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The U-2 was a working ranch, owned and operated by the Weston family for six generations. Paying guests worked along with everyone else—not as hard as a ranch hand, and always under the care of a wrangler, but they worked. It was all about the romance of the West and being part of it for a while.
“Sis, they’re from Seattle.” Reid knotted his fists.
Mariah’s heart ached, recalling the boy who’d stood by his parents’ graves, furious with everyone and everything for taking away his mom and dad. They went through this each summer, the first time guests arrived from Washington State. Their mother and father had died because a vacationing Seattle investment banker was driving too fast and lost control of his car. His blood alcohol level was primarily responsible for the accident, but Reid also blamed the entire state.
“Okay, they’re from Seattle,” she said, carefully avoiding any mention of their parents. “Don’t go near them if it’s easier.”
He rolled his eyes. “That kid will want to hang around. I can tell.”
That “kid” was only two years younger than him, but Mariah understood why Reid felt older. Life and death were a daily part of their world.
It made you older.
“I’ve assigned wranglers to the O’Donnells,” she assured him. “You won’t have to spend time with them. Anyhow, you have classes and finals coming up. You need the grades to get into a good school, and the ones with pre-vet programs are terribly competitive.”
“I told you, I don’t want to go to college and I don’t want to be a vet.”
“Even if that’s true right now, you might change your mind. We have to talk—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Reid cut her off. “Don’t worry, sis, I’ll get the grades.” He went out the door with a mulish expression.
As brother and sister, they were close in many ways, yet a wall rose between them when certain subjects were raised...like the future.
Stomach tight, Mariah went to the desk and saw Reid had been reading one of her books on equine diseases—she would never be a vet now, but that didn’t prevent her from staying current on veterinary medicine. As for Reid, though he claimed he wasn’t interested in going to veterinary school, she doubted it. He was bright, talented and set to graduate high school a year early the way she had done...and he spent all of his free minutes studying animal care.
Worry and a feeling of helplessness nagged at her. Reid shouldn’t have such tough decisions to make at his age, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to fix it. Maybe if their father hadn’t given up after the accident, if he’d tried to survive his own injuries, things might be...
No.
Mariah shook her head guiltily.
She still struggled with the memory of her big, strong dad turning his face to the hospital wall when he learned that his wife of twenty-four years had died instantly in the collision, the light in his eyes vanishing until he was almost unrecognizable. The doctors had thought he would pull through, yet a day later he was gone, too, and she’d been so angry with him for wanting to die more than he wanted to live for the rest of his family. For her and Reid.
Nobody discussed it; after the funeral, Granddad had said that Reid didn’t need to hear loose chatter. He was suffering enough. That was fine with her—admitting how she felt was the last thing she’d wanted.
Sighing, Mariah walked down to the mess tent. It didn’t make sense to be angry with someone who was dead, and it wasn’t as if Sam Weston had committed suicide. He’d just...given up.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” she called, forcing a smile.
The cooks waved. The guests, in varying degrees of fatigue from working on the range, waved, as well.
“Oh, my God,” said the new bride of one of their annual visitors. She sat, wincing as she made contact with the bench. “My fanny hasn’t ever hurt this much. Who’d have known that riding a horse would be so painful?”
Mariah nodded with perfunctory sympathy—it was a complaint she’d heard dozens of times over the summers. “You’ll get used to it. We have a dispensary if you want aspirin or liniment.”
“It isn’t that bad, but I can’t believe this is my honeymoon. Whatever happened to rose petals, silk sheets and chocolate-dipped strawberries?”
“If it helps, Chad says you’re being a real sport about the whole thing.”
The other woman grinned; she was as open and uncomplicated as her groom. “Actually, I’m having a ball. We’ll be back every year, but I won’t object to an occasional weekend in the Bahamas.”
Mariah tried not to laugh...though groaning was a distinct possibility, as well. She’d already moved the newlyweds due to the noise they were making at night. It was fortunate the U-2 didn’t have more children visiting at the moment, or some parents would be explaining things they weren’t quite prepared to explain.
“Whoa, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Susan said, staring at the rear of the tent.
