The Texas Rancher's Return
“A baby bison?” Audie’s pigtails bobbed. “Are they cute?”
Brooke thought of the massive head with the enormous brown eyes that stared her down on the road and tried to imagine it miniaturized into baby form. Impressive, maybe, but not cute. Then again, the man who’d ridden to her aid could be called both impressive and cute, if she were inclined to classify, but there were several dozen professional reasons not to pursue that avenue.
“So when I can meet them?”
“The ranchers?” Gunner Buckton didn’t look like the kind of man to take a shine to field trips.
“No, silly, the mama bison. That’d make the best report ever—totally better than armadillos. Maria and I would get an A for sure. Please, Mom? Can I?”
Suddenly, this didn’t seem like the academic ace in the hole anymore. For all her community-relations skills, Buckton didn’t seem likely to cooperate if she came to him with a request for an “up close and personal” with one of his herd. “I don’t know.”
“I could interview the man who owns her. I could interview the mama bison. Get my picture with her. That’d be loads better than just looking stuff up on the internet. Maria would just die if we could add that to our report.”
The eagerness in Audie’s eyes made Brooke want to cringe. “He’s just someone Mommy met on the road. I don’t think he’ll say yes.”
“I thought you told me sometimes your job was to help people say yes to things.”
Brooke suddenly regretted her oversimplified explanation of corporate community relations. “That’s true, but maybe not in this case. The rancher and the company I work for are...well, we’re sort of in an argument.” She could think of no other way to explain real-estate conflicts to an eight-year-old bent on bison interaction. Still, the timing seemed too good to ignore. “Well,” she hedged, “we’d have to ask very nicely and be okay if he said no.”
Audie licked taco sauce off her thumb. “I could do that. I could tell him it’s for school and everything. Could we ask tomorrow? I’d give anything to tell Maria I met a bison for real when we get back on Monday.”
Even if he declined, Gunner Buckton at least didn’t seem like the kind of man to be mean to an eight-year-old asking to do a school report. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? “Okay, honey. But remember, he may say no.”
Audie rolled her eyes. “I get that, Mom. You said it already.”
“Tell you what—if he does, maybe I can look around online and find another bison rancher.” Were there many around? Cattle, yes, but bison? She’d better come up with some truly persuasive tactic when she made that call.
Audie smiled. “You’re the best, Mom.” She air-kissed Brooke in the way she’d seen two celebrities do on television the other night. Audie was growing up too fast. Still, the shift from “I hate it when you’re late” to “You’re the best” was a welcome change on a Friday night. Now all she needed was a small yes from one cooperative bison and her willing owner—that’s not too much to ask, is it, Lord?
* * *
Gunner was draining the last of his Saturday morning coffee when Gran swept into the kitchen with a peculiar expression on her face. She held her cane in one hand and the cordless phone in the other. “Gunner, you have a young lady asking for you on the phone.”
Gunner made a split-second mental survey of the young women likely to ring him up before 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday and came up empty. Oh, sure, back in the day the list might have been long, but he wasn’t that guy anymore. He certainly couldn’t think of any current females who would produce the amusement currently sparkling in Gran’s eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what was coming when he took the phone. “Buckton here.”
“Mr. Buckton?”
Gunner felt his eyes pop at the child’s voice. Granny stifled a giggle. When she’d said young lady, he sure wasn’t thinking this young. “Yes?”
The little voice grew serious. “My name is Audrey Calder, and my mom met you and Daisy on the road yesterday.”
So Brooke Calder was indeed a mom. This was getting more interesting by the minute. “I remember.”
“Well, it just so happens Maria and I want to do a report on bison for our native Texan animals project. Bison are much better than armadillos, don’t you think? I’m in the third grade.”
Gunner ran one hand down his face. What third grader started a sentence with it just so happens?
“Not a big fan of armadillos myself. A report on bison, huh?”
“Your grandma sounds really nice. I told her I wanted to interview Daisy, and she said I had to ask you. Can I talk to Daisy for my school report?” Then as if it had just occurred to her that no one conversed with a bison—no one except Billy, that was—she added, “Oh, and you, too. Mom told me Daisy’s about to be a mommy. Maybe you could tell me more about that.”
