The Rancher's Redemption. Melinda Curtis
grown men. Rachel breathed raggedly as Utah carried her closer.
Dad wouldn’t cower in fear.
The Double T had survived generations because of strong Thompson leadership. It was why she’d come after the garden trampling, suit ruining heifer, because she was running things now and she couldn’t rely on anyone else. Although, to be honest, this little lady had eaten dinner before embarking on her heifer search. Consequently, the cow had a big head start and was nowhere to be found.
Rachel squared her shoulders. Not that the heifer mattered right now. This rancher had other priorities.
Ben reached the trees before the bull and swung up into the branches like a monkey. He looked more like a rodeo clown in red running tights beneath black shorts and a neon yellow nylon jacket. No wonder the bull was chasing him.
The bull charged the tree, bumping the trunk without reaching Ben or knocking him down. He continued to patrol, clearly hoping to catch any straggling rodeo clowns.
Erosion and the river created a natural “fence.” The pasture was about fifteen feet above the river and a narrow, rocky bank. Tree roots prevented the pasture from eroding any farther.
Spotting Utah and Rachel, the bull took a run at the gate.
“Whoa.” Rachel pulled up ten feet away and stood in her stirrups, twirling the rope above her head. This was her chance. Rope the bull and hold him long enough for Ben to escape.
She should have felt confident. The animal was a big fella and there weren’t any horns to get hung up on. In short, he’d be hard to miss.
Instead of feeling like an experienced cowboy, she felt like a first-timer, afraid to let go for fear of what she’d have to do next.
The bull rammed the metal gate with his beefy shoulder, testing the barrier to see if it would give. It didn’t. Thank heavens Big E kept the ranch in tip-top shape. Utah pawed the ground, refusing to back down.
Heartened, Rachel spun the rope higher. Now was the time to prove she was a rancher, not the rancher’s princess daughter.
“Do not taunt that bull, Rachel.”
“The superhero in red tights is giving me advice?” Rachel threw the rope.
It landed cockeyed on the bull’s forehead and over one ear, which seemed to annoy the beast. He shook his head and pranced on the other side of the gate, snorting. The rope fell to the ground.
Rachel sat back in the saddle and coiled the rope for another try. “My mother would say you’re in a pickle, Blackwell.” Her mother would tell Rachel to get her sweet patooty out of there and get help.
Rachel might have done that a year ago, before Dad died, but now things had changed. She’d changed.
“It’s June,” Ben griped from his position in the tree. “This pasture should be empty. The cattle should be over on higher ground across the river.”
Hearing Ben’s voice, the bull turned and charged the trees. He wasn’t the brightest steak-on-a-hoof. He slammed into the wrong tree.
“Quit taunting the bull.” Rachel’s heart was having palpitations to rival the ones that killed her father. “A true cowboy would’ve asked where the livestock was before he took off in his pretty running clothes.”
“I’m not a cowboy anymore. I’m a lawyer.” Ben clung to the tree trunk and shouted at the bull, “A lawyer!”
“Calm down, Blackwell. You’ll be reduced to bits of superhero tights if that bull has its way with you.” If she rescued him, maybe he’d be so shaken up he wouldn’t show up in court tomorrow.
A girl could dream.
But this girl had a former cowboy to save first. How was she going to get him to safety?
Roping the bull was too much of a crapshoot (she wasn’t that great of a roper). Riding into the pasture to Ben’s rescue was too risky (for her and Utah). She tugged her cell phone out of a pocket, but there was no signal. They were in a dead zone. Literally.
She laughed. Somewhat hysterically, if truth be told.
“Go ahead,” Ben said. “Have your fun.”
Rachel wasn’t going to explain she was losing her composure. “I’ll keep him distracted and you shimmy down that tree and jump to the bank below. Chances are, if he notices you, he won’t want to leap down a fifteen foot cliff.” Not unless he had a very big grudge against Ben. “From there you can walk to the road.” The one she and Utah were on. “And I’ll escort you back to safety.”
Oh, this was good. Ego-bruising good. Almost as good as the day Zoe had jilted Ben at the altar. For which—sometimes, late at night—Rachel was sorry.
But not sorry. He’d undercut the Double T’s livelihood.
On Ben’s wedding day, Rachel had come out of the bridal vestibule at the back of the church, wearing a red satin gown so tight she could barely breathe. Or maybe she hadn’t been able to breathe because she’d lost her court case the day before to Ben.
Looking sophisticated and handsome, Ben had walked down the aisle toward Rachel, ignoring the murmurs and stares of his patiently waiting wedding guests. “Have you seen Zoe? I’m worried. She should have been here by now.”
At the altar behind him, his brothers hung back in their black tuxedos. Cowards. At least two of them knew where Zoe was. Rachel had sworn to keep her friend’s elopement a secret for as long as she could. Did she need to postpone things any longer?
“Rachel?” Ben had bent to peer into her eyes when she didn’t answer. “Are you okay?” Here was the Ben she’d grown up with, always watching out for Zoe and Rachel, so unlike the heartless man she’d faced in court over the past few weeks.
Rachel had tried to tug Ben away from prying eyes. “Ben, I want to renegotiate the water rights.” She sounded desperate, maybe because she was. Her father hadn’t spoken to her since the verdict came in.
“Not now, Rachel.” Ben glanced over her head, clearly searching for his bride.
“Yes, now. This can’t wait.”
“Rachel.” In the middle of the aisle, in the middle of the church, Ben blurted, “If you have to ask now, the answer is no.”
“You’re an idiot.” Rage as red as her dress pummeled Rachel’s veins and caused her to raise her voice. “Zoe eloped with Big E an hour ago!”
The assembled gave a collective gasp. Ben paled.
Only then did his brothers move, rolling toward them like a fast, incoming tide. They swept Ben out the door, leaving Rachel to face the crowd alone.
“Go get help!” Interrupting Rachel’s thoughts, Ben settled into a sitting position in the tree by the river. His red-clad legs dangling down from the branch he’d chosen. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Where’s your backbone, Blackwell?” She urged Utah closer and leaned over to rattle the gate to get the bull’s attention. Reluctantly, the bull ambled toward Rachel, huffing unhappily.
With Ben safe, Rachel’s gaze drifted toward the river. How many memories did she have at the end of this road with Ben? Too many to count.
This was where Rachel came to sort out her feelings. It was where Ben came to escape his large family. By unspoken agreement, this was where they weren’t Thompsons or Blackwells. This was where they could just be Rachel and Ben. This was where they could be friends without Zoe being jealous or his brothers teasing him. This was where—
Ben began to climb down the tree, quiet, like a rainbow-clad ninja.
The bull didn’t notice.
This is going to work.
The