Mariah turned and saw a tall, well-built man standing next to a sullen teenager. The girl’s hair looked as if it had been trimmed by a weed whacker and it was a peculiar shade of streaky black, ending in purple tips. Apparently she was going through a Goth phase because she also wore black from head to toe, including her lipstick. Her T-shirt was ablaze with silver studs in the shape of a skull and raggedly cut to display her midriff...which seemed to have a spiderweb tattooed over it.
A tattoo?
Distaste filled Mariah, but it wasn’t for the teenager—it was for the father who’d allowed his daughter to do something so permanent to her body when she was still a child. Echoes of her grandmother’s urging to be patient rang in her ears and Mariah squared her shoulders. Fine, she shouldn’t make snap judgments. She wasn’t doing a stellar job of parenting Reid, either.
Mariah approached the mismatched pair. The man was in his mid-to-late thirties and attractive in an uptight sort of way, with brown hair and eyes. He was intense, focused and had a rock-square jaw. As for the girl, she might be pretty beneath her clothes and I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-you-think air. It was hard to be sure. Together they were the most unlikely twosome she’d ever seen going on a ranch vacation.
“Hi, you must be Jacob and Kittie, but Burt Parsons tells me you want to be called Caitlin,” she said to the teenager, trying to ignore her bizarre appearance. “I’m Mariah Weston. Welcome to the U-2 Ranch. I hear you’ve met my brother, Reid.”
“Yeah. He says I’ll scare the horses,” Caitlin said resentfully.
Reid could be right, only it wasn’t diplomatic to agree. Mariah sat on the edge of the table. “He helped birth a lot of those horses, so he’s very protective. A horse doesn’t understand why someone looks or smells different than they’re used to, and he worries how new people will affect them.”
“Oh.” Something flickered in Caitlin’s eyes, a blend of powerful emotions that seemed to go beyond normal teen angst. “Birth them...you mean, like, clean the babies up?”
“We do whatever they need. If we’re lucky, we mostly get to just watch. It’s incredible seeing a horse being born.”
Caitlin shifted her feet.
“I can loan you some outfits if you don’t have any ranch clothes,” Mariah offered. “Things that might be better for working with animals. We keep extras on hand in case they’re needed by our guests.”
“I don’t... Whatever.” Caitlin spun and marched from the tent as if the short conversation had exhausted her supply of civility.
Mariah stood, unsure of what to expect from Jacob O’Donnell, though his corporate attire and unbending stance weren’t the best signs. Up close she saw lines around his mouth from stress or frequent smiling or both. Right now he wasn’t smiling.
“As I was saying, welcome to the ranch,” she repeated. “You may want to borrow suitable clothes yourself to use while you’re—”
“I know Kittie can be trying, but your brother could have been friendlier to her,” he interrupted. “We’re paying good money to be here.”
Mariah’s temper, frayed by dealing with a distraught guest and a randy ranch hand, threatened to flare again. “My brother feels responsible for the horses—both for their well-being and for our guests’ safety. He gave his honest opinion. I’m sorry it upset Caitlin.” Reid took on too much responsibility for a boy of sixteen, but it was one of the realities of growing up on a ranch. She wouldn’t add to it by asking him to pamper their guests as if they were staying at a fancy resort.
“Your parents should speak to him.”
“I’m Reid’s legal guardian.”
Jacob O’Donnell regarded her narrowly, but she couldn’t read anything in his remote gaze. “You’re what, twenty at the most? You can’t be old enough to take charge of a teenager.”
Mariah shrugged. “I’m twenty-seven and I’ve been his guardian for four years.”
“I see. I suppose you have a degree in child psychology to run this kind of place?”
“What kind of place?”
“A place for teenagers with...issues. Like my daughter.” The words seemed forced from Jacob O’Donnell’s chest. His pride was clearly on the line.
Through the entrance Mariah could see Kittie sitting on a small knob of ground, curled in a defensive posture. “We should talk privately, Mr. O’Donnell.”
He followed her with a frown. Mariah headed away from the mess tent and out of sight of Kittie before stopping.
“I think we have a misunderstanding,” she said. “This is a working ranch. Guests can remain in their tents if that’s what they choose to do, but we don’t have activity directors, swimming pools, tennis courts or other entertainments to keep them occupied—basically, none of the luxuries or frills that some folks are used to having. Our visitors come to the U-2 to experience ranching. Plain and simple.”
