The Cowboy and the Lady. Marie Ferrarella

brother and him. Sylvia never blamed him, never threw the incident in his face. This didn’t change the fact that he felt as if he was to blame for everything that had gone wrong.

      Things got even worse.

      He got arrested—more than once. And each time he did, Sylvia would go to the local law enforcement establishment on the reservation, pay whatever fines needed to be paid and bring him back home.

      Jackson secretly felt sorry for what he was putting her through, but even her tears hadn’t gotten him to change. Angry at the world and with little to no self-esteem to speak of, for a while it looked as if his fate was predestined—and cast in stone.

      And then his stepmother, in what she later admitted to him was one final act of desperation, turned to his father’s older and far sterner, as well as far more stable, brother, Sam, for help. Sam White Eagle had pulled himself out of poverty and had, Jackson later found out, managed to survive personal tragedy, as well, although at the time it had been touch and go. His wife of less than eighteen months died giving birth to his son. Beset by a number of complications, the baby had died a couple of days later. Sam had them buried together. And then he had shut himself down emotionally, losing himself in bottle after bottle until he finally pulled himself up out of what he recognized would have been a death spiral.

      Emotionally stoic, he did feel for his brother’s sons as well as for Sylvia, which led to his taking her up on her plea.

      Sam became the male role model for both him and for Garrett. Initially, his uncle put them both to work on his small horse ranch. His reasoning was that if they were kept constantly busy, they wouldn’t have the time, not to mention the energy, to act out.

      His uncle turned out to be right. Jackson knew that to the end of his days, no matter what he accomplished, he would owe it all to Sam. When his uncle died, leaving the ranch to him and to Garrett, Jackson decided that Sam’s work should continue. He broached the idea to Garrett, who didn’t need to be sold on it. His brother wholeheartedly agreed with him before he’d had a chance to finish a second sentence.

      And that was how The Healing Ranch came to be. Five years after Sam had passed away, the ranch was still in existence, turning out top-quality quarter horses and transformed juvenile offenders who had learned to walk the straight and narrow.

      Secretly, Jackson had thought that, after a while, this so-called crusade he had undertaken would get old for him. When he had first started all this, he hadn’t realized that there was a part of him that actually enjoyed the challenge, that looked forward to that rush that came when he knew that the misdirected kid he was working with had turned a corner and no longer was interested in gaining notoriety for what he did wrong but for what he did that was right.

      “Wish you were here, Sam, to see this,” Jackson murmured under his breath. He glanced up at the all but cloudless sky. “This is all your doing, you know,” he added.

      “You know, they lock people up who talk to themselves with such feeling,” Garrett said to his older brother as he came over to join him.

      Five years younger than Jackson, and with only their father in common, the whole world could still easily identify the two as brothers. They almost looked alike, from their deep, thick, blue-black hair to their hypnotic blue eyes. Jackson’s had come directly from his mother while with Garrett it was most likely someone somewhere within his family tree.

      “Just your word against mine, Garrett. No one else is anywhere within earshot so there’s no one around to back up your claim. They’ll think you just want the ranch all to yourself and that you’re looking for a way to get me out of the picture,” Jackson told him.

      So saying, Jackson eyed his half brother. They had gone through a lot together, he thought with affection. That didn’t mean that either of them ever purposely missed a chance to zing the other.

      Garrett grinned. “I guess you saw right through my plot.” He snapped his fingers like someone acknowledging a missed opportunity. “Foiled again. Looks like I’m just going to have to come up with another way to take over the old homestead.”

      Jackson glanced at his watch. The latest applicant he had accepted at the beginning of the week should have arrived by now. He wondered if something had happened to bring about a change in plans. It wouldn’t be the first time a teen’s parent or guardian had backed out of the arrangement before it ever started. Total commitment was required and sometimes that didn’t pan out.

      “I take it there’s no word yet on our latest resident ‘bad boy’?” he asked Garrett.

      Heaven help him, he needed a new challenge, Jackson thought. Needed to be given another teen to turn around and thereby rescue. With each and every one that he and Garrett rehabilitated, he was paying off a little more of the debt that he owed to Sam, a debt that he could never really fully repay. And although his uncle had been gone for a few years now, Jackson felt that somehow, Sam knew the good that was being done in his name by the boy he had saved from coming to a very an unsavory end.

      Garrett climbed onto the corral, straddling the top rail.

      “Not yet,” he answered. “I just checked phone messages, emails and text messages. Unless the kid and his guardian are using smoke signals to communicate, they haven’t tried to get in touch with us.” Garrett shrugged casually. “Could be they just decided to change their minds at the last minute.”

      “Always possible,” Jackson admitted—although he really doubted it. The call he had received from the troubled teen’s guardian made him feel that the woman thought that the situation was desperate—just as desperate as she was. He’d heard things in her voice that she hadn’t knowingly put into words, but he’d heard them just the same. Things that told him that even if he didn’t have a ready bed for this latest applicant, he would have found a way to make room somehow.

      Luckily, he hadn’t had to get creative on that front. When he’d inherited the ranch, he and Garrett had renovated the bunkhouse so that it could handle eight boys with ease. Ten would have necessitated bringing in two extra twin beds and space would have been rather limited, but it could be done.

      Currently, there were seven boys living on the ranch besides Garrett and himself. His latest success story, Casey Brooks, had graduated less than a week ago. Upon his initial arrival, Casey had been one seriously messed-up, lost sixteen-year-old. His parents had gotten in contact with him because they were genuinely afraid that their son would either be killed or eventually land in prison, where heaven only knew what would happen to him.

      Casey had been so tightly wound up it was a wonder he hadn’t just exploded before he ever came to The Healing Ranch.

      Getting through to the inner, hidden, decent teen had required an extreme amount of patience and going not just the extra mile but the extra twenty miles. There were times when he was certain that Casey was just too far gone to reach. Those were the times that he had made himself channel Sam, recalling how his uncle had managed to get to him back when he was just like Casey.

      It worked, and in the end it had all paid off. That was all he—and Garrett—were ever interested in. The final results. That made everything that had come before—the strategizing, the enduring of endless hostility and curses—all worth it. And he also kept in contact with former “graduates,” taking an interest in their lives and making sure that they remained proud of their own progress—and didn’t backslide.

      So far, he hadn’t lost a single teen. He intended to keep it that way.

      “Hey, you think that’s them?” Garrett asked. Shading his eyes with one hand, he pointed at something behind his brother’s back with the other.

      Jackson turned around to see a beige, almost non-descript sedan that had definitely seen better days approaching from the north. The road was open, but the driver refrained from speeding, something that tempted a lot of drivers around the area, whether they were tourists or natives.

      The closer the vehicle came, the dustier it appeared. Jackson recalled that his new challenge hailed from the state of Indiana. Indianapolis to be precise. And unless