Trading his laptop for a…saddle?

Widower Jacob O’Donnell has to snap his teen daughter out of her rebellious ways. And his last resort to do so means temporarily swapping his Seattle boardroom for a Montana ranch. It should be simple, but nothing prepares him for the realities of a working ranch…or for Mariah Weston. This rugged country can only be paradise to someone like Mariah, whose can-do attitude and sizzling-hot temper throw Jacob harder than any horse ever could.

Yet maybe a strong woman like Mariah can get through to his daughter. One thing is for sure—Mariah is definitely getting through to Jacob! And the closer she gets to his heart, the more Jacob wants what he knows might be impossible.

“So why didn’t you get married?”

Jacob raised one eyebrow and continued, “Maybe I’m not the only one concerned about losing someone special. Is that why you got engaged to a man you didn’t really love? No one could blame you after the way your mother and father died.”

Mariah had never slapped a man, but she was within inches now. Jacob didn’t have any place questioning her relationship with Luke, or bringing up her parents.

“Back off,” she ordered furiously, without letting Jacob say another word.

The repair of the fence took less than five minutes and she efficiently replaced the tools in Shadow’s saddlebag.

“We’re done,” she said shortly.

“No ‘we’ about it. You wouldn’t let me help.”

“Don’t push me, Jacob,” she warned. “I may not have liked the city, but I took self-defense classes when I lived there and you wouldn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of what I learned.”

To her utter aggravation, he just laughed.

Dear Reader,

A friend used to speak longingly of the Amish lifestyle, believing it was less complicated and stressful than our fast-paced world. She would often say, “Maybe I’ll become Amish someday.” I’d smile and think of her sporty red car, passion for movies and lattes, and the ultra modern home she shared with her husband.

Still, the happiest summer of my life was spent in the mountains living in a tent cabin and cooking on a wood stove. I quickly discovered the satisfaction of chopping firewood, living close to nature and taking pleasure in simple entertainments. Yet the adjustments I went through are nothing compared to what I ask of my hero when I send him on a ranch vacation with his rebellious fourteen-year-old daughter.

Imagine a wealthy, city-loving businessman who finds himself sleeping in a tent, riding horses and dealing with a stubborn redhead who isn’t the least bit impressed with his money. Mariah is nothing like the gentle wife Jacob lost over ten years before. The only reason he stays is his troubled daughter, whose outrageous behavior has finally gotten her expelled from school. Jacob will try anything to help Kittie and he sees the ranch as a last resort.

I hope you have fun reading about Jacob and Mariah and their families—it was loads of fun writing about them. I also enjoy hearing from readers! Please contact me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada.

Wishing you all the best,

Julianna Morris

The Ranch Solution

Julianna Morris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Julianna Morris has an offbeat sense of humor that frequently gets her in trouble. She has also been accused of being interested in everything. Her interests range from oceanography and photography to traveling, antiquing, painting, walking on the beach and reading (mysteries and most other fiction and nonfiction). Julianna loves cats of all shapes and sizes. Her family’s feline companion is named Merlin, and like his namesake, Merlin is an alchemist—he can transform the house into a disaster in nothing flat. And since he shares the premises with a writer, it’s interesting to note that he is particularly fond of knocking books onto the floor.

MILLS & BOON

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To my talented sister, who is also my best friend.

And to the memory of my parents, two extraordinary people who taught their children to love books and the world around us.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

“THANK YOU FOR COM—”

The door of the conference room opened, interrupting Jacob O’Donnell’s opening remarks to his executive board. His eyes narrowed until he saw it was his assistant. The look on Gretchen’s face said it all—his daughter, Kittie, was in trouble. Again.

“No injuries,” Gretchen whispered in his ear. “Accidental fire. Girls’ locker room. But both fire and police departments had to be called.”

With effort Jacob kept his expression neutral. Fire. That was worse than anything Kittie had done before, though she’d done plenty. He looked at the men and women seated around the long table. “I apologize, but something urgent has come up that needs my attention.”

Right.

Something urgent.

A fourteen-year-old daughter who was single-handedly trying to destroy the civilized world.

Jacob cleared his throat. “So I’ll have Cara Michaels take over from here,” he continued. “Thank you, Cara.”