Well, well, Brooke Calder, seems you belong in Markham’s office after all, Gunner thought. What a flawless scheme. He’d promised himself that he’d never let anyone from DelTex so much as pass through the gate onto his ranch—but what kind of lout would say no to a third grader? Had Brooke called, he might have hung up on her. But Gran would have his hide if he was rude to Audrey and turned down a little girl’s science project.
Gunner was cornered, and he knew it. Brooke Calder had managed to box him in as neatly as Daisy had blocked the car on the road yesterday. “You’re right. Daisy’ll calve soon. Maybe real soon.” A shred of annoyance at being so manipulated kept him from saying yes right away. And he was ashamed of it immediately. Mean was no real way to act toward a little girl—even if her mama worked for the enemy.
“So you’re saying I should come right away? Like today? Are they cute?”
Today? How did this turn into an immediate issue? “Are who cute?”
“Baby bison. Mama said Daisy was huge and scary.” At this, Gunner could hear Brooke gasp and shush her daughter on the other end of the line. That made him feel a bit better—served that woman right after putting her daughter on the phone like this.
“Yeah,” Gunner stammered, remembering Audrey’s original question, “I suppose bison calves are cute. Cuter than their mamas, I guess.” He was currently calculating just how much like her bold-as-brass mama little Audrey Calder was. He shot a glance toward Gran, who was giving him a look that warned “Don’t you dare turn that sweet little girl down.”
“Okay, you can come,” he said, feeling the invitation settle to the bottom of his stomach like a boulder of imminent regret. “How about after lunch?”
The squeal that filled the phone made Gunner pull the handset away from his ear and cringe. It made Gran grin. “Thanks, Mister Buckton. I’ll have the best science report in the whole class ’cause of this!”
Did she have to sound absolutely adorable? Ten minutes with Gran and the tyke would probably have his grandmother talked into a full-scale ranch tour for the whole class. The Blue Thorn, overrun with little kids—the notion made him ill. Gunner pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing the kitchen floor. “We’ll do our best to help you with your report, Audrey.”
“Call me Audie. Everyone does. I just said Audrey to be formal-like when making my request. After today, we’ll be friends.”
I highly doubt that, Gunner thought silently, scowling, shutting his eyes and reminding himself this was an innocent little girl who had no way of knowing the inconvenience she was about to cause. He was about to let someone from DelTex onto Blue Thorn land—Dad ought to be turning over in his grave right about now. “We’ll see you about 1:30? Check with your mama if that’s okay.” He hoped that would prevent Brooke from getting on the phone. He wasn’t sure he could resist a cutting remark—or six—if he spoke with her directly at the moment.
Confirmation acquired, Audie said an excruciatingly cheerful goodbye, insisting she’d “count the minutes” until 1:30. Gunner hung up the phone and tried to think of every possible reason he had to ride into town this afternoon.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gran narrowed her eyes as she took the handset from him.
“What?”
“I can see you conniving ways to get out of being here when they arrive. I can read you like you have a neon sign blinking over your head, son.” She put the phone down on the table. “If you’re the head of Blue Thorn, you host its guests.”
The head of Blue Thorn. Every day he felt what was asked of him as the head of Blue Thorn Ranch. The weight of proving himself beyond his rebellious past, the pressure to keep the ranch alive and thriving and in the family. It all kept him up nights. Gran had said she was on his side, had begged him to come home and take things over, but he could tell she was still hanging on to a bit of reserve—that she wasn’t totally convinced he could handle the job. He deserved that doubt.
Gunner retreated to the coffeepot. “Gran, do you have any idea who that was?”
“It was a sweet little girl doing a third-grade report on native Texan animals. Finally, a child who cares to do schoolwork beyond looking things up on a computer! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to dodge her the way you were thinking.”
“The person who ought to be ashamed is that darling little girl’s mother. Brooke Calder works for Markham. At DelTex. I met her yesterday when Daisy got out and blocked her car back on the west road. DelTex is...”
Gran waved a hand in Gunner’s face. “I know very well what DelTex is. I hardly think you can put a stubborn bison down to corporate maneuvers. Or a third-grade girl, for that matter.”
“That third-grade girl’s mama put her up to this.”
“Her mama fixed it so that her teacher assigned a report on native species and talked her into choosing bison and opened the northwest gate so Daisy walked out onto the road in front of her car?” Gran crossed her arms over her chest and got that look on her face, that guilt-inducing “what’s gotten into you?” stare of which Adele Buckton was a master. “That’s what you think?”
