Her Stubborn Cowboy. Patricia Johns

One

      Chet Granger wanted her land, and Mackenzie Vaughn knew it. He’d offered to buy it from her grandmother multiple times over the years, and now that her grandmother had passed away, leaving the ranch to Mackenzie, she was waiting for the inevitable offer.

      And she would refuse. That was a given. The last person in this county she intended to sell this land to was Chet Granger. They had a bit of a history together, and if anyone was going to benefit from this land, it wouldn’t be him. Business wasn’t supposed to be personal, but this time it was.

      As a small white goat passed her, Mackenzie patted its rump and wiped the back of her hand over her moist forehead. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through pools of warm sunlight. The peeling red barn loomed behind, its shadow stretching out like a sleepy cat. Since arriving two hours earlier, she’d already managed to get what was left of her grandmother’s herd back into the barn. Then she’d noticed the goat waddling off toward the fence, wide belly swinging back and forth with each step.

      “Come on now,” she urged. “Let’s go, goat.”

      It had to have a name; she just didn’t know it. The other three goats were already inside the barn, but this one paid no mind to peer pressure.

      This ranch had been a godsend when she was an angry teen caught in the middle of her parents’ acrid divorce. While her parents battled over who got what, she’d come back to her grandmother’s ranch—the one place she could count on not to change. It was here that she’d fallen in love for the first time, with Andy Granger. Chet was Andy’s older brother and had always been the more serious of the two. In fact, she’d had a bit of a crush on him at first, before Andy made his move and she realized that Chet hadn’t been interested in the least. He’d been concerned with the future of his family’s ranch more than with having much fun...so much so that he’d convinced Andy that Mack wasn’t worth his time. At least, that was Andy’s story. In spite of it all, a small part of her envied the Granger boys. When push came to shove, they chose each other, and the Granger family stood strong. Still, they stood strong against her, and that was one slight she wouldn’t forget.

      “Come on,” Mackenzie coaxed, patting the goat’s rump again. “I have some nice fresh hay waiting for you.”

      The goat didn’t seem the least bit interested in her offering, and it turned away again, trotting heavily along the fence line. Farther down the fence, a man sauntered up and leaned against the rail, gray eyes fixed on her in mild amusement. Mackenzie startled. He was tall, slim but well muscled. He rested his forearms over the top rail, big hands loosely holding a pair of work gloves. A cowboy hat sat on his head, pushed back so that the sun hit his face, illuminating the sandpaper of his stubble. He raised the gloves in a hello. He’d always been good-looking, but he’d lost his lean boyishness and hardened into a man since she’d last seen him. Chet Granger. The years had been good to him.

      “Long time,” he called.

      It certainly had been a long time, and in the few hours she’d been back, she’d been doing her best to avoid him. She’d known that wasn’t going to work for long, considering their ranches were side by side, their respective barns and houses no more than an acre apart. There had been a time when people liked the idea of being within shouting distance of a neighbor. This would have been a whole lot easier if they didn’t share such a difficult history.

      The goat trotted up to Chet and poked a nose through the fence.

      “Hey there, Butter Cream.” The rancher eased between the rails of the fence and came over to her side, hopping twice to get his boot through. His shirt was rolled up to reveal strong forearms, tanned skin with a vein bulging as he scratched the goat’s ears. The animal tipped her head back and forth, lashes fluttering in enjoyment. Chet looked up at Mackenzie, those disconcertingly light eyes pinned on her. “Trying to get her back inside?”

      He didn’t wait for the answer but strode off in the direction of her barn without a backward look, and the goat followed him with the quiet loyalty of a dog.

      “Butter Cream,” she muttered to herself. That would be good to remember for the next time she had to plead with this particular critter.

      Mackenzie had been in town all of a day, and she already knew that she was in over her head. Why she’d thought she’d be able to run a ranch on her own, she had no idea. When her grandmother had died, leaving her the ranch, she’d thought this was the answer to that sense of empty boredom inside her—and maybe it was—but she wasn’t entirely sure it was worth it, especially not if Chet was part of the package.

      “So how come you didn’t stop by when you arrived?” Chet glanced over his shoulder at her as he pulled open the rolling door.

      “I had things to do,” she said, annoyed at his casual comfort with her property. And it was hers now—all four hundred acres of it.

      He laughed softly. “You have no idea how to run this place.”

      He was right about that, but she’d never been one to back away from a challenge, and this one had been dumped in her lap with the subtlety of a truckload of bricks.

      The goat nuzzled Chet’s leg once more and he bent to scratch her head again. “By the way, Butter Cream is due to kid in a week or two. So pretty soon, you’ll have baby goats and a pretty steady supply of goat milk. She’s a good producer.”

      Mackenzie studied the creature, attempting to hide her surprise.

      “As in more than one?” she asked.

      “Definitely more than one.”

      “I don’t need goat milk,” she said, before she could think better of it.

      “Then sell it.” Chet gave the goat’s rump a solid pat, and she waddled through the door toward her stall without a bleat of protest. He made it seem so easy, and she suspected that she’d never have that kind of luck with Butter Cream.

      “Do you want her?” she asked. “She seems to like you.”

      “No, thanks.” He pulled shut the goat’s stall door and shot her a grin. “Do you have any idea how much trouble baby goats are? They’re like herding cats. They’re your problem.”

      Great. She pulled a hand through her long blond hair. “You’re right, by the way.”

      “About the goats, or about you not knowing what you’re doing?” His grin became teasing.

      Mackenzie eyed him coolly. “Both, I’m sure.” She sucked in a breath. “The lawyer said that you’d been helping my grandmother out with running the place. He said I should talk to you if I had any questions.”

      “Good advice.” Chet crossed his arms over his chest.

      “So?” she said. “What’s the first step?”

      “Your grandmother—rest her soul—sold off most of her cattle at auction a couple of years ago. That was her version of retirement. No ranch hands, no employees and just a handful of cows she could care for on her own. But you can’t keep this place going on fifteen head. You’ll need a good herd and some ranch hands who know what they’re doing, and you’ll have to be careful with that. If they think you don’t know squat about running this place, they’ll take advantage.”

      Ranch hands were the least of her worries right now. Was he going to try to scare her off running this place on her own? No one had been more shocked than she’d been when she inherited this place. If anyone was going to get it, it should have been her father, and that fact had been rubbing at her conscience ever since the lawyer had called. She was the least qualified member of the family to inherit the biggest responsibility, and this was already affecting her relationship with her dad. She scuffed a boot in the dirt, her mind sifting through Chet’s words. She had no idea how she’d get this ranch rolling again, and right now she felt most thoroughly beaten. “In the meantime, what do I do?”

      “Chores in the morning, chores at night.