His vice president of Acquisitions nodded calmly. Of course she was calm—her kids were already grown. She had raised three and lived to tell about it—he didn’t have a clue how she’d managed such a feat. As much as he loved his daughter, sometimes he hated being a parent. These days it seemed like a never-ending cycle of worry and self-doubt.

“What’s the damage?” he automatically asked Gretchen as the door closed behind them.

His assistant patted his arm. “It isn’t that bad—some paper, a wood bench and cabinet, cleanup and new paint. But the principal is hopping mad—I didn’t realize his voice could get that high. Mr. Williams shrieked that setting fire to a building rates more than a suspension, no matter how liberal their rules might be. I’m afraid Kittie will be expelled this time—she seems to have exceeded even his tolerance.”

“Maybe I can pay for a new swimming pool to go with the tennis courts I donated the last time. Money talks,” Jacob said with a heavy dose of cynicism.

Gretchen shook her head. “I wouldn’t try it. You didn’t hear him. I’m lucky my eardrums didn’t burst the way he was yelling.”

“At least there are only a few weeks left in the school year.” Jacob pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Er...why don’t you take the limousine?” Gretchen suggested, probably because the last time Kittie was in danger of being expelled, he’d turned too sharply in the parking garage and creased the fender of his Mercedes.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. He didn’t like using a chauffeur, preferring to be the one in control.

“Okay, but my car is on the same level as yours, and I’m really fond of that Saturn.”

“It’s safe. I only hit concrete dividers, not other vehicles,” he said, teeth gritted. He didn’t want to say something he shouldn’t...which unfortunately he’d already done a few times over the past few months. Jacob hurried to the stairs, his head pounding. What a nightmare. Kittie had gone from being a normal high-school freshman at the beginning of the year to a teenager-from-hell at the end.

Was it his fault?

Was it drugs?

The possibility haunted him. Kittie’s mother had become dependent on medication by the time she died. A muscle ticked in Jacob’s jaw as he remembered how the pills had made Anna so dazed she’d barely recognized anyone. They had hoped a donor heart would become available in her rare blood type, but she hadn’t lived long enough for a transplant.

At Kittie’s school, Jacob parked in front of the administration building and went to the principal’s office; he’d gone there so often lately he could have made it blindfolded. Kittie sat in her usual chair, arms crossed over her abdomen, looking angry and defiant.

“I didn’t try to burn down anything,” she announced, her body language screaming that she didn’t care whether he believed her or not.

“That’s right, she just tried to hide the cigarette she was smoking without putting it out,” said a grim Mr. Williams. He was a liberal administrator, but everyone had their limits.

“Smoking?” Jacob asked incredulously. “We’ve talked about this. I thought you had better sense.”

“Like it matters.” Kittie sank deeper in her chair. The private school she attended didn’t have a uniform, and she’d pushed the envelope on their loose dress code in so many ways that the envelope looked more like a punching bag.

He hadn’t put an end to the nonsense because the school psychologist had advised him to let Kittie “express” herself.

Well, hell.

The experts obviously didn’t know what they were talking about. Not one of those experts had come up with a decent explanation of what was going on with his daughter, and they certainly hadn’t done anything to help make things better.

Jacob listened to twenty minutes of Mr. Williams’s ranting about out-of-control teens, silently accepted his daughter’s expulsion and endured an “interview” with the police detective who’d investigated the fire. Officer Rizzoli didn’t crack a smile the entire conversation, and Jacob’s nerves were wound to the breaking point by the time he returned to his Mercedes with Kittie in tow. She slumped into the passenger seat and scowled at her belly button.

“I’m getting my nose pierced,” she declared.

“Over my dead body.”

They argued all the way home.

When they finally arrived, Kittie disappeared upstairs into her bedroom; a few seconds later her music roared to life.

God in heaven.

Head pounding, Jacob looked wildly around the living room as if an answer could be found in the furniture. What was he going to do?

Smoking?

Fire in the girls’ locker room?

What was next?

Specters of teen pregnancy, STDs and drug overdoses raced through his mind, turning his stomach to ice. He’d tried grounding Kittie, taking away her computer, TV and various other privileges.

There didn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with her according to the doctors they’d seen. The counselor he’d consulted seemed baffled, and the only advice she’d had for him was to give it time. His own parents had told him to be patient, that all kids went through a rebellious stage, but he didn’t think this was normal rebellion.

