His Ranch Or Hers. Roz Denny Fox

you finish up out here. Then we can talk, and maybe you’ll go over the ranch accounts. Your dad said you kept the books and your mom jumped in to tell me you’re a high school math teacher.”

      “I was. I won’t turn down your offer to cook. It’s my least favorite chore. The kitchen is old and small, but at least everything is functional and stocked.”

      “Your father mentioned the house might need some work. He said not much has been changed since he was born and raised here.”

      “I like it as is. The roof doesn’t leak and the fireplace works. So do the showers.”

      “Uh-huh. It’s snowing harder. How much time do you need, so I know when to have supper on the table?”

      “An hour should do it.”

      He tipped his cap and made tracks for his pickup.

      Myra climbed onto the tractor, ratcheted up the engine and backed the trailer into its spot in the shed. She watched Zeke take two duffel bags from under his pickup’s canopy and hike on to the house.

      Sighing, she went in to take care of the horses, dialing her brother on the way to inform him that due to the snow she wasn’t leaving the ranch just yet. She contacted Eric instead of her parents because she still resented how they had given away a ranch they should have known she loved.

      * * *

      HIS EARS STUNG from the cold as he walked into a warm house he now owned. It all still felt surreal to Zeke. Particularly since he hadn’t realized the house would be occupied by Eric’s sister. He’d spent half a day with her, but as yet couldn’t pigeonhole her. Figuring her out became more difficult once he entered this home. At his first glance around the living room, on nearly every flat surface in the living room sat dollhouses. A grown woman had dollhouses? They were all so elaborate. On closer inspection he saw not all of them were complete. Several had walls but no roofs. A few were unpainted. Taking care not to knock into any of them with his duffels, he located the bedroom Myra had mentioned. He flipped on a light switch that lit two bedside lamps. The big bed, covered with a thick quilt, looked inviting. Thankfully, the decor was neutral. No frills. Having noted ruffled curtains on some of the dollhouse windows, he hadn’t known what to expect.

      Since he’d promised to cook, he dropped the bags and found the kitchen. Vintage didn’t begin to describe the space. Outdated but spotless. He didn’t see a microwave, and the stove and fridge were surely older than his thirty-one years. He opened cupboards and took stock, then peered inside the fridge. A clicking sound, like dog toenails striking the linoleum, had Zeke straightening and looking around. The noise was coming from the corner where the back door was, behind a dinette set with four chairs. A pen fashioned by baby gates held a quilt, plastic toys, metal dishes of water, lettuce and some kind of pellets. Therein roamed a pig. A pig. Small and white with gray spots. A door with a doggie flap opened onto what looked like a screened porch.

      He was still shaking his head in disbelief when his cell phone rang. Plucking it from his pocket he saw his twin’s number. “Seth, buddy, where are you this month?”

      “I’m back in Afghanistan. My gem contact phoned to say his men found an area of pure lapis. I flew in yesterday to have a look. He was right, and it’s rare to find lapis without occlusions, so we’re dickering on price. I got your text saying you were going to Montana. The family of one of the guys you saved gave you a ranch? Is that true, or did you injure your head as well as your shoulder?”

      “It’s true. In fact, I’m there now. I spent my first afternoon hauling hay to cattle in a snowstorm.”

      “You’re kidding! What do you know about ranching, dude?”

      “Nothing. But Eric Odell’s sister—his folks are the ones who gave me the ranch—she’s been running the ranch. Their grandfather owned it before he died. She’s a teacher, and Eric’s parents told me she wants to get back to her career. But I had to admit, trekking after her today I saw how much I don’t know. I had hoped she might stay awhile to give me pointers.”

      “But?”

      “But...then I came in the house. She’s got dollhouses everywhere. Like, is it a fetish? And, Seth, I discovered she keeps a pig as a house pet. Now I wonder if she’s been tucked away in this remote spot to hide the fact she’s eccentric, to put it mildly.”

      His brother laughed loudly. “If you have the deed, kick her out. Hire an old cowboy to teach you what you need to know. Seems to me you’ve stepped into a sweetheart deal. I’m envious that you get to live in wide-open spaces. Sometimes I’m so tired of eating and sleeping in hotels.”

      “Take a break and come visit me. We can learn how to run a ranch together.”

      “Maybe. Not for a while. I have this lapis I want, then I’m off to Tanzania. Tanzanite is getting scarce. I’ve got a friend who has staked a claim that he’s sure will yield a vein. I haven’t actually done any digging in months. It’ll be fun.”

      “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this song and dance from you for years. You don’t want to set down roots. You’ve got the wanderlust, bro.”

      “Hmm. We’ll see. It gets to be a hard-knock life. Email me pictures of your ranch. It’ll remind me what it’s like to have a home.”

      “Sure. I’ll take some after this snowstorm passes. You take care. Especially in the Hindu Kush. Our forces have drawn down. It’s less safe than when you visited me there.”

      “So I hear. We’ll keep in touch. Good luck with Pet-Pig Woman.”

      Zeke grimaced, gave the round little pig a last glance then started fixing supper. Midway through preparations, he heard the front door open and close, and then footsteps going toward the back of the house. Then he heard water running and figured Myra had opted to take a shower. It was probably something he should have done, he thought as he found dishes and set the table. Were they really going to eat next to a penned pig? Apparently so.

      It wasn’t long before Myra appeared in the doorway. She wore slippers, clean jeans and a checked flannel shirt, and her shoulder-length, tawny-gold hair fell in damp waves around a face scrubbed clean of makeup. Zeke hadn’t paid such close attention before. Framed in the doorway, she seemed younger and prettier than he recalled while she’d dragged him through a snowstorm.

      “Wow, something smells good. Can I help? Oh, I see you’ve even set the table. Sorry I was so long. I took time to oil the tack. Saddles and bridles are expensive. Oiled, they hold up better in the weather.”

      Zeke shook himself loose from eyeing her. “Your timing is great. Go on and choose where you normally sit. I’ll bring everything to the table.”

      Myra crossed the room and pulled out a chair. Like magic, steaming dishes began to fill up the table. Her mouth dropped open. “You made scalloped potatoes and green beans with almonds?” She blinked up at Zeke as he set a basket of homemade biscuits in front of her, followed by a slice of sirloin steak he pulled out from under the broiler.

      “Dig in while everything’s hot,” he said. “Oh, wait.” He snapped his fingers and turned to rummage in the fridge. “I saw butter somewhere.”

      “In the top compartment on the fridge door.”

      He carried the butter dish to the table even as Myra broke open a hot biscuit. “These are as flaky as my gram used to make. Mine are like lead weights. Everything looks scrumptious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

      “Before I joined the military, I worked in restaurants. I also pulled my share of KP duty prior to getting into a Green Beret unit.”

      “I’ll do dishes tonight, but I draft you to fix breakfast.” Her mouth was full when he shot a deliberate glance toward her pet pig.

      “I’ve never had bacon or ham on the hoof, but I guess I can make do.” He smiled crookedly as he cut a slice of steak.

      Her fierce glare made plain that Myra wasn’t amused.