Return To Marker Ranch. Claire McEwen

how he was going to handle the night out he’d just gotten himself into.

      And Lori. He’d have to find a way to face her as well. She’d looked like an angry angel on his ranch yesterday, with her hair swirling around her shoulders and her eyes dark with hurt. So different from the way she’d looked at him, full of longing and acceptance and desire, all those years ago, just before they’d made love. Her first time, and the first time it ever mattered for him.

      And damn, it had mattered. He’d loved her from a distance through high school. She’d been smart and strong and good at everything she turned her hand to. He’d leaned on the fence down at the arena, watching her win junior rodeo ribbons right alongside the boys her age. He’d seen her name semester after semester on the school honor roll posted in the fancy glass case by the office. He’d listened to her up at the podium delivering student council speeches and stole glances after school when she headed off to cheerleading practice in her cute uniform.

      He’d watched her and wanted her and never felt worthy of her. He was the kid from so far down the wrong side of the tracks he might as well have been living in another country. Most days he was lucky to figure out where his meals were coming from, let alone what his homework was. And he covered his misery in the couldn’t-care-less attitude and cigarette-smoking armor of the kids like him. The ones who couldn’t go home until their angry-drunk dads had passed out. The ones who had nowhere to study, or who didn’t have what it took to succeed in school. The almost-dropouts, the almost-failing, the lost kids.

      Until that one day when he’d finally gotten himself kicked out of school for good, and she’d offered him comfort and so much more. And he’d taken everything she’d given. And then pushed her away for both their sakes.

      And now, when he’d come home a combat veteran, and possibly, finally, worthy of all that she was, he’d blown it. Because of the anxiety that had him grabbing at the things he could touch and see, like gallons of water and spreadsheets of numbers. Anxiety that had him tongue-tied in front of her, unable to give her the water she wanted or the apology she deserved.

      He had to do something different. Had to figure out a way around the throttlehold the PTSD had on him. Because it wasn’t just affecting him. It was hurting Lori, the girl he’d loved, who’d given him memories he’d held on to like a talisman during all the dark and fear-filled nights in Afghanistan, when he wasn’t sure he’d make it back alive.

      * * *

      DR. HERNANDEZ KNELT over the heifer lying in the dry grass. The young cow was breathing heavily in the soft evening air. Wade could feel his breathing catch right along with hers.

      “Did you check the papers carefully when you bought these gals?” the vet asked.

      Wade racked his stressed-out brain, trying to picture what the seller had given him. It had been a hectic day. He’d injured his shoulder and Nora had handled the delivery. “Well, I know I got papers. And the seller said they’d had all their shots.”

      “Yes, but did he hand you a certificate from a veterinarian? Did you have a vet look them over before you accepted them?”

      “No.” He watched the doctor’s brows draw together as he surveyed the rest of the herd. About a quarter of the heifers were standing around listlessly. “I guess I should have.”

      “Yup.” The vet sighed. “It’s okay, Wade. It’s a pretty common mistake.”

      Dr. Hernandez wasn’t much older than him, and Wade appreciated his blunt honesty. It was what he was used to after the army. “So I messed up. What can I do to fix it?”

      “It’s a respiratory illness. They probably never got their booster shots. It’s treatable. You need to separate out the sick ones and give them antibiotics. And they’re all going to need to be vaccinated. Come on over to my van and I’ll get everything ready for you.” He paused. “You know how to give them shots, don’t you?”

      He’d read about how to give them shots. He knew he should confess his ignorance, but he couldn’t stand to have the doctor think he was an even bigger fool. “Yeah,” he said casually. “That’s not a problem.” But then he remembered Lori’s harsh words of advice. A rancher needed to face mistakes and fix them fast. These cattle depended on him. There was no room for pride here. “Actually, no, not really.”

      “Look,” Dr. Hernandez said as he opened a box in his van. “I can show you really quick, but do you have anyone who can help you out? Maybe someone who can mentor you a bit? Cattle ranching is complicated—a lot can go wrong. And if too much goes wrong, it can be dangerous for you, for the animals and even for the consumer.”

      Wade watched the doctor measure out liquid into a glass bottle. He didn’t relish folks around here knowing how little experience he had running a ranch. There was only one person he could possibly confess that to. And she’d called him a thief yesterday.

      His sister had been right. He might need water, but he needed his neighbor even more. Lori was the smartest person he knew, and one of the most capable ranchers in the area as well. If he shared the water, she’d help him. She had to. He was desperate, and underneath her frustration with him, she was a generous person.

      And maybe desperation was just what he needed to push him through the anxiety. To get him to finally say the things he should have already. Things like I’m sorry. And I wish I’d acted differently. “Yeah, I know someone,” he told the vet.

      “Great. Have him get over here as soon as possible. You’ll need an extra hand.”

      Funny how the vet immediately assumed that Wade was talking about a guy. Lori probably had to be extra tough, trying to make it in a profession so dominated by men. Which would help explain why she’d been so tough with him over the water. Though he’d also been an insensitive, scared jerk. That would probably explain it better.

      He remembered, suddenly, being a kid at school. How he’d almost never had a lunch with him. How Lori had always offered to share hers. She’d fed him just about every day for years. And then he’d turned his back on her when she came to him about the water? What the hell was wrong with him? How had he started making all of his decisions out of fear?

      He turned to the doctor with a new resolve. “I’ve got someone I need to apologize to. And if I do it right, I hope she’ll give me a hand around here. She’s the best rancher I know.”

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      JIM WALKED OUT of the barn with a cardboard shipping box and dropped it in the dirt at Lori’s feet. She stepped back as a small dust cloud rose up.

      “What are these contraptions?” Jim reached down and pulled out a yellow plastic crescent, holding it gingerly between two fingers.

      Lori grinned at the ranch manager. “They’re the calf weaners I was telling you about.” She grabbed one and held it up for him to see. “This part hooks into the calf’s nostrils. Then it can’t nurse.”

      “Do you really think we need ’em?” Jim flexed the plastic between his gnarled fingers. “When your dad was here, we kept it simple. Cows in one pasture, calves in another. Split ’em up fast and got it over with. We didn’t need these crazy-looking nose flaps.”

      Was it worth arguing? The last thing she wanted was Jim feeling like he’d been wrong all those years. “Ah, come on, Jim, they’ll look cute!”

      Jim shook his head and tossed the weaner back into the box. Lori studied his weathered face. Beneath his resistance she saw all his old kindness there. He wasn’t trying to undermine her. He was just having trouble with change.

      “The way you and Dad did it worked fine,” she reassured him. “But there’ve been some studies lately, proving that stress during weaning is bad for cattle. They lose weight. Calves get sick.”

      Jim shuffled the heel of his boot in the dust. “I don’t know what scientists have