Besides, he’d passed the expiration date on his patience; he was now operating on raw nerve.

Jacob headed for his home office. Like the living room, the office provided broad windows, overlooking a panorama of Lake Union. During the day he could sit and watch the seaplanes arrive and depart and the sailboats skim across the water, while at night the surrounding hills glistened with city lights. The stunning view usually pleased him, a reminder that he had succeeded and could afford to give Kittie the best of everything.

Yeah, the best.

At this rate he was going to need the best lawyers to defend her.

Jacob considered pouring himself a drink. Instead, he sat down in front of the computer and typed in the website address his friend Gene had given him. He stared long and hard at the travel-agency home page before clicking the U-2 Ranch link. When Gene and his wife were having trouble with their son, they’d taken him for a ranch vacation in Montana. Since then they’d raved about the U-2, claiming the experience had done wonders for Wes...sort of a boot camp for kids with problems. They’d even taken it in stride that Wes had broken his arm on the trip.

Jacob pressed his thumbs to his aching temples. Was he desperate enough to try something that could put Kittie in harm’s way? They’d always lived in the city, and the description of the ranch didn’t thrill him—five miles from the nearest town, gravel road into the ranch, guests slept in tents, everyone worked, food served communally, no designer coffee...

He grimaced He was addicted to good coffee, but if it helped Kittie, he’d live without the stuff forever.

Then he read the next part.

No smoking.

No exceptions.

Before he could change his mind, he took out his credit card and started typing.

CHAPTER ONE

“WE’RE ALMOST THERE,” Jacob said, glancing at Kittie, garbed entirely in black, including her nail polish and lipstick. He’d decided to deal with her abysmal wardrobe later; getting her out of Seattle had been a big enough struggle.

She blew a bubble with her gum and stared ahead silently.

“You’ll be able to ride horses there. You used to enjoy riding. Remember?”

“Whatever.”

He gave up and checked the GPS for how much farther they had to go. They’d flown to Billings, Montana, in an O’Donnell International company jet. Upon arrival Jacob had rented a car for the rest of the trip.

Along with losing her MP3 player, Kittie’s punishment for smoking and accidentally setting fire to the girls’ locker room was having to pay for the damages out of her allowance and composing a written apology to the school. An acceptable written apology, since Kittie could easily make an apology sound more like an insult.

Oh, yeah, and she was grounded for life, plus ten years. Jacob had told her if she shaped up during their trip, he might shave a few years from that part of the punishment.

Kittie hadn’t even blinked.

Tough love sounded clichéd, but he was desperate. He’d try anything.

Guided by the GPS, Jacob turned onto the U-2 Ranch road and after a mile came over a hill. Laid out in a shallow valley were the ranch buildings and, on the opposite slope, an array of white canvas tents. He winced—he hadn’t slept outdoors since he was a boy. A ranch vacation was a far cry from the Caribbean resort where he’d taken Kittie for Easter a year ago.

Jacob pulled to a stop in the parking area. There was plenty of space, likely because the school year hadn’t ended for kids who were still attending classes instead of being expelled.

“Hello, there,” called a voice as Jacob opened the trunk of their rental. The speaker was a white-haired man who looked older than the hills. But the weathered cowboy had steel in his face; he might be a worthy match for a surly teenager. “I’m Burt Parsons. Welcome to the U-2 Ranch. You must be the O’Donnells.”

“Duh,” Kittie said sarcastically.

Burt didn’t seem surprised. “And you have to be Kittie.”

Without a word, she spit her gum to the grass.

Before Jacob could say something about it, Burt gave her a stern look. “We don’t allow littering here,” he informed her. “Put it in the trash.”

Kittie didn’t move.

“Pick it up, young lady, unless you’d rather shovel horse manure from the barn.”

“Dad.”

“Better get the shovel, Burt,” Jacob suggested, taking their new sleeping bags from the trunk. It was hard letting someone else discipline Kittie. He had a hunch that tough love might be rougher on him than on his daughter.

Glaring at them both, she picked up the wad of gum and threw it in a barrel marked for trash.

“You folks are later arriving than we expected,” Burt said, stepping forward to help with the luggage. He read the baggage tag on Kittie’s neon-pink duffel, pushed it into her arms and went ahead of them with an easy stride, carrying the sleeping bags. Jacob followed with his own suitcase.