“Could be.” It wasn’t as far-fetched as Gran made it sound. Those big development companies would probably try anything to get what they wanted. How many times had gifts arrived at the house or some oh-so-friendly DelTex exec tried to invite himself onto the ranch in the name of “opening a dialogue”? What was to stop them from finding someone who fit his ideal of an attractive woman and sending her out onto his west road? Brooke Calder would probably earn herself a raise for conniving her way onto Blue Thorn land. “You know those people from DelTex have tried all kinds of ways to get their boots on our acreage. This could just be one more. There’s an awful lot of money at stake here, Gran.”
Gran didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to the cabinet and began to pull out cookie sheets. “What are you doing?” he balked, swallowing the urge to snatch the flat pans from her hands. This wasn’t a social call; this was likely a spy mission.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Gran said, eying him. “We have a child coming to the ranch. I’m baking some cookies.”
Gunner started to formulate a long list of reasons why that was a whopping bad idea, but the look from his grandmother silenced him. No matter what the land deed now said, Gran was still the final word on things at the Blue Thorn. If she could read him as well as she claimed, then Gran already knew what he thought of her plans to ply the Calders with cookies. His opinion on hospitality clearly didn’t matter, for she began to hum “There’ll Be Peace in the Valley” as she walked into the pantry for ingredients.
An earthquake. That ought to do it. Just send a small earthquake about 1:00 p.m., Lord, so I can call this whole circus to a halt. Gunner settled his hat on his head, muttering about pushy little girls and stubborn old women. Tornado, thunderstorm—I ain’t picky, Lord. Just get me out of this.
Chapter Three
“Why do they call it the Blue Thorn Ranch?” Audie piped up from the backseat as Brooke pulled her little car up to the gate that marked the ranch’s entrance. A tall framework of timbers with BT at the center stood over a metal gate that joined two stretches of sturdy metal fencing.
“Every member of the Buckton family has bright blue eyes,” Brooke answered. “But I don’t know about the thorn part—we’ll have to ask.” Brooke punched a button on the keypad mounted by the drive, announced herself and the gates slid open along the fence line. A wide-open landscape lay before them, mounds of grass stretching between clusters of trees. Ahead and to the left, the stone house and a series of outbuildings and barns formed the family compound.
“Look.” Brooke pointed to three bison enjoying the shade of a large tree.
“I see them!” Audie cheered. “Wow, they are big.”
Audie began scribbling in a small notebook, a tiny pink-hued reporter hungry for her story. Even if she had her reservations, Brooke couldn’t have denied her daughter this field trip for all the world. Besides, she reasoned with herself, if Buckton was really as grumpy as her earlier encounter led her to believe, at least the grandmother sounded friendly. Adele Buckton was something of a legend in these parts, one of the old-school ranching families with ties to the land that went back something like four generations. In its heyday, Blue Thorn Ranch had been twice its current size and home to some of the state’s prize cattle. Adele Buckton’s social and philanthropic standing still cast a shadow that was long and wide, even in the woman’s advancing years.
The ranch clearly had seen better days, with some of its former grandeur showing signs of wear and tear, but everything was solidly durable and clearly built to last. Some ranches were all about the flash—big showy things with massive houses to match. This place seemed... Authentic was the word that came to mind. Sturdy, sensible, determined to stick out the tough times—that was how the place felt as Brooke turned her car up the path toward the house. She looked forward to meeting Adele Buckton.
“I hope Daisy’s feeling friendly today,” Audie said, reaching into her pink gingham backpack. “I brought her some Goldfish just in case she’s hungry.” She produced a baggie of the snack crackers, holding it high so Brooke could see it in the rearview mirror.
Brooke pictured the reaction that would get from Buckton—and it wasn’t a charmed smile. “I’m not so sure bison go for Goldfish, honey. Maybe your first question to Mr. Buckton should be to ask what she likes to eat.”
“Oh, that’s a good one.” Audie scribbled a note to herself, tongue sticking out in eight-year-old journalistic integrity. “But it’s only three index cards and a diorama, so I don’t think I’ll need to know much.”
