The Rancher Next Door. Susan Mallery
have one.”
Katie looked at her father and wondered when the man had changed. Her mother had died eighteen years before, the victim of a wild spring storm and the subsequent flash flood. Aaron had remarried within a year, taking gentle Suzanne, a divorced woman with two daughters, as his wife. Together they’d had two more children.
Had the trouble with her father started with his first wife’s death? Katie didn’t think so. Aaron’s anger, his unyielding temperament, had existed for as long as Katie could remember. She’d never stood up to him before, but now she didn’t have a choice.
She set down her fork. “Shane isn’t yours to raise, Dad. He’s my son, and I’m responsible for him. If he’s not ready to start riding, that’s fine with me.”
Aaron shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. His color had darkened, giving his face a reddish hue, but he didn’t say anything. Suzanne, a petite blonde with gentle green eyes, patted Katie’s hand. “Give Shane space. He’ll get used to our ways.”
But later that night, when she put her son to bed, Katie wasn’t so sure. Maybe moving back to Lone Star Canyon had been a mistake. Shane had been happy in Dallas. Except he hadn’t had a male role model there. She’d thought here he would have his grandfather and uncles. She’d taken him out of school mid-semester and moved him into her father’s house, where the boy had to endure nightly lectures over dinner. Was she a horrible mother for that?
She bent and kissed her son’s cheek. “Grandpa doesn’t mean to make things hard on you.”
Shane wrinkled his nose. “He’s too loud and he never listens. I’m not like him. I’m not like anyone here.”
Katie’s throat tightened. “Your teacher says you’re doing really well in school. I spoke to her today. She’d heard about the fight and wanted me to know that you hadn’t started it. Apparently those older boys are real bullies. Their parents are sending them off to boarding school so they can get straightened out. You won’t have to worry about them again.”
Shane looked at her with big blue eyes. “If I don’t do what Grandpa says, will you send me away?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, gathering her son close. Tears burned but she blinked them back. “I love you. You’re my favorite person in the whole world. I’d be lost without you. Besides, I happen to think you’re an incredibly great kid. I’m proud of you, Shane. Always.”
“Grandpa doesn’t like me much.”
She lowered him to the bed and grinned. “Some days I don’t think Grandpa likes anyone.”
Shane smiled in return. “’Cept those cows.”
“Right. He adores his cows.”
She kissed her son again, then turned off the light. Right or wrong, they were here. They would have to make the best of it. Maybe she should try talking to her father, she thought as she stepped into the hallway. Or maybe she should just take Shane and move into a hotel until their house was finished. If things didn’t get better, she wasn’t going to have a choice.
Chapter Three
Jack lined up the cans of oil so they would be ready to pour into the truck. Changing the oil in the ranch vehicles generally fell to someone lower on the food chain, but these days, with his mom mostly confined to the house, he preferred to stay close to home. So he’d taken over the chore of getting the vehicles in shape for spring roundup. Which meant every truck and car on the ranch got its oil changed.
The old Dodge four-by-four was battered. There were deep gouges in both doors, and the once red paint had faded some from long days in the sun. But despite the cosmetic problems, the truck had never once failed or left him stranded. His father had always told him to take care of his equipment and it would take care of him.
Jack frowned at the memory. He didn’t usually allow himself to think about his father. Russell Darby had walked out on his family eighteen years ago and had never once looked back. He’d not been in touch with any of his children, not to mention his wife. Hell of a legacy, Jack thought grimly.
A small sound caught his attention. He turned toward the noise, grateful for the interruption. Long ago he’d taught himself to avoid any thoughts of his father, and he didn’t want to break the habit now. He saw a boy standing just inside the open double doors of the oversize garage. Even without the sunlight glinting off wire-rimmed glasses, he would have recognized the child.
Shane Fitzgerald had the look of the Fitzgerald family about him. Blond hair, blue eyes, stubborn chin. Aaron’s chin. Jack could also see Katie in the boy—Katie and someone else. The boy’s father.
“Hello, Shane,” Jack said pleasantly.
Shane took a step closer to him. “Mom says I’m supposed to stay out of the way. She’s up at the house helpin’ Mrs. Darby.”
“I know.”
There was something tentative about the boy. An air of caution that made him seem smaller and younger. Normally Jack didn’t make much time for children—they weren’t a part of his world. But for some reason he found himself wanting to make Shane feel comfortable.
“I’m changing the oil in the truck,” Jack said. “You’re welcome to stay and watch. Or you can help me.”
Shane took another step forward. He wore a long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. He was skinny—the belt around his waist was the only thing that kept his pants in place. The boy pushed up his glasses in a nervous gesture.
“I don’t know anything about cars and trucks.” His shoulders hunched as if he expected Jack to yell at him. “I watch the men change the oil in Mom’s car when she takes it in, but they’re underground and it’s hard to see anything.”
“I know what you mean,” Jack said. He studied the child. He wasn’t a strapping boy, and he hadn’t been raised on a ranch. He was obviously interested in his surroundings, but also frightened of them. Was Aaron taking the time to make the child feel at home? Jack had his doubts.
“Come here,” Jack said, motioning to the truck. “I’ll give you a lift up so you can see the engine, then I’ll tell you what all the parts are.”
Shane’s expression turned eager. He moved closer until Jack could loop one arm around the boy’s slender waist and hoist him to the bumper. Shane stood there, leaning against Jack. The kid didn’t weigh much more than the ranch dogs, he thought with some surprise.
“We put the oil in there,” Jack said, pointing. “I’m draining the dirty oil now. Then I’ll replace the oil filter and put in new oil.”
He patiently explained the various parts of the engine and how they helped make the truck go. Next he grabbed a second dolly so Shane could slide under the truck with him.
“Careful of that oil,” he instructed as Shane scooted next to him. “You get it on your clothes, your mom’ll kill me. You get it in your eye and Doc Remington’ll do it to me, instead.”
Shane giggled. He pushed on the bridge of his glasses. “These will keep me safe.”
“Not from your mom.”
Shane watched as Jack loosened the oil filter and pulled it free. He showed the boy the clean replacement, and they compared them.
“Now we put a drop of clean oil around the seal at the top.”
“To make it stick?” Shane asked eagerly.
“That’s right. You catch on fast.”
The simple compliment made the kid glow. Jack found himself wanting to say other nice things to Shane, although he wasn’t sure what.
“How do you like living in Lone Star Canyon?” he asked.
Shane shrugged. He rested his heels against the concrete and rolled himself back and forth a couple of