Sweet Mountain Rancher

Nate’s mood began to lift. It wasn’t so bad, being stuck out here in the barn. He’d spared no expense to equip it with every creature comfort for the horses. In the loft, he’d even constructed a sparsely furnished bedroom and a closet-sized bathroom, and installed grates in the floor to allow heat to rise from the propane-fueled furnace. On the rare occasion one of his mares had difficulty foaling, he wanted to remain nearby, and the space had served its purpose well.

Seated on the corner of his cot, Nate toed off his work boots and changed into dry jeans and a flannel shirt. Everything, even the socks, smelled like mothballs, but the scent was far preferable to the stale, fusty odor of mold or mildew. Back in the main area of the barn, he filled the aluminum coffeepot with water and grounds and set it to boil on the two-burner hotplate. He kept a stash of energy bars in the metal box atop the minifridge, and unless one of the ranch hands had raided it, he’d have one for supper. Not his first choice, but unless he was seriously mistaken, this storm had no intention of letting up anytime soon. He’d take granola over hitting the hay on an empty stomach.

The horses didn’t seem to mind having their nosy, two-legged Pa meander the barn, as evidenced by soft snorts, blows and nickers. There might be a cougar on the prowl, but for the moment, all was well at the Double M.

Sated by his makeshift meal, which he washed down with strong black coffee, Nate lay back on the cot and closed his eyes. Rain pelting the barn’s metal roof made him drowsy.

He remembered the year when he, Zach and Sam had ridden to the Double M’s north boundary to round up two runaway calves. They’d been in high school, and felt proud and manly, being out there on their own. They’d searched until they ran out of daylight, then set up camp and bedded down under the starry sky. Nate was the first to wake up, and after stoking the fire, he’d gone looking for sticks and twigs to get it hot enough to brew their coffee and heat up the bacon biscuits Zach’s mom had packed them. Nate didn’t know what made him look up, but when he did, the breath froze in his lungs. A huge male cougar stood on a rocky outcropping nearby, head high and powerful shoulder muscles undulating under thick, reddish-brown fur. Nate had reached for his revolver, realizing too late that he’d left it near his bedroll. Thankfully, in the blink of an eye, the cat had disappeared, leaving Nate to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

His cell phone rang, startling him so badly he sat straight up on the cot. He didn’t recognize the number and answered with a terse “Yeah?”

A slight pause, and then, “Oh. I’m so sorry to disturb you. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

Eden. “It’s not the wrong number,” he said, softening his tone. “This lousy storm has me stuck out here in the barn. Guess I drifted off and the phone surprised me.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “If I hang up, you can pick right up where you left off.”

Was she kidding? Go back to that pins-and-needles cougar memory, when he could talk with an angel?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he admitted. “This cougar stuff has us all a little edgy.” And so did his reference to her as an angel.

“Cougar stuff?”

He gave her an abbreviated version, leaving out some of the gorier details to avoid scaring her. “I’m sure it’s holed up somewhere in this weather, though, so for the time being, it’s not a concern.”

Liar. Anyone with a functioning brain would be worried, especially after finding that mutilated horse. But she hadn’t called to listen to his woes. Just as well. He wasn’t big on chitchat, either.

“So...what’s up?”

“The boys and I have been talking,” she said hesitantly, “and we’d like you to come for supper. Tomorrow night, if you’re available. I’m making their favorite. Spaghetti and meatballs.”

He’d planned to attend a town hall meeting the next night to discuss possible solutions to traffic problems caused by cattle getting loose. His father and uncles refused to go, citing the fact that their livestock rarely got out, and when the cows did stray, they never went too far for too long. He wouldn’t be missing out on anything he hadn’t heard before anyway.

“Just so happens spaghetti and meatballs is one of my favorites, too. What time do you want me there?”

“Well, we sit down at five thirty, but you’re welcome to get here anytime after four. I’ll put you to work chopping vegetables for the salad.”

An hour and a half, alone in the kitchen with Eden Quinn? Sure beat listening to city folk moan and groan about cow poo on the highway!

“What can I bring? Dessert? Garlic bread?”

“Just your appetite.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it brightened his gloomy mood. “See you tomorrow, then. If this storm doesn’t wash out the road.”

“It wouldn’t dare,” she said before hanging up.

Nate stared at his phone for a second or two before hitting End. A few days had passed since he’d offered to help her out financially. More than enough time for her to look into other options. He wondered if sometime between dessert and drying the last spaghetti plate she’d tell him how many hoops she’d jumped through to solve the housing problem on her own. He checked his watch. By his estimate, he didn’t have much time to figure out how to convince her it was a no-strings offer. He’d known her just long enough to understand that Eden was a proud, independent woman who’d do just about anything for those kids. Truth was, he wouldn’t mind a few strings, provided they kept her close by, at least until he got to know her better. She might have more baggage than an airport carousel, and common sense warned him to keep a safe distance, at least until he found out why, every now and then, her big gray eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn’t define.

* * *

EVEN BEFORE HE climbed out of his pickup, Nate felt calm. He took note of flowers planted on both sides of the brick path that made the short walk to the front porch of Latimer House colorful and welcoming. He rang the bell, and while waiting for someone to answer, he took in the row of mismatched rocking chairs lining the white clapboard facade. Nate counted six before the wide wooden door opened.

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