The Rancher's Family Wish

A Home for His Heart

All Tanner Johns ever wanted was a place to call home. After inheriting Wranglers Ranch, Tanner is determined to carry on with his guardian’s legacy and turn it into a camp for troubled kids. Widow Sophie Armstrong is just as focused on her goals—and on raising her two young children…alone. Meeting the rugged cowboy changes everything. Tanner is a natural with her kids, and he lightens Sophie’s load in ways she couldn’t have imagined. But as the shadows in his past come between them, Tanner must convince Sophie he’s a man she can count on—for keeps.

“It’s Mr. Cowboy,” Beth yelled, racing to the door.

Then to Sophie’s utter dismay, her daughter said to Tanner, “Houston, we have a problem.”

Tall, lanky and lean, with wide denim-clad shoulders that looked perfect for leaning on, Tanner Johns was every woman’s fantasy cowboy.

Not her fantasy cowboy, of course, but—

“What’s the problem, er, Houston?” His gaze rested on Sophie.

Sophie couldn’t explain because there was something wrong with her breathing. As in, she couldn’t. Then Davy came racing down the stairs, tripped on the perpetually loose runner at the bottom tread and tumbled headlong into the cowboy’s arms. Tanner caught her son and held on just long enough to make sure Davy could stand on his own.

“Something I said?” he joked, winking at her.

The man winked at her! The control Sophie had almost recovered vanished. She figured she probably looked like a beached fish, gulping for air. Stupidly, she wished she’d had time to fix her hair.

Where’s your independence now?

LOIS RICHER loves traveling, swimming and quilting, but mostly she loves writing stories that show God’s boundless love for His precious children. As she says, “His love never changes or gives up. It’s always waiting for me. My stories feature imperfect characters learning that love doesn’t mean attaining perfection. Love is about keeping on keeping on.” You can contact Lois via email, loisricher@gmail.com, or on Facebook (Facebook.com/LoisRicherAuthor).

Fan into flame the gift of God that is within you.

—2 Timothy 1:6

For James,

who teaches me about love and trust.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Mr. Cowboy!”

Lost in thoughts of his upcoming meeting, Tanner Johns barely registered the call of the child standing outside the door of the Tucson grocery store he’d just left.

“Hey, Mr. Cowboy!”

When the call came a third time, Tanner realized the girl had to be addressing him since there was no one else in the parking lot wearing cowboy boots and a Stetson, no one else who could even remotely be called a cowboy. He walked toward the child, taken aback by her extraordinary beauty. The piercing scrutiny of intense blue eyes enhanced her ivory skin and flaxen hair. He was a few feet away when he noticed the obvious signs of Down syndrome.

“Were you calling me?” Tanner glanced around to be certain.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile made her skin glow.

“Why?” Tanner automatically smiled back. This little cutie was a looker with a grin that would melt the most weather-beaten hide.

“’Cause you’re a cowboy and cowboys have ranches.” Her bell-like voice carried on January’s breeze as it whispered across blacktop shimmering in the Arizona heat.

Several people turned to study them. After a glimpse at Tanner their focus veered to the child, benevolent smiles widening when they spied the big cage at her feet. Wait a minute—rabbits? How had he missed that?

“A ranch is a good place to keep bunnies,” she said.

“Uh, how many are there?” Tanner couldn’t decipher one ball of fur from another.

“Only eight.” She was probably five or six, he guessed. Sadness filled her voice as she explained, “We can’t keep them anymore.”

“I see.” In spite of Tanner’s reluctance to get involved, her innocence evoked a memory long buried inside him. Had he ever been that guileless?

“What happened to your face, Mr. Cowboy?” The question was open and honest. Tanner liked her steady stare better than others’ quick gawks. Empathy beamed out from her blue eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I scratched myself on a wire fence.”

“People stare at you.” She nodded. “They stare at me, too. It’s ’cause we’re different.”

“They stare at you because you’re beautiful.” Affection for this spunky child flared inside him. “And because you’re special.” He meant her Down syndrome.

