The Rancher's Redemption. Melinda Curtis

hurried to stand between the two. “Or we could go inside, have a beer and give Ben a chance to get even with a couple hands of poker.” Ethan wasn’t smiling when he turned to Ben. “I told you. Big E and Zoe have run away. The ranch is in trouble, both financially and in terms of resources. Primarily, water resources. We need you.”

      Without another word, Ethan and Jon walked inside their old family home. With one inquisitive look at Ben, the black-and-white dog followed, leaving Ben little choice but to do the same.

      Ben crossed the threshold and stopped. “What the—” He nearly dropped his bags. He turned, looking outside to make sure he was still in Montana. There were the Rockies. No mistaking those peaks. He turned to take in the interior once more.

      The house looked like a Wild West boudoir. Red velvet wallpaper. Crystal chandeliers. Furniture that wasn’t for flopping on at the end of a hard day on a ranch. The chairs and sofa were white and prim, not to mention they weren’t made for anyone over six feet in height. A black lacquered table with gold pinstripes sat in the dining room in front of a large gilded mirror that looked like the one the evil queen used in Snow White.

      “Zoe redecorated.” Jon sounded disgusted.

      “You should see the master bedroom.” Ethan sounded horrified.

      “Or not,” Ben murmured.

      Both brothers turned to Ben, who was trying to remember what the place had looked like when he’d left. Blue plaid couch. Brown leather recliner. Coffee table scarred with circles from glasses of ice tea and cold cans of beer.

      “You dodged a bullet,” Jon said.

      “In other words...” Ethan slung his arm around Jon’s shoulders and grinned at Ben. “You should thank us.”

      Jon tipped his hat back. “Yep.”

      “Nice try, but you’re missing the point.” Ben didn’t want to come inside, but he did anyway. Far enough in that he could see the kitchen, with its white marble counters, pink-trimmed cabinets and sparkly pink tile backsplash.

      “He’s not forgiving us,” Ethan said, hanging his head.

      “Not yet,” Jon said.

      Not ever. That’s what Ben wanted to say.

      But the words stuck in his throat as firmly as that red velvet wallpaper was stuck on the wall.

      * * *

      THE DOUBLE T was quiet when Rachel pulled up in front of the main house after she’d left her office.

      The late afternoon heat lingered, but would soon give way to the evening mountain chill. Rachel took a moment to study the ranch house, seeing beyond the white clapboard that needed paint to how it must have looked in the 1920s when it was new. Dormered windows. Black shutters. Gray metal roof. Great-Grandpa Thompson had built the house for his bride.

      When Rachel was growing up, at this time of day, there would’ve been ranch hands finishing up their chores, preparing to go home or to cook something in the bunkhouse. Today, only Henry, the ranch foreman, and Tony, a part-time ranch hand remained. And the yard was empty.

      “Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy said from the rear seat of the truck. How Rachel’s baby loved the sound of her own voice.

      “Yes, sweetheart.” Rachel smiled as she walked carefully around to open the door. She was still wearing her suit and heels, not having time to stop at her little house on the other side of town and change. She had a number of chores to do here before Poppy’s bedtime. “We’re going to see your grandma and mine.” Her mother would feed Poppy and give her a bath while Rachel did some ranch paperwork. She freed Poppy from her car seat and grabbed her diaper bag.

      “Na-na-na-nahhh.” Poppy clapped her little hands and then pointed to the house, a regal command that made Rachel laugh.

      “You’re a princess, just like I was.” She’d had the best of both worlds—a cowgirl with Daddy’s credit card. Although nowadays, she wished she’d been raised differently. If Dad had demanded she work on the ranch, she’d be better equipped to run the Double T.

      She drew her daughter closer, breathing in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. Poppy was so perfect, sometimes Rachel never wanted to let her go. Those blond curls. Those big brown eyes. Those chipmunk cheeks. If her marriage had to fail, at least Poppy was more than worth it.

      And what was the silver lining to her legal practice failing?

      There didn’t seem to be one. Divorces. Living trusts. She barely cleared enough to earn a living wage. Pride made her keep the office open.

      And the Double T? Things were just as grim here. Water was going to make or break her family’s ranch. But this time, she was going to beat the Blackwells. She was sure of it.

      Ben’s handsome face came to mind. He represented everything she resented about the Blackwells. Ben and his brothers were raised to be ranchers, but they didn’t care about their family heritage or tradition. They’d all moved on, coincidentally after stealing the Double T’s water all those years ago. Even Zoe, who was only technically a Blackwell, had little sympathy for the struggles of the Double T.

      Rachel opened the white picket gate surrounding the ranch house and carried Poppy toward the front door. The heat and her load made Rachel sweat. She kissed the top of her daughter’s golden head. “I love you, sunshine.”

      Poppy grinned up at her. “Ma-ma-ma-mahhh.”

      This was real. This was good. Mommyhood. Caring for family. Going to bed every night knowing she was making a difference.

      A sound had her looking back. A white-faced heifer poked its head around the barn.

      “How did you get out?” Rachel asked, hurrying to get Poppy indoors where it was cooler. “Remind me to text Henry,” she said to Poppy, hoping that saying it out loud would jog her memory once she got inside. Her memory lately was spotty, and Henry was ancient. He didn’t work after dinner, which was fast approaching.

       Win back the water rights.

       Set the ranch to rights.

       Get a signed custody agreement.

       Learn how to be a better rancher.

      Her list was daunting.

      “Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy breathed, pointing at various items, including the comfortable brown sofa and matching recliner. She loved her grandma.

      The small living room was empty. As was the kitchen, which had been remodeled in the 1980s when Rachel’s parents married. Oak cabinets. White ceramic tile counters. Flowery linoleum nearly worn away in front of the sink. The room may have been dated, but it was filled with the warm smell of something good in the oven. Nowadays, Rachel appreciated someone else cooking for her.

      “Hey! Where is everybody?” Rachel dropped her diaper bag near the front door.

      “Back here,” Mom called.

      With Poppy on her hip, Rachel went in search of the family.

      Mom was pinning quilt pieces on the bed in the master bedroom, bright red-and-green material that formed pinwheel blocks. Fanny, Mom’s white toy poodle, leaped off her dog bed and began yapping at Rachel and Poppy. She was hard of hearing and had to make up for the pair sneaking up on her with faux indignation.

      Mom shushed Fanny and muted the TV. “We’ve been crafting to avoid the heat.” She stood on the other side of the bed wearing a blue-flowered blouse and black capris. Her highlighted blond hair was cut in a front-slanted, fashionable bob and her makeup was flawless. Lisa had married a rancher but had never quite embraced the wardrobe.

      Rachel suspected her own makeup had melted off sometime after lunch when emotions had run higher than the heat. She’d prepped Nelly O’Ryan for a court appearance tomorrow, while Nelly’s toddler, Alex, and Poppy