Stranded With The Rancher. Rebecca Winters

in New Jersey, she traveled quite a bit for her job and was stunned by what she was seeing. Whoever called this flyover country had never once come down to earth and put his or her foot on Wyoming soil or smelled such clean air. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the rugged, primitive beauty all around her.

      When she reached Whitebark, she followed Jose’s directions to the Fielding Sheep Ranch. Alex drove to the front of the two-story ranch house and got out. To her surprise, an older woman walked out onto the front porch.

      “Ms. Dorney?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m Martha Loveridge, the housekeeper. Jose said to expect you. Come inside. Mr. Fielding is excited for a visitor.”

      “Well, thank you. I’m thrilled he would allow me an interview.”

      She picked up her briefcase and followed Martha inside the house to the living room. It had a cozy, warm feeling.

      “Please sit down. I’ll tell him you’re here. He’s hard of hearing, so look at him when you speak.”

      She nodded. Jose had said the same thing.

      While she waited, Alex walked around looking at the framed pictures of different couples and children at different ages on horseback. There were rodeo and formally posed pictures, too, propped on the end tables.

      She stopped when she came to the eight-by-ten colored photograph on the mantel. An impossibly gorgeous male, probably in his late twenties, was wearing a firefighter’s dress uniform. His luxuriant black hair and blue eyes stole her breath.

      Who was he?

       Chapter Two

      While Alex stared at the man in the picture, a little beagle came running in, sniffing at her.

      “Oh...look at you.” She leaned over to pet him. “How cute.”

      “Come back here, Otis,” a man’s voice sounded. She turned around to see who’d spoken. The housekeeper and a man with silver in his dark hair, probably in his seventies, had come into the room. He walked with a limp and used a cane.

      “Martha? I thought you said Alex Dorney was out here.”

      “This is Alex.” She smiled at Alex. “Meet Royden Fielding.”

      The older man shook his head. “Whoever named you Alex was crazy. With that blond hair and the face of an angel, you’re the most beautiful sight ever to walk inside this house.”

      His over-the-top compliment came as a total surprise. “Thank you, Mr. Fielding. My legal name is Alexis.”

      “I still don’t like giving a man’s name to a woman. Where did you say you were from?”

      “New Jersey.”

      “Ah! That explains it. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

      Alex smiled inside. She would love to know what that meant, but decided not to pursue it and did as he asked. The adorable dog lay at his feet.

      “Jose told me you wanted to get some information from me. Why in blazes would a woman from New Jersey want to talk to me about sheep?”

      She opened her briefcase and pulled out a recent issue of the magazine. Alex handed it to him. “I write for this publication.” She explained about wanting to stay ahead of national trends in the food business and what it meant for the economy. “The little research I’ve done tells me there’s a rise in the demand for lamb, which is unusual. I’m out here to find out why.”

      “It’s about time,” he muttered.

      Again she didn’t quite understand his meaning. “Go ahead and scan some of the articles.”

      “I’ll read yours here on seafood consumption.” He spent ten minutes perusing it before looking up. “You really know what you’re about, don’t you? How come neither mutton nor lamb was even mentioned as a protein source?”

      “I had to quote the information I was given from a graph quoting comparisons of meat and fish, but I’m puzzled, too. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here.”

      “But I’m the wrong person to help you with the kind of information you need.”

      “Why is that? The administration at the Wool Growers Association in Casper said you’re the person who has all the answers.”

      He laughed. “They were just pulling your leg.”

      Disappointment swept through her. Maybe her subject being hard of hearing made it more difficult to do an interview. “Mr. Fielding—”

      “The name’s Royden.” He cut her off. “You want the nitty-gritty of this business? You need to talk to my grandson, Wyatt. That’s his picture on the mantel.”

      Alex hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him since she’d entered the room. “But he’s in a firefighter’s dress uniform.”

      “He’s a rancher and sheepman first. Wyatt knows it all. He ought to, since I taught him everything.” The man’s gray eyes twinkled.

      Her spirits were suddenly lifted again, but she did wonder why he didn’t want her to interview him. “Would he be willing to talk to me?”

      “He would, but he’s up in the mountains right now at his camp.”

      “How soon will he be back?”

      “Day after tomorrow.”

      She shook her head. “That’s when I have to return to New York. My flight is already booked.”

      “I thought you were from New Jersey.”

      “I am, but my apartment and the magazine office are in Manhattan. Could I phone him?”

      “He’s beyond cell range. Can’t you stay longer?”

      “I wish I could.”

      “For you to come all the way out here for a story does you great credit, young lady.”

      Alex laughed. She hadn’t been called that since she was a little girl.

      “Tell you what. I’ll ask Jose to drive you up to the pasture right now. You’ll have to stay overnight.”

      “But I’m not equipped.”

      “Have you ever camped out?”

      “A few times at the beach with my family.”

      He shook his head. “Not the same thing, but don’t worry. Wyatt will have everything to accommodate you. Jose will go back for you tomorrow afternoon. That way you can get an interview with Wyatt before you have to fly home. He’ll give you some angles you hadn’t counted on.”

      Mr. Fielding had just offered her a solution and she was going to take it, even if it meant roughing it for a night! She would have to call and cancel her hotel reservation.

      “If Jose will do that for me, I’d be very grateful to him and you.”

      “You sit tight while I give him a call. I’ll ask Martha to find my wife’s sheepskin-lined parka along with her cowboy boots and gloves. You look the same size as my Ida. She passed away two years ago.”

      “Thank you.” She studied him for a minute. “I’m sorry you lost your wife.”

      “So am I. When I shot myself by accident out hunting it brought on her fatal heart attack.”

      Alex’s eyes closed tightly for a minute while she tried to take in the gravity of those tragedies. Despite the importance of following through on this assignment for the magazine, she had a feeling his life’s story would be more amazing than any information she could glean from his grandson about sheep.

      * * *