The main house was made of tan stone, wrapped with a huge front porch stretching on either side of a big front door. Dormer windows peeked from the second story, and a pair of ancient trees threw dappled shadows onto the front lawn. A picnic table was set with a blue gingham tablecloth and a tin pitcher of wildflowers. The place gave off all the welcome Gunner’s tone had not.
This visit was a risk, but Brooke couldn’t ever resist a chance to indulge Audie’s curiosity. Her daughter’s inquisitive nature and bold personality were so very much like her daddy’s that it never failed to raise a lump in Brooke’s throat. So what if it meant pressing a favor from a grump like Gunner Buckton?
He came out onto the house’s wide front porch, his steps the lazy saunter Brooke associated with all Texas cowboys. A big man, he seemed to tower over his grandmother as she came out beside him, leaning heavily on a blond wood cane with a silver handle.
Getting out of the car, Brooke took the walk up to the porch to take in the man she’d only briefly met yesterday. Gunner’s bright blue eyes were just like the older woman’s, now that she could clearly see his face rather than squinting up at him as she had yesterday. Mr. Markham had indeed told her about the family trait of turquoise eyes—all the Buckton children and grandchildren had them. The grandmother’s were warm, friendly and sparkling. Gunner’s were cool, clear and intense. The kind of eyes you couldn’t stop looking at even though they made you uneasy.
As they reached the porch, Brooke found herself meeting the man’s gaze with a friendly “let’s just all try to get along” expression.
“Afternoon,” he said in a dry tone that translated roughly to I know that you know that I don’t want to do this.
Audie, as she always did, plowed full speed ahead. “Hi there. I’m Audie Calder, and I’m here to interview Daisy.” She waltzed herself right up the pair of low stairs to Mrs. Buckton—smart choice, Brooke mused to herself—and extended a hand.
“And so you are.” Adele Buckton’s face broke into a broad smile. “I am so very pleased to meet you, young lady. I like a gal who goes at her research with gusto.”
Brooke walked up to Gunner and said quietly, “Thanks for this, but I do remember you saying Daisy could be irritable. Are you sure this will be okay?”
Gunner pushed his hat back on his head. “For any other animal I’d say maybe it would be a problem. We do have plenty of bison who don’t much take to folks. Only, I think Daisy will be okay. And whatever questions Daisy fails to answer—” his eyes took on just a sliver of a cordiality “—Gran and I can fill in the blanks.”
“Can I get my picture with her? For the report?” Audie asked.
“I think we can manage that,” Mrs. Buckton replied. “And when we’re done, you just happened to come on a day when I made cookies.”
Gunner raised one eyebrow in a suspicious glance at his grandmother that told Brooke just how much of a “coincidence” that really was.
“Thank you,” Brooke offered again, meaning it. “I know you’re busy and...”
“Nothin’ to it.” Gunner cut her off. “We’re all about community awareness out here.” The words sounded recited, as if he didn’t really mean them.
“Really?” she replied. “I didn’t take you as the kind to welcome visitors.”
“I’m not the kind to welcome DelTex, if that’s what you mean.”
Brooke stood as tall as she could. “I’m not here from DelTex, Mr. Buckton. I’m just a mom with a little girl who wants to do a school report.”
Gunner pushed out a breath. “Well, in that case, more people need to understand how important the bison are and value them. The bison—and all of us—need the land to thrive. That’s something people need to understand.”
“Especially third graders,” Audie offered.
“And maybe a few big companies I could name,” Gunner added in low tones.
Brooke squared her shoulders, trying not to feel small against the man’s broad stance. Having met the grandmother, she noted his features took on an odd duality—so like Mrs. Buckton’s and yet with such a different attitude. “How about,” she said as quietly as she could, “we agree to leave the politics out of this and just let a little girl write a report?”
He shot her a dubious look, crossing his lean arms over his broad chest as Mrs. Buckton took Audie’s hand and they stepped down off the porch to walk toward a series of outbuildings. “Is that even possible?” he said the moment the pair was out of earshot.
“Do you really think I set this up as some kind of stunt for work? That I’d use my own daughter to weasel my way onto your land?”
His resulting expression told her that was exactly what Gunner Buckton thought. “You work for DelTex.”