“I know it’s a working ranch.”
“You also seem to think we’re a facility for troubled children. We’re not, so if you require that, or feel we should put everything aside to wait on you the way they do at an exclusive spa, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”
A muscle twitched in Jacob’s cheek. “I have friends who said it helped bringing their son here.”
Mariah hesitated.
Granddad often told her she’d inherited more than her temper and red hair from an Irish ancestress; he claimed she’d gotten Great-Great-Grandmother Eileen’s fey instincts, as well. And her instincts were telling her to get rid of Jacob O’Donnell, except she couldn’t evict every obnoxious guest—especially guests who’d paid in advance for a six-week stay at the ranch.
“I’m glad your friends had a good visit to the U-2,” she said finally. “But if you want things to change for Caitlin, you need to do something about it yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’ve been going crazy for months trying to do something...anything that might work. That’s why I’m here. Believe me, a site with such primitive accommodations would be my last choice for a vacation.”
Primitive?
Mariah’s back went rigid.
He made it sound as if they were making guests dig their own privy holes and bathe in the creek. It had cost a fortune to have commercial restroom and shower facilities built at the ranch—she knew exactly how much, because she’d signed the checks.
“It’s too bad the accommodations don’t meet with your satisfaction, Mr. O’Donnell. However, they are thoroughly outlined on our website, so they shouldn’t have been a surprise,” she said coolly. “As for what I mean, you want Caitlin’s problems to somehow get resolved at our ‘primitive’ ranch, and yet you’re dressed as if you’ve just come from a board meeting.”
“I did come from a board meeting. We left for the airport immediately after it ended.”
“I see. That tells me a lot.”
She stepped backward as she saw Reid striding toward them, probably guessing this wasn’t a normal discussion between her and a guest. Her brother tried to protect her, but she didn’t need help. She’d learned to protect herself from pushy, overbearing guys a long time ago. She liked men who didn’t think the universe revolved around them. But it was a rare trait—one that Jacob O’Donnell obviously didn’t possess.
“I had to make arrangements to cover my business interests while I was gone, but my daughter comes first,” Jacob said in a stuffy tone.
“Then act like it. She won’t join in if you aren’t doing it yourself. This ranch isn’t a corporate boardroom. That ten-thousand-dollar watch won’t impress a herd of cows, and your custom-made suit isn’t the least bit appropriate for the physical work we do here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Mariah belatedly reminded herself that working with the U-2’s guests was her job. It didn’t matter if she disliked them or thought they were pompous jackasses. On the other hand, she had no intention of playing babysitter for a spoiled teenager or of letting one of the U-2’s wranglers play babysitter. She had enough headaches.
“Well?” he prodded.
“In that case, the sooner you start participating, the better it will be for Caitlin. As I said, we have Levi’s and work shirts that you can both borrow. That would be a big move forward.”
“We brought our own gear, and if we need more, I’ll go into town and buy it. We certainly don’t need anyone’s loaners.” He strode off—bristling with snobbish arrogance—and Mariah had a childish wish he’d slip on a pile of fresh horse manure. That would trim him down a few notches.
Reid said something as they crossed paths, but O’Donnell didn’t pay attention.
Mariah wrinkled her nose.
City people bothered Reid; men with control issues like Jacob O’Donnell bothered her. The overt wealth, the expectation that everyone should jump at their bidding, the conviction that their money was worth more than anyone else’s...she’d met too many men like that when she was waiting tables at an upscale Los Angeles restaurant to earn money for school. She’d quickly found it wasn’t wise to accept gifts or excessively large tips from her male customers because of what they thought it would buy them later.
“Why aren’t you eating supper?” she said as her brother walked up to her. “Grams isn’t cooking because she needed to work at the clinic today.”
“I’ll eat after a while. What’s up with that O’Donnell guy? He’s got an attitude you can see from a mile away. I bet he’s going to be a pain in the ass.” Reid glared in the direction Jacob O’Donnell had gone, though he was no longer in sight.
“He’s a worried father. Cut him some slack,” she said. It was good advice for her as well, but there was something unusually annoying about Jacob O’Donnell that made it hard to follow.
