The Long Road Home. Lynn Patrick
He used to be a vital man with tons of energy. Now he had a personal relationship with his old worn-in recliner.
“I fear the plumbing problems are never going to be fixed!”
“Right.”
Her normally positive, always busy mother was only working part time at the library now, and spending so much time with her altered-state husband was driving her crazy.
And if Priscilla didn’t change the subject, her mother would drive her crazy.
“Hey, did you see this brochure?” She pulled it out of her pocket and held it out. “I found it when I came into the library. Larson Dude Ranch?”
Mom took it. “Hmm. Dwayne Larson retired from farming.”
“To start a new business?”
“Doesn’t seem likely. He planned to sell the dairy farm acres to surrounding neighbors. Last I heard, Dwayne got himself hurt in a roofing accident. I don’t think he’d be up to running a new business, certainly not one with horses, even if he thought it was a good idea. Which I doubt anyway, knowing that old sourpuss.”
A thrill shot through Priscilla’s stomach. If not Dwayne, then...
“So you haven’t heard anything about this dude ranch?” she asked, knowing they would pass it once they were on the highway.
“Nope. Why the interest?”
Priscilla heard the suspicion in that tone. She quickly said, “I thought Alyssa and Mia might like to go riding.” Right, she’d come up with it just that second. An excuse for her interest.
“Maybe the girls would, Priscilla. I think I remember they like animals. At least I hope Mia loves those Hello Kitty pajamas I sent her.”
Priscilla tightened her jaw. Her mother thought, didn’t know for sure, because she never got to spend any time with her grandkids. Her brother might be a successful lawyer working for an international company, but the least he could do was visit his own parents and let them see their grandchildren a couple of times a year. Mom rarely heard from them unless she called.
“Lots of young girls go through a horse-crazy period,” Priscilla said. “If that’s the case, then we have something fun for them to do.” On the highway now, she added, “The property is right ahead.”
At first there was nothing to see except a new dude ranch sign, a freshly painted barn and fences, plus a small herd of horses chomping on grass in a nearby pasture. Then a tanned, lithe rider appeared, heading toward the horses.
“Is that Sam?” Priscilla murmured.
“Not sure. Haven’t seen him for a decade.”
“More like fifteen years.”
Mom was craning, but Priscilla had to keep her eyes on the road.
“Huh. Looks like it could be him.”
Priscilla didn’t say anything, but her heart beat faster and she gripped the steering wheel. Hard.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was over him. Sam Larson didn’t deserve another thought.
* * *
SAM HARDLY SLEPT all night. He’d been up at least once an hour, checking on the horses. Thankfully, they’d settled down and the gate had stayed locked. Even so, by morning, he wasn’t any less disturbed by what had happened. His gut was knotted and would probably stay that way until he figured out what was what.
So when Logan Keller showed up for work, the twenty-year-old got the brunt of Sam’s worry. He’d barely stepped out of his truck before Sam asked, “Hey, Logan, you locked the pasture gate before you left yesterday, right?”
The kid looked away from him over to the pasture. “The gate was open?”
“Wide. And the horses were scattered, all riled up.”
“They look all right.” Logan turned back to Sam. “What happened?”
“If I hadn’t come out of the cabin in time, Tomcat would have made it onto the highway. You ought to see what happens when an animal that size is hit by a vehicle. Especially a truck.” The highway was a main route for eighteen wheelers. “We would have been picking up pieces of horseflesh this morning.” He scowled at the thought.
“So you’re blaming me?”
Sam realized the lanky kid looked real uncomfortable. “I didn’t say that.”
“Sounded like it.”
“I just want to make sure we’re both careful. And I want you to keep an eye open for anything that doesn’t look right.”
“Yeah, sure.” Logan started to move off, then stopped. “You know, if you had a cattle guard on the entrance, Tomcat wouldn’t have been able to get to the highway.”
A cattle guard being a depression in the road covered by a grid of metal bars and fixed to cement footings on either side. Ranches all over the west had them. Sam had seen some local farms using them, too. The gaps between the bars were wide enough to be an effective barrier to animals reluctant to walk on the grates. But it didn’t stop vehicles or people from crossing over.
“I plan on installing a cattle guard in the near future,” he said. “Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
He wanted to wait until the business got a good start. He’d spent most of his savings. Not only had he turned the old dairy barn into a horse barn and spiffed it up, he’d renovated an old shed near the barn into a first-rate tack room. Not to mention what it cost to buy horses and tack. So far, he’d given a couple of lessons, and Logan had taken a few groups out on trail rides. There was a trail ride going out that afternoon, too. It was a start, but he couldn’t afford to put out a couple thousand more dollars until he was sure his business was viable and would bring in a decent amount of income. But if someone was messing with his business...
“Go ahead, get to work,” he told Logan.
The kid didn’t wait to get away from him.
Sam ran a hand through his hair. Someone messing with his business? He didn’t want to believe it. Returning to Sparrow Lake—coming back to his home and his father—had been difficult enough.
Kids. It had to be kids. A prank that could have turned serious but hadn’t. That was all it had been, what he had to believe.
He’d just lived a six-month nightmare not of his own doing.
This was a do-over for him in more than one way.
He had to make this work.
* * *
“HERE’S THE DUDE ranch we were telling you about,” Mom gushed as they passed the Larson farm while driving back from the airport. “Look at those horses!”
“Wow, nice!” Mia leaned closer to her grandmother in the backseat to glance at a pinto and a sorrel near the fence. “I’ve been riding English so I won’t have any problem. Western is easier.”
At twelve, Mia was small, though Priscilla wondered if she’d grow much more in the next few years. She seemed to have the same petite frame as her grandmother, along with the thick red hair that seemed to have a life of its own. Though it was pulled back in a ponytail, tendrils kept escaping to curl around Mia’s small freckled face.
“What do you think, Alyssa?” Mom asked.
Deeply involved with her cell phone, which had just beeped, the teenager didn’t answer as she texted furiously.
“Alyssa?” Priscilla prodded, earning only a grunt in reply. “Would you like to visit a dude ranch?”
Still texting, Alyssa muttered, “Umm, maybe...”
“Can we do it this afternoon?” asked Mia, sounding enthusiastic.