The Rancher's Family Wish. Lois Richer
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notice,” she complained.
“Can’t help it. That’s the deal.” Tanner tipped back on the heels of his boots, Stetson in hand, and waited while she deliberated. “There will be twelve of us.”
“All men?” Sophie asked.
“Yes. Does that matter?” She nodded. “Why?” he asked curiously.
“Well, for one thing, women often appreciate different desserts from men, say something like cheesecake over pie,” Sophie explained.
“Pie?” Tanner’s stomach tap-danced in anticipation. “You could make pies for twelve people for tonight?”
“You’d only need three, maybe four.” She tapped her chin. “That’s not the problem.”
“What is?” Could she see he was almost salivating at the mere thought of cinnamon-scented apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream dripping down its sides?
“I have a catering job tonight, which means I couldn’t possibly bake and deliver your pies today.” When she shook her head, strands of shiny chocolate-toned hair flew through the air in an arc then fell back perfectly into place.
Tanner loved chocolate. Even more so now.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”
“But you don’t even know where I live.” He wasn’t giving up so easily.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to bake and deliver,” she said. “If it could be tomorrow—?”
“It has to be today. Maybe I could pick them up. Where do you live?” He noted her hesitation. Why not? She had a couple of kids to think of. “Or perhaps your husband could meet me somewhere with them?”
“I’m a widow.” The note of defiance buried in her comment intrigued Tanner.
“Well, I could pick them up,” he offered. She wrinkled her nose. “Would it make a difference to you if my pastor vouched for me?” Even as Tanner said it, he wondered what his life had come to that he was willing to ask someone to vouch for him in order to get pie.
“I don’t know.” She hesitated.
“The meeting tonight is for our church ushers’ group. I’m head usher so it’s at my place and I’m supplying the food,” he explained before she could say no. “We get together every three months or so to organize the schedule of who’s covering which services when at Tanque Verde First Community Church.”
“Hey, that’s where we go,” Davy said from the backseat.
“I thought you seemed familiar.” The furrow of worry disappeared from Sophie’s forehead. “You’re Burt Green’s successor at Wranglers Ranch.”
She knew Burt? Well, of course she did. Tanner figured pretty well everyone at First Community Church must know about the burly rancher and the transient kids he’d often brought to church.
“I was sorry to hear of Burt’s passing.” Sophie glanced at the van’s clock, hesitated a moment then nodded. “Okay. It’s a deal. You can pick up your dessert at my place in exchange for taking the rabbits. But I’m not promising pie.”
“Oh.” His balloon of hope burst.
“I’ll make you something delicious, though, don’t worry.” Sophie tilted her head toward the rabbits. “I really appreciate this. It’s a great relief to find a home for those guys but—I have to go. My roast is due to come out of the oven.”
“Wait here.” Tanner drove his truck next to her van, loaded the rabbits and promised Beth she could come see them anytime. With Sophie’s address tucked into his shirt pocket, he handed her one of Burt’s cards with the phone number at Wranglers Ranch.
“So you can let me know when I should come and pick up the desserts,” he said. Sophie nodded, fluttered a hand, then quickly drove away.
Chuckling at the goofy sunflower stuck on the van’s rear bumper, Tanner started his engine. Thanks to Sophie, his usher friends were going to get a surprise when they arrived at Wranglers Ranch tonight.
That’s when it occurred to Tanner that he didn’t even know if she was a good cook. For some reason that worry immediately dissipated. Strangely he felt utterly confident that whatever Sophie Armstrong made would be delicious. Tonight was going to be a good meeting.
Tanner gave the doughnut bag on his seat a glare, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. Living on the street in his teens, he’d felt that painful gnawing ache of hunger once too often to ever waste food. Spying a solution, he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it, the doughnuts and a business card to a disheveled man sitting in the parking lot by a light standard, exactly what Tanner would probably be doing if not for Burt Green.
“Hello. Buy yourself a meal to go with these doughnuts. If you need a job come see me at Wranglers Ranch,” he said.
Tanner drove to the exit and left the city limits, marveling at the simplicity of the interaction. Maybe Burt’s teaching wasn’t totally wasted on him.
But that optimism faltered the closer Tanner got to Wranglers Ranch. Whom was he kidding? He didn’t have the first clue how to carry out Burt’s ideas for Wranglers even though the ranch had been his home for the past ten of his almost twenty-six years. Tanner had been thrilled to work alongside Burt, to share in helping the street kids he mentored, kids who wouldn’t or couldn’t fit into the institutions of Tucson. Foster parent Burt, with Social Services’ permission, gladly nurtured each one, feeding, clothing and teaching life skills on his working ranch.
Ten years ago Tanner had been one of those kids. Other kids eventually found their families who’d missed them, wanted them back. Tanner was the only one who’d stayed. Nobody had ever come for him.
“Tanner, God’s given me a new goal,” Burt had announced last June. “I believe He wants us to make Wranglers Ranch into a kind of camp retreat for kids.” The surprise of his words hadn’t diminished even six months later.
Tanner might have been stunned by Burt’s new goal but he’d never doubted his mentor would do it. He’d only been curious about how. Unfortunately a fatal heart attack had kept Burt from turning his goal into reality. Tanner had mourned his mentor, assuming Wranglers Ranch, which had been his home for so long, would be sold. He’d been stunned to learn that Burt had entrusted Tanner with his ranch and the fortune that went with it. Burt’s will had just one condition: Tanner had two years to turn the ranch into a kids’ camp. If he failed, then the ranch would be sold.
Tanner desperately wanted to live up to Burt’s trust in him but he couldn’t figure out how to make the dream happen. He had no difficulty running the ranch. That was easy. But the scope of creating a refuge for kids like the ones Burt had described overwhelmed and intimidated him. In six months he hadn’t made even a tiny dent because he had no idea how to start. Shame over his failure left him feeling unworthy of Burt’s trust. Failure meant he could never repay the enormous debt he owed the man who’d coaxed him off the streets and into a life in which faith in God now filled his world.
Fan into flame the gift of God that is within you, Tanner. In his mind he could hear Burt’s voice repeating the verse from Timothy. Yet even now, after living at Wranglers so long, the meaning of that biblical quote still wasn’t clear to Tanner.
What is the gift that’s within me, Burt? Same old question. Still no answer.
Tanner knew he lacked Burt’s easy ability to reach into a street kid’s heart and help him gain a new perspective. He’d taken a foster parenting course and tons of psychology classes but they hadn’t helped. He had the head knowledge. The problem was, Tanner Johns was a loner, plagued by his past mistakes.
The old insecurities returned as they always did when Tanner thought about his past. Once more he became a painfully shy seven-year-old foster kid, utterly devastated when he’d overheard a social worker say Tanner’s