“I’d be worried, too, if she was my kid.”
“Well, she’s not. Caitlin is probably just a little mixed-up.”
“How mixed-up?”
“I don’t know.”
Mariah looked toward the U-2 parking area where the O’Donnells’ rented Mercedes sat in conspicuous glory, sadly out of place among the usual SUVs and trucks and economy cars. How did they rent a Mercedes in Montana? And why would they rent one to drive to a ranch over dirt and gravel roads? Especially a black Mercedes that showed every speck of dirt.
Burt Parsons had told her about the dust-covered luxury car with a laconic grin. He was the ranch’s best wrangler—shrewd, unflappable and great with kids. She’d assigned him to the O’Donnells when she’d realized that Caitlin, age fourteen according to their online registration form, ought to be attending classes. It suggested she’d been suspended or expelled.
Apparently Mariah had guessed right.
Judging from the tightly wound state of her father’s nerves, Mariah suspected that Caitlin wouldn’t be welcome at her school for a very long time.
CHAPTER TWO
DAMNED OBNOXIOUS...opinionated...
Muttering under his breath, Jacob tossed his suitcase onto the mattress in his tent and hunted for a pair of jeans. He hated admitting it, but the Weston woman was right—at the very least he ought to have changed before dinner.
Woman?
Jacob frowned as he pulled his shirt off. Mariah Weston looked younger than she claimed to be, though it was unlikely she’d distorted that fact. She didn’t seem the type of person he would have expected to encounter running a ranch—more like a Hollywood actress playing a part with her leggy appeal and long red hair. Maybe she was a figurehead, the public image of the business. On the other hand, looks could be deceiving; he still thought that somewhere beneath Kittie’s dismal clothes, black lipstick and in-your-face attitude was the great kid she’d always been.
Jacob massaged the back of his neck. Worry and the rush of making arrangements for his unplanned absence from the office had taken their toll. He’d hardly slept since Kittie’s latest escapade; he was now operating on autopilot. Even his parents didn’t understand. He had been forced to tell them why he was going to be gone for an extended period and could hear his mother saying with indulgent humor, She’s her father’s daughter, but you got into plenty of scrapes as a boy and turned out fine.
Granted, he’d soft-pedaled the incident, but starting a fire was serious, accidental or not. And it wasn’t just the smoking; it was all the trouble combined over the past few months. One unholy mess after another.
Naturally the discussion had given his mother an opening, for the hundredth time, to recommend that he find a new mother for Kittie. She couldn’t accept that he was never getting married again and certainly not having any more children. Who in their right mind would leap into the prospect of raising another teenager after they’d done it once already? And he had...well, other reasons. Reasons he didn’t like thinking about.
A chill went through Jacob. It was too hard loving someone, only to lose them. He’d buried his wife and nearly buried his daughter as a toddler due to health problems; he wasn’t taking a chance of going through it again. There might be things he couldn’t control in his life, but avoiding that particular pain was one that he could.
Yanking his tie loose, Jacob dropped it into the suitcase. The conservative blue silk was another accusation of parental failure. He should have worn the tie that Kittie had given to him for his last birthday, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it—Tweety Bird and Sylvester weren’t appropriate corporate attire. It was bad enough that he’d had to call an emergency board meeting on a Sunday morning.
Not that a suit was appropriate ranch attire, either.
The old cowboy had given him fair warning. Burt’s urging to “get comfortable” must have meant “change your clothes,” but Jacob hadn’t been thinking clearly. It wasn’t like him. Usually he was methodical, working things out, making sure he made the best decisions and kept everything carefully managed.
Jacob snorted, his irritation rising again.
Mariah Weston had implied he was spoiled when she suggested he wanted to be waited on hand and foot, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying comfort. And he didn’t expect to be pampered—he just wanted to receive a reasonable amount of service for the money he was paying.
He rotated his shoulders and leaned on the rolled sleeping bag. Damn, he was tired. That must be why Mariah Weston’s criticism had gotten to him. He loved Kittie and he’d busted his ass since Anna’s death to make sure their daughter would be safe and secure. Why shouldn’t they appreciate and enjoy the benefits?
