken the comfort she’d offered for his loneliness and fear. And then shoved her as far away as he possibly could, so he’d have the courage to leave.
He owed her a mile-long apology. He’d driven to her ranch to try to make amends a few times since he’d come home. But the anxiety that had dogged him ever since he left the army had his hands shaking and his breath scarce as soon as her driveway came in sight. So each time he’d driven on past, not wanting to stand in front of her a weak and shaking fraction of the boy she’d known.
Seeing her today, he hadn’t shaken. Instead he’d felt almost paralyzed. There she was, just like he’d remembered. Petite. Incredibly beautiful. Her sun-streaked hair whipping loose from her ponytail in the hot afternoon breeze. Her dark blue eyes fierce. So strong, tough, smart and good. And he’d stumbled around in his numb brain trying to find even the simplest words. What a fricking disaster.
All these years, all he’d wanted was to get back here and see her again. But what would she think if she knew he was broken, his mind fragmented by the insidious fault lines of PTSD? The pity in her eyes would be confirmation of his worst fear. That no matter how hard he worked, he’d never be whole. That he’d never be man enough for her.
His fist came up even as he tried to will it still. The urge to slam it down a second time was so strong. Don’t feed the dragon, Dr. Miller had told him. Don’t let your mind go too far over the edge of emotion. It’s the PTSD taking over, and you don’t have to let it.
But it was stronger than he was. Almost as if it belonged to someone else, he watched his fist come up and smash the shed wall again. And again. Over and over until he’d knocked a hole clear through and a trickle of blood ran down his wrist. Only then could he pull his arm back, sliding down the wall to sit heavily in the dirt, welcoming the pain that returned him to reality and brought him home to his body. He had no control over the damn dragon. It was running rampant inside. And it fed off moments like this, when he could still see the disappointment in Lori’s eyes.
* * *
“IT’S DRY, LORI.” Bill Cooper climbed down from her water tank and shook his head. “I’m seeing this all over. If this damn drought doesn’t end soon, I honestly don’t know what we’re all gonna do.”
Stay calm, Lori told herself sternly as stress twisted her insides. She was a rancher, and things going wrong was just part of the job description. “I don’t know, either. But what can I do, right now, to get more water to this end of the ranch?”
“Well, you could pump water up from your lower wells. But that will put a pretty big strain on those, and you’ll be in big trouble if they dry out, too.”
“I don’t want to take that risk.” Just the thought made her palms sweat.
Bill nodded. “So you can buy water and have it delivered, or you can drill deeper.”
“Deeper? How deep?”
Bill stared at the ground as if willing it to divulge its secrets. “At least another fifty feet. More likely a hundred or so.”
“Seriously? That far? That will cost me a fortune!”
“Yeah, it’s not cheap.” He shook his head a little mournfully. “When I put this well in for your dad, we were swimming in water. Now the aquifers are so low, you gotta go far down to find it.”
“Can you be sure we’ll get water if we drill?”
“Nope.”
“That’s all you’ve got for me, Bill? Nope?” She slapped her palm against the tank and listened to the empty sound echoing back at her.
Bill