The Rancher's Homecoming. Cathy McDavid
that so?”
Sam hadn’t heard everything Dr. Murry told them and listened intently as Lindsey repeated the instructions. He’d received not one but two phone calls while at the vet’s. The first from the moving company confirming the arrival of their furniture tomorrow. The second call was from a cattle broker regarding a shipment of calves.
Sam added hiring a livestock manager and locating a string of sound trail horses to his growing task list.
“Chicken’s one of their favorite foods,” Lyndsey said. “And sunflower seeds.”
“Well, we should get along just fine as chicken and sunflower seeds are some of my favorite foods, too.”
She giggled.
Giggled! Sam almost swerved off the road. He hadn’t seen his daughter this happy since before her mother’s accident.
Trisha Wyler had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital after a drunk driver ran a stop sign and T-boned her Buick. Her passenger, on the other hand, lived long enough to confess Trisha’s secret.
Sam didn’t just lose his wife that day—his entire belief system was destroyed in one fell swoop.
His father-in-law was responsible for Sam keeping it together, reminding him daily of Lyndsey and the twenty employees at their three-thousand-acre cattle ranch who depended on him.
Sam went through the motions for six months, a huge, empty hole inside him that no amount of whiskey, angry rages, sympathy from friends and a seven-figure settlement could fill. Then, over a year ago, he returned to the Redding California Hotshots, a seasonal volunteer job he’d loved during the early years of his marriage. Within a few months, he was promoted to crew leader, then captain.
Long, grueling, sweat-filled days battling fires on the front line returned him to the world of the living.
Until the day the fire they were fighting in the Sierra Nevada Mountains jumped the ravine and bore down on the town of Sweetheart.
It was his fault. Had he disobeyed his commanding officer’s orders like he wanted to, he might have saved the town. Saved Annie’s family’s inn. His superiors didn’t hold him responsible but Sam did. Enough for ten people.
He quit the Hotshots a week later and found a real estate agent in Lake Tahoe who knew the Sweetheart area, his plan to return temporarily and assess how he could best help the town recover already in motion.
During one of their phone conversations, the agent mentioned the Gold Nugget Ranch. Sam made the offer the next day sight unseen and paid the full asking price without quibbling. As of tomorrow, he was officially in the hospitality business.
And, apparently, in the baby raccoon business, too. He’d foster a hundred of them if Lyndsey would only giggle again.
While Sam had immersed himself in wilderness firefighting as a means to conquer his grief, his daughter grew further and further apart from him. He hoped their time together in Sweetheart would remedy that. Still, one summer of being an attentive father couldn’t wipe out eighteen months of neglect.
“We need to buy canned cat food,” Lyndsey insisted. Her hand lay protectively on Porky and Daffy. “Dr. Murry said they’re old enough for solid food.”
Did baby raccoons bite? Sam couldn’t remember the vet’s advice. “We will.”
“Tomorrow?”
He thought of his lengthening task list. What was one more item?
“Tomorrow. After the furniture arrives.” He eased onto the main road from the parking lot. It had grown dark outside while they were with the vet.
“How will we warm the milk?” Lyndsey asked.
“The stove works.” If the propane tank was full and if he could locate a pan.
“Where will we get a cage?”
“The feed store might have one.”
“What if they don’t?”
“We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” He could see his words had no effect. Worry lines creased his daughter’s small brow.
Maybe he should call the grief counselor, get some advice on how to handle Lyndsey and her quickly forming attachment to the kits. Heaven knew he hadn’t done well when left to his own devices.
“Ms. Hennessy might have a cage we can use.” Was that still Annie’s name or had she kept her ex-husband’s?
Lyndsey’s face lit up. “Do you think so?”
“Maybe.”
Seriously? Who was he kidding? The inn had burned down to the ground. From what the real estate agent told him, Annie, her mother and grandmother were left with no more than a few hastily gathered personal possessions.
“Or, she might know someone who does,” he suggested, thinking that possibility more likely.
“I want to take Porky and Daffy home to California with us,” Lyndsey promptly announced.
“We already talked about this. You know it’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“They’re wild animals, not pets. Besides, you’ll be busy with school.”
“Benita will help me take care of them.”
Their housekeeper barely tolerated dogs in the house. “Benita has enough to do.”
“We can make a place for them in the backyard. Like at the zoo. With a swimming pool and everything. Dr. Murry said raccoons like water.”
What answer could he give that would make her understand?
“Lyndsey, we can’t take them home. They belong here. In Sweetheart. Living free in the wild.”
“But the woods are all burned and the animals ran away.”
“The trees will grow back and the animals didn’t all run away.”
“They’ll die like their mother and brothers!” Her voice quavered with outrage.
“We’ll turn them over to someone who will take good care of them. Like the wildlife refuge Ms. Hennessy mentioned.”
“I want to see it first.” There was no arguing with her.
Well, she came by it honestly. If Sam wasn’t so bullheaded, he might have realized his marriage was falling apart long ago and taken action—he had no idea what action.
“Fine. I promise. Wherever the baby raccoons go, you’ll see the place first.”
“Kits.”
“Kits,” he corrected himself, aware that round had gone to Lyndsey. “In the meantime, until we leave Sweetheart, you can keep them.” He proceeded slowly through one of the town’s two stoplights.
“I wanna call Grandpa and tell him about Porky and Daffy.”
“When we get back to the mo—” Sam hit the brakes, checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was close behind him.
Annie, her grandmother and a little girl that had to be her daughter were walking along the sidewalk. Annie appeared to be struggling for control. Orla Hennessy, all of seventy-five, if not eighty, went in one direction and the little girl in the other. Neither paid attention to Annie, who’d momentarily stumbled in the confusion.
What in the world were the three of them doing out after dark?
Pulling onto the side of the road, he beeped the horn, thrust the transmission into Park and depressed the emergency brake. “Lyndsey, wait here. Don’t get out, you hear me?”
She sat up in her seat. “Where are you going?”
“To help Ms. Hennessy.