“I’m not special.” She shook her blond head firmly. “I’m just me. Mama says I’m exactly the way God made me.” The happiness wreathing her round face made Tanner wish he’d had a mother like hers. His brain skittered away from that sensitive subject.

“Where is your mom?” Tanner glanced around curiously.

“Getting my brother.” She pointed to a young woman with glossy, shoulder-length hair. It was clear the mom was trying to reason with a reluctant boy whom she held by one arm as she drew him forward. Her brightly flowered sundress billowed around her slim figure. She looked too young to have a daughter and a son. “That’s Davy. He gets mad. A lot.”

“What’s your name?” Tanner forced his gaze from the brunette’s lovely face to the girl in front of him. Mother and daughter shared translucent skin that seemed to bloom from within, but that’s where the resemblance between the cute mom and this blonde sweetheart ended.

“I’m Beth. I’m almost six.” When she grinned, dimples appeared in her apple cheeks.

“Pleased to meet you, Beth.” Tanner held out a hand. He suppressed a laugh when she shook it heartily, her face completely serious. Beth’s trusting gaze made him feel ten feet tall.

“Cowboys have horses, don’t they?” Beth scanned the parking lot with a frown.

“Yes.” Tanner choked down his mirth. “But today I left Samson at the ranch.”

Beth’s mother arrived breathless, studying him with a protective look flickering in her cocoa-toned eyes. Beauty certainly ran in this family.

“Hello. I’m Tanner Johns. Beth was just asking if I’d take her rabbits to my ranch.”

“Will you?” A desperation the harried mother couldn’t mask leached through her words before she huffed a laugh. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m Sophie Armstrong. This is my son, Davy—David.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Tanner took one look at the surly-faced boy and returned his attention to the easy-on-the-eyes mother.

“So can you take the rabbits?” The pleading in Sophie’s voice was hard enough to resist, but that sound—half hope, half desperation—that’s what got to Tanner. “I’d be very grateful.”

“I—uh—” You should have walked away, Tanner.

“Do we have to give them all away, Mama?” Beth’s gaze implored her mother to rethink her decision.

“I’m sorry but we do, honey. Mrs. Jones is very upset that the bunnies got out of their pen again and ate her flowers.” The gentleness of Sophie’s “mom” voice and the tender brush of her fingers against her daughter’s flaxen head didn’t need translation. She loved this child.

“Who cares about stupid old rabbits?” Davy scoffed. “Good riddance.”

The words were a bluff to hide his anger. Tanner knew that because as a kid he’d used that same tone when life had jabbed him with reality once too often. But when Beth’s blue eyes watered and her bottom lip wobbled, Tanner’s chest tightened.

“Davy, that’s mean,” his mother reproved. “Beth loves the rabbits.”

“She shouldn’t. We always have to let go of stuff we love.” The boy turned away to scuff his toe against a hump in the pavement, head bent, shoulders stiff.

Sophie’s face fell and her amazing smile dimmed. Though Tanner understood the pain behind the words, he wanted to ream out the kid for hurting his lovely mother and sister.

Whoa! You don’t do getting involved, Tanner, his brain scoffed. Never have, though Burt tried his best to teach you. Walk away.

But two pairs of eyes, one a rich Arizona sky blue and one dark as the dust trails on Mount Lemmon’s highest slopes, wouldn’t let him leave.

“I can’t—that is, uh, I don’t know anything about keeping rabbits.” Tanner gazed longingly at his truck, his way of escape. Why had he answered Beth’s call in the first place?

“Okay, thanks anyway.” Sophie smiled politely as her fingers squeezed Beth’s shoulder. “Come on, kids. Let’s get these guys loaded up. We’ll have to take them to the pet shelter. I don’t dare take them home again or Mrs. Jones will call the landlord.”

“Old bag,” Davy muttered almost under his breath.

“Manners, David,” his mother reproved. “Now let’s get moving. I’m working tonight, remember?”

“Again,” Davy complained in a grumpy tone.

“Yes, again. Because that’s how I pay for those new sneakers you’re wearing. So carry the cage, Davy, and let’s go.” Sophie Armstrong offered Tanner a distracted smile before urging the children forward.

As they walked away Tanner heard Beth protest.