Kittie trudged next to him with an aggrieved mutter, but as they passed the largest barn, a young man came out and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Uh, hi,” she said, without even a touch of sarcasm or disdain—like his old Kittie.

Jacob stiffened. At first sight the guy appeared to be in his early twenties, but on closer inspection he was clearly younger. Great. That was all his daughter needed—a crush on another messed-up teenager.

The boy checked Kittie up and down. “You’re that city kid we’ve been expecting.”

“I’m not a kid, but I am from Seattle. My name is Kittie O’Donnell...uh, that is, I prefer Caitlin. Who are you?” She smiled shyly.

“Reid Weston. You’ll scare the horses in that getup,” he said.

He walked away and Jacob realized Reid Weston wasn’t a troubled teen—he was a cocky, underage cowboy. Kittie’s devastated expression showed he’d flattened her ego with a single comment. And what was that bit about Kittie wanting to be called Caitlin? It was the first he’d heard of it.

“Reid and his family own the ranch,” Burt explained, as if nothing had happened. “You’ll be seeing a lot of them.” He motioned them toward the hillside studded with tents.

The tents were utilitarian at best, with mattresses laid out on each side of a canvas partition, along with lanterns, a small bedside table and sturdy army-green footlockers.

“We don’t recommend keeping food in here.” Burt tossed a sleeping bag onto the mattresses. “We have the usual critters who’ll want to share it, but if you do have any snacks, be sure to put them in your locker and fasten it tight. Better yet, store all food in your car.”

“Hear that, Kittie?” Jacob asked his daughter. Kittie had a thing for red licorice. He’d bet a thousand bucks she’d filled her duffel bag with the revolting stuff.

She just stuck out her chin.

“The lanterns are rechargeable,” Burt went on. “Bring them to the mess tent in the morning if they need a charge, otherwise you’ll be taking care of business in the dark. No candles—it isn’t safe. Flashlights are okay if you’ve got ’em. The bathrooms and laundry and other facilities are in the buildings to the left, and the mess tent is over there.” He pointed to a large tent with smoke rising behind it. “Folks are mostly gathered for supper already—we start serving in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, we’ll be there.”

“No hurry,” Burt said. “Take your time and get comfortable. We don’t stand on formality.” With a short nod, he ambled toward the ranch house.

Jacob shot a look at Kittie. She’d assumed her defiant attitude, apparently having recovered from Reid Weston’s snubbing remark.

“I’m not shoveling any horse poop,” she announced and disappeared into her side of the tent.

* * *

MARIAH WESTON STALKED into the ranch house and slammed the door. She leaned against it and took several deep breaths.

“Problems, dear?” asked her grandmother.

“Nothing a two-by-four making contact with a certain cowboy’s privates wouldn’t fix. Hurt a guy where he lives and maybe you’ll get his attention.”

Dr. Elizabeth Grant Weston smiled resignedly. “Lincoln must have broken another heart.”

“Yes. We have yet another departing guest who hoped Lincoln had fallen in love with her and wanted to get married. For crying out loud, Linc keeps a supply of condoms in his shirt pocket! It’s pretty obvious what his intentions are. Did she really think he was going to change his ways and decide that wearing a wedding ring is better than being a carefree bachelor?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Cowboys don’t change—they just get older and stop having luck with the opposite sex.”

“Goodness, you’re in a mood today.”

“Can you blame me? I found Ms. Bingham smoking in one of the barns, so upset she almost set fire to the place.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Oh, dear. We don’t allow smoking. I wish we could extend the ban to chewing tobacco, but the ranch hands practically mutinied on the no-smoking rule.”

“I reminded her about the rules when I grabbed the cigarette and doused the smoldering hay. She apologized and the whole story spilled out in a hysterical swoop. Lucky me. I guess she just needed to tell someone. Linc always breaks things off at the last minute, but the women usually don’t take it this hard. Why are people so blind?”

“Patience, dear,” her grandmother urged.

Mariah rubbed her aching temples.