Stop it, he ordered silently, kneading his throbbing temples.
Anna had been gone for over ten years, yet sometimes he missed her so much it was as if he had an aching, frozen hole in his chest. He knew that things would be different if she was still here. Anna wouldn’t have screwed up with Kittie, and they wouldn’t have needed to come to Montana, hoping for a miracle.
He’d jumped into the ranch vacation solution out of desperation, not really believing it would work. Yet at the same time, he’d clung to a kernel of hope that the U-2 would do some good. Now he was back to square one and unsure of what to do, though maybe getting Kittie out of her usual environment for several weeks would accomplish something.
In the distance Jacob heard the neighing of horses and other, more unfamiliar sounds. From the opposite direction came the rattle of plates, along with the chatter and laughter of people enjoying themselves. With any luck Kittie’s hunger would outweigh her antisocial mood—she was angry with him, not anyone else.
Hell, he hated feeling so out of control.
He ought to have realized the ranch’s website didn’t say they worked with at-risk children—it was his friend who’d called it a troubled kid’s boot camp.
At risk.
That was how Kittie’s principal had described her while ranting about the fire. Jacob donated to organizations with programs for at-risk kids, and now his daughter had the same label slapped on her forehead.
Jacob put his arm behind his head and gazed at the sturdy frame of the canvas tent, trying to think of anything but Kittie and how much he wished Anna was still alive. It astonished him that the ranch got so many guests. There were two or three dozen tents on the hill—if they filled to capacity very often, they must make a decent chunk of change each year. Of course, the U-2 had to make their profits during the summer season, since no one would stay out here in the winter.
Someone walked by outside and coughed, and Jacob made a face.
That was another problem with this place...no privacy. If he and Kittie got into one of their frequent shouting matches, everyone on the ranch would know their business.
* * *
KITTIE SAT ON a small hump of ground and sniffed.
She wasn’t crying—she was probably allergic to Montana. That was why her eyes were burning.
Her dad didn’t get it. Nobody did. And it didn’t matter anyway, because soon she’d be dead and buried and everybody would forget her.
The same as her mom.
Sniffing again, she picked at her black nail polish. It was stupid anyway. It wasn’t as if she had those fake nails that made your hands look cool. The school didn’t allow them any longer, not after Bethany Wilcox had stabbed herself at basketball practice last year. Everybody was mad at Bethany for a while after that, but no one stayed mad at the really, really popular girls, no matter what they do.
Her dad marched to their tent and Reid’s sister returned to the mess tent. Neither of them seemed very happy.
Kittie’s stomach rumbled.
The food smelled good, but she couldn’t go in there. She might see Reid and he didn’t like her, no matter what Mariah said about him protecting the horses. Besides, she wasn’t that odd to a horse, was she? Her friends thought she looked totally awesome—why wouldn’t a horse agree? They weren’t dumb.
Her dad hadn’t come back by the time everyone was done eating; he must be really pissed. Well, she was pissed, too. Nobody had asked if she wanted to come a gazillion miles from home and what was left of her life. Her dad had said they were going and that was that. So what if she’d set fire to a trash can and it got out of control? Big deal. Not that much got burned, and she didn’t mean to do it anyhow.
Someone began playing a harmonica and she heard some dorky singing—“Home on the Range” and junk. Kittie rested her chin on her knees. She didn’t want to be a dork like everybody else, even if they were having a good time.
There was a noise and she saw an old man coming toward her.
“Hello, young lady. May I sit down?”
Kittie started to say “Whatever” as usual, then stopped. “Okay.”
He sat and put a paper sack between them. She smelled chicken and other stuff. “I brought you supper in case you’re hungry,” he explained. He opened the sack and took out a foil-covered plate. “Simple outdoor cooking—that’s what we specialize in at the U-2. It’ll stick to your ribs.”
For a second Kittie considered refusing, but her stomach rumbled again. She pulled the foil back on the plate—it was barbecued chicken and beans and coleslaw and corn bread. The corn bread was buttery and drizzled with honey. She ate until she was ready to burst and washed it down with a bottle of cold root beer, which normally she’d say was for babies, but somehow tasted awfully good with the chicken and beans. It was the best food ever.