“This morning you said the pet shelter can’t keep them,” she said. “What will happen to our bunnies, Mama?”

“God will take care of them.” Sophie paused long enough to glance Tanner’s way. He thought he glimpsed a hint of guilt in her brown eyes before she resumed her speed-walk to a red van. “After all, He cares for the sparrows and the lilies of the field, remember?”

Nice sentiment but her tone held no assurance.

It’s not your problem. That did nothing to lift the blanket of guilt weighing down Tanner’s shoulders. As he turned from watching Davy wrangle the cage into the van, his gaze slid past then returned to the logo printed on the side.

Sophie’s Kitchen—Home-Cooked Food Without the Hassle.

Home-cooked. Tanner studied the bag in his hand.

Doughnuts again? In his head he heard the other church ushers’ laughter. Is that all you ever eat, Tanner?

An idea sprang to life. He whirled around and saw Sophie, er, Mrs. Armstrong getting into her van. “Wait.”

She frowned at him but waited for his approach. “Is something wrong?”

“No, yes—” He pointed at the writing on her vehicle. “You make food? For people to eat?”

“That’s usually what they do with it.” Amusement laced her voice.

“Do you ever make desserts? Or treats for coffee time?” Tanner felt ridiculous. But the thought of serving the same old store-bought doughnuts he always provided, the thought of overhearing the same snarky comments made him wait, albeit impatiently, for her response.

“Cakes, tarts, that kind of thing? Sure.” She noticed Beth licking her lips and winked. Eyes dancing, Sophie looked young and carefree, not at all motherly.

What would it be like to be loved by a mom like her?

She frowned. “Look, I’m in a hurry—”

Tanner took a leap of faith. “I’ll take the rabbits and make a home for them on the ranch in exchange for something.”

“What?” Suspicion darkened her brown eyes.

“You making me some kind of dessert for tonight.” Sophie’s face said she wasn’t sold on the trade. Hoping to sweeten the deal, Tanner glanced at Beth. “You could bring your kids to see the rabbits in their new home if you want, to make sure they’re okay.”

Sophie’s eyebrows drew together. “What kind of dessert?”

“I don’t care.” He glanced down at the bag he still clutched. “As long as it’s not doughnuts.” He knew from the furrow on her forehead that she was considering his offer.

“You haven’t given me much notice,” she complained.

“Can’t help it. That’s the deal.” Tanner tipped back on the heels of his boots, Stetson in hand, and waited while she deliberated. “There will be twelve of us.”

“All men?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. Does that matter?” She nodded. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“Well, for one thing, women often appreciate different desserts from men, say something like cheesecake over pie,” Sophie explained.

“Pie?” Tanner’s stomach tap-danced in anticipation. “You could make pies for twelve people for tonight?”

“You’d only need three, maybe four.” She tapped her chin. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?” Could she see he was almost salivating at the mere thought of cinnamon-scented apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream dripping down its sides?

“I have a catering job tonight, which means I couldn’t possibly bake and deliver your pies today.” When she shook her head, strands of shiny chocolate-toned hair flew through the air in an arc then fell back perfectly into place.

Tanner loved chocolate. Even more so now.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”

“But you don’t even know where I live.” He wasn’t giving up so easily.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to bake and deliver,” she said. “If it could be tomorrow—?”

“It has to be today. Maybe I could pick them up. Where do you live?” He noted her hesitation. Why not? She had a couple of kids to think of. “Or perhaps your husband could meet me somewhere with them?”

“I’m a widow.” The note of defiance buried in her comment intrigued Tanner.

“Well, I could pick them up,” he offered. She wrinkled her nose. “Would it make a difference to you if my pastor vouched for me?” Even as Tanner said it, he wondered what his life had come to that he was willing to ask someone to vouch for him in order to get pie.

“I don’t know.” She hesitated.

“The meeting tonight is for our church ushers’ group. I’m head usher so it’s at my place and I’m supplying the food,” he explained before she could say no. “We get together every three months or so to organize the schedule of who’s covering which services when at Tanque Verde First Community Church.”

“Hey, that’s where we go,” Davy said from the backseat.