“Look, your family may have a file inches thick and a long, thorny—” she used the word on purpose “—history with my boss, but I assure you, I haven’t studied it. That’s not even my department, and at this moment it’s definitely not my concern. This is about Mrs. Cleydon’s third-grade class and nothing else. If you want to blame someone for setting the whole thing in motion, blame Daisy.”
“Daisy did what bison do. You’re the one who sicced your daughter on my grandma.”
Brooke put her hand to her forehead. “She said she needed to learn about buffalo and I’d run into a buffalo...bison,” she corrected when his eyes narrowed, “just hours earlier. Any parent would have done the same thing.”
“Would any parent have let her daughter do the asking so that I’d look like a heel if I said no?”
He had her there. Brooke knew letting Audie make the call worked in her favor. But the truth was Audie was fearless and wanted to make the call. Brooke hadn’t talked Audie into anything, but she was guilty of knowing that putting Audie on the phone increased her chances of success. Really, was that so awful if it made today’s visit possible?
An argument wouldn’t help Audie get her interview, so Brooke squelched her frustration at Gunner and let out a long, slow exhale. “Are you going to let Audie meet Daisy? Because if you’re not, then I think it’s best I go get her now. But,” she added with an effort to keep the edge out of her voice, “I’d really appreciate if you would.”
Gunner exhaled himself, although it sounded far too much like a hiss through his teeth. “No, I’ll do it. I’d never hear the end of it from Gran if I didn’t.” He turned to look at her. “I have your word this isn’t a setup?”
It was common knowledge that there was no love lost between the Bucktons and Mr. Markham, but it was a little chilling to see how deep the enmity ran. Brooke wasn’t fool enough to miss that her boss had his share of critics—every successful man did—but she couldn’t shake the way this man’s glare settled in the pit of her stomach. “I promise you this is just what it seems—a little girl doing a project for school. One she’s really excited about.”
Brooke lowered her voice and swallowed her pride. “Since my husband died, things have been a bit on the tight side, and I don’t get to pull off many amazing-mom moments. I’d be grateful if we could make this one stick.”
A squeal, followed by peals of little-girl-and-old-lady laughter, came from the barn. “Okay,” Gunner said. He gave her a look just a few notches softer than his previous glare. “For science and all.”
“For science,” she echoed as they stepped off the porch in unison. And not-so-amazing single moms everywhere, she added silently.
* * *
Audie looked shocked once they turned the corner to the small fenced-in yard where Daisy was currently being held to keep her wandering tendencies in check. “Mr. Buckton, she’s peeling!”
Gunner had to laugh at that. Daisy’s coat was sloughing off in big batches, but he’d never thought of it as peeling before. “Well, actually, she’s just losing her winter coat. It’s called molting.”
“Does it hurt?”
“I suppose it itches. She and the other bison rub up against things to help the old hair come off.”
Audie cocked her head to one side, braids bobbing. “Doesn’t she need her hair?”
“Yes, but not that hair. It’s too thick for spring.” Okay, so maybe he was enjoying this a tiny bit. Still, he wasn’t going to give Brooke Calder the satisfaction of letting it show. He pointed to Daisy as she stood on the far side of the pen. “Daisy has lots of different kinds of hair on her body, which she uses in lots of different ways.” Audie stood on the fence rails, her tiny shoulders coming up to Gunner’s chest as he pointed out parts of the animal. “The big long eyelashes keep the dust out of her eyes so she can see. And even though she’s molting out of her winter layer now, she still has her undercoat—that’s the thick fuzzy part underneath that keeps her cool in the summer and warm in the winter.”
Audie turned to look at Gunner, wobbling enough on the fence to make Brooke send a protective arm out around her daughter. As she stood on Audie’s other side, Gunner noticed that Brooke wasn’t much taller than her boosted-up daughter. She might barely meet his shoulder if she stood on tiptoe. Her hair was a creamy honey-blond—much lighter than the dark brown of her daughter’s braids, but they looked a lot alike. Except for the eyes—the eyes were totally different. Audie had big brown eyes, whereas Brooke’s were a compelling hazel-green. If DelTex had handpicked her to appeal to him, they’d done their homework. She wasn’t one of those fussy, bottle-blonde women many men liked; he preferred her down-home, sensible kind of cute. Had he met her under other circumstances, if she worked anywhere but where she worked, he would definitely have taken an interest. As it was, cute enemies were still enemies. And kids? Not really his thing.