“I thought you seemed familiar.” The furrow of worry disappeared from Sophie’s forehead. “You’re Burt Green’s successor at Wranglers Ranch.”

She knew Burt? Well, of course she did. Tanner figured pretty well everyone at First Community Church must know about the burly rancher and the transient kids he’d often brought to church.

“I was sorry to hear of Burt’s passing.” Sophie glanced at the van’s clock, hesitated a moment then nodded. “Okay. It’s a deal. You can pick up your dessert at my place in exchange for taking the rabbits. But I’m not promising pie.”

“Oh.” His balloon of hope burst.

“I’ll make you something delicious, though, don’t worry.” Sophie tilted her head toward the rabbits. “I really appreciate this. It’s a great relief to find a home for those guys but—I have to go. My roast is due to come out of the oven.”

“Wait here.” Tanner drove his truck next to her van, loaded the rabbits and promised Beth she could come see them anytime. With Sophie’s address tucked into his shirt pocket, he handed her one of Burt’s cards with the phone number at Wranglers Ranch.

“So you can let me know when I should come and pick up the desserts,” he said. Sophie nodded, fluttered a hand, then quickly drove away.

Chuckling at the goofy sunflower stuck on the van’s rear bumper, Tanner started his engine. Thanks to Sophie, his usher friends were going to get a surprise when they arrived at Wranglers Ranch tonight.

That’s when it occurred to Tanner that he didn’t even know if she was a good cook. For some reason that worry immediately dissipated. Strangely he felt utterly confident that whatever Sophie Armstrong made would be delicious. Tonight was going to be a good meeting.

Tanner gave the doughnut bag on his seat a glare, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. Living on the street in his teens, he’d felt that painful gnawing ache of hunger once too often to ever waste food. Spying a solution, he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it, the doughnuts and a business card to a disheveled man sitting in the parking lot by a light standard, exactly what Tanner would probably be doing if not for Burt Green.

“Hello. Buy yourself a meal to go with these doughnuts. If you need a job come see me at Wranglers Ranch,” he said.

Tanner drove to the exit and left the city limits, marveling at the simplicity of the interaction. Maybe Burt’s teaching wasn’t totally wasted on him.

But that optimism faltered the closer Tanner got to Wranglers Ranch. Whom was he kidding? He didn’t have the first clue how to carry out Burt’s ideas for Wranglers even though the ranch had been his home for the past ten of his almost twenty-six years. Tanner had been thrilled to work alongside Burt, to share in helping the street kids he mentored, kids who wouldn’t or couldn’t fit into the institutions of Tucson. Foster parent Burt, with Social Services’ permission, gladly nurtured each one, feeding, clothing and teaching life skills on his working ranch.

Ten years ago Tanner had been one of those kids. Other kids eventually found their families who’d missed them, wanted them back. Tanner was the only one who’d stayed. Nobody had ever come for him.

“Tanner, God’s given me a new goal,” Burt had announced last June. “I believe He wants us to make Wranglers Ranch into a kind of camp retreat for kids.” The surprise of his words hadn’t diminished even six months later.

Tanner might have been stunned by Burt’s new goal but he’d never doubted his mentor would do it. He’d only been curious about how. Unfortunately a fatal heart attack had kept Burt from turning his goal into reality. Tanner had mourned his mentor, assuming Wranglers Ranch, which had been his home for so long, would be sold. He’d been stunned to learn that Burt had entrusted Tanner with his ranch and the fortune that went with it. Burt’s will had just one condition: Tanner had two years to turn the ranch into a kids’ camp. If he failed, then the ranch would be sold.

Tanner desperately wanted to live up to Burt’s trust in him but he couldn’t figure out how to make the dream happen. He had no difficulty running the ranch. That was easy. But the scope of creating a refuge for kids like the ones Burt had described overwhelmed and intimidated him. In six months he hadn’t made even a tiny dent because he had no idea how to start. Shame over his failure left him feeling unworthy of Burt’s trust. Failure meant he could never repay the enormous debt he owed the man who’d coaxed him off the streets and into a life in which faith in God now filled his world.

Fan into flame the gift of God that is within you, Tanner. In his mind he could hear Burt’s voice repeating the verse from Timothy. Yet even now, after living at Wranglers so long, the meaning of that biblical quote still wasn’t clear to Tanner.

What is the gift that’s within me, Burt? Same old question. Still no answer.

Tanner knew he lacked Burt’s easy ability to reach into a street kid’s heart and help him gain a new perspective. He’d taken a foster parenting course and tons of psychology classes but they hadn’t helped. He had the head knowledge. The problem was, Tanner Johns was a loner, plagued by his past mistakes.

The old insecurities returned as they always did when Tanner thought about his past. Once more he became a painfully shy seven-year-old foster kid, utterly devastated when he’d overheard a social worker say Tanner’s mom abandoned him before he was a day old. In the years that followed he’d learned exactly what it meant when nobody wanted you, not even your own mother. From then on, a family was all Tanner had ever wanted. He’d finally found that family in Burt. But now he was gone and Tanner was alone.

Ignoring the rush of loss that bulged inside, Tanner pushed away the past and refocused. Even if he could somehow coax kids to come to the ranch, Burt’s vision had been to turn Wranglers into a place where kids would find God was the answer to their problems. But how? Tanner had repeatedly asked God to send someone to show him. Then, as Burt had taught, he waited for God’s leading. So far Tanner’s prayers remained unanswered.

Show me how to do this, God, his heart cried once more.

With a sigh, Tanner turned his truck into the winding road that led to Wranglers, his spirit lifting at the beauty of the place. Burt had claimed the ranch showed its best in March and April when the desert bloomed with life. But January was Tanner’s favorite month because it was a time of new birth, beginnings and hope.

The swaying leaves of the massive eucalyptus trees brought powerful memories of Burt and his unending life lessons. The only thing that wily man hadn’t been able to teach Tanner was how to let go of his shameful past. Of course Burt hadn’t known that by accepting his invitation to come to Wranglers, Tanner had abandoned the girlfriend who was going to have his child. In fact, it was only much later that Tanner himself understood that though he’d gained Burt and a home, he’d done exactly as his mother had—he’d thrown away his chance to be a father, to have the family he’d always craved. How could he possibly be forgiven for that?

With a sigh of regret Tanner pushed away the past and decided he’d focus on recruiting kids tomorrow. Right now he needed to relocate these rabbits so if a cute little girl, her grumpy brother and her pretty mom came to visit, he could allay their fears about their pets.

Moses Featherbed sat on the porch swing at Wranglers, watching as Tanner hefted the cage out of the truck. The elderly Native American had called Wranglers his home long before Tanner’s arrival and thanks to a stipend from Burt’s estate, Moses remained, refusing to retire, let alone stop rehabilitating the abused horses Burt had always welcomed on his spread.

“You raising rabbits now?” Moses, never short for a comment, lifted one bushy eyebrow.

“Not intentionally.” Conscious of the old man following, Tanner carried the cage to a fenced area he’d built last November to house a pair of injured Canadian geese that had since flown away. “I made an exchange.” He set the cage inside and opened the wire door.

“Rabbits for...?” Moses eased his arthritic hip onto a nearby bale and watched the animals hop out of the cage to explore their new home.

“Rabbits for pie or something like it for my ushers’ meeting tonight.” Tanner couldn’t hide his smile of anticipation.

“Good deal, especially if a pretty lady comes with it,” Moses approved with a chuckle.

“She’s pretty all right,” Tanner assured him. Then he frowned. “But that has nothing to do with the pie. I mean—uh—”

“Right.” Moses’s amused chuckle echoed through the feathery mesquites, over the spiky barrel cactus and tumbled down to the bubbling brook three hundred feet away. “The Lord’s ways surely are mysterious.”

Mysterious or not, the Lord wasn’t in the matchmaking business for Tanner Johns, because pretty as Sophie Armstrong was, God knew perfectly well that Tanner didn’t get involved with women. Never again.

* * *

“I sure hope your cowboy likes these kinds of pie.” Sophie studied the fluted golden crusts with a critical eye.