Patience wasn’t one of her strongest qualities. She did well with animals, not so great with people. Animals were straightforward; their emotions weren’t illogical. She felt sorry for Diane Bingham, but she honestly wondered how the woman could have imagined things working out with a cowboy. Diane was a born-and-bred city dweller with a taste for fast cars, sushi bars and nightclubs. She’d come to Montana on a whim and nearly gone crazy with the quiet before getting hot and heavy with Linc.

Linc had grown up on a horse, had never lived in a town with more than five hundred residents, probably thought sushi had something to do with sex and drove a decrepit truck from the 1970s that couldn’t reach fifty on a paved road.

The difference between ranchers and cowhands and most people was just too big. You might have a casual vacation affair, but you never expected it to become permanent. Mariah had learned that when she was fifteen and discovered that summer promises were too easily shattered...along with hearts.

Elizabeth patted her arm. “I’ll have your grandfather speak with Linc.”

“No, it’s okay, Ms. Bingham admitted Linc didn’t make any promises. But from now on he’s only working with family groups. We’ll keep him so busy that his sorry ass is too tired to do more than crawl into bed.”

“That’s usually where the trouble starts,” Elizabeth said drily.

“Don’t remind me. And they say country dwellers are naive. Is Reid in the office?”

“I think so. I just got home myself.”

Mariah headed to the back of the house, weary though it was only the beginning of the season and she ought to be brimming with energy. Ranching wasn’t easy. There were droughts, floods, lightning storms, disease, harsh winters, ornery cattle, unstable beef prices and a wealth of other problems to juggle. Yet those problems seemed minor compared to managing a bunch of greenhorn visitors and cowboy wranglers.

“Hey, Reid,” she said, stepping into the office. Their parents had converted a storage room into work space when they’d started the ranch vacation business. Originally they’d needed only a phone, a desk and a file cabinet, but the business had changed over the years, as had technology. Now the office was cramped with the newest equipment.

“Hey,” her brother said absently. He was bent over a book, reading intently.

“Studying?”

“Not exactly.” He looked up and pushed back from the old desk. “The travel agency phoned while you were out. Amy is waiting for the computer repair service to arrive, so I cross-checked the reservations that came in this week to be sure they were confirmed.”

“I appreciate your doing that, but I could have taken care of it later and let her know,” Mariah murmured. “Amy works evenings.”

Amy Lindstrom was a neighbor and ran her agency from home, largely through the internet. Initially it had stung Mariah to be charged for a job she could have kept handling herself, but Amy had significantly increased the U-2’s bookings.

“Yeah, well, you can’t do it all. By the way, I saw that new kid you said was coming,” Reid said. “She’s a real piece of work, and her dad is wearing a fancy suit and tie. I’ll bet his clothes cost more than a prize horse and wouldn’t last an hour riding fence lines.”

“I talked to Burt and he mentioned you’d met the O’Donnells. Just do your best and remember they won’t be here forever,” Mariah said, the same way she’d told him for years. The thing was, Reid was sixteen going on forty. He didn’t appreciate city people wanting a taste of Western living, except those city people were the difference between the U-2 turning a profit or going deeper into debt each year.

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.

Mariah came out of the mess tent and glanced in their direction. She was kind of pretty. Dad hadn’t hit on her or anything, though he’d definitely checked her out...especially her chest.

Kittie wrinkled her nose.

Her dad acted as if she didn’t know about sex, but she was fourteen, not four. She knew all about it. Not that boys would notice her unless she had real boobs.

As if.

“I also put a plate in for your father. I hope he has a taste for medium steak,” said the old guy. He had deep creases in his skin and looked, like, ancient. “Would you do me a favor and take it to him?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Much obliged.” He took a piece of straw from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “My name is Benjamin Weston, by the way. And my granddaughter says you’re Caitlin.”

“Mariah is your granddaughter?”

“Yup.”

Kittie wiggled her toes. “Um, how does this ranch thing work?”

“It isn’t complicated. You’ll work with a wrangler and mostly do what he does.”

“So you can fix me,” she said resentfully.

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Do you need fixing?”

“My dad thinks so.”

“Fathers worry. That’s their job. But we just want you to have fun finding out about ranching and what we do round here. That’s our job.”

“Oh,” Kittie said, still vaguely suspicious.

The sun was getting low in the sky and she felt tired all at once. It was hard work pretending everything was okay when nothing was okay. Some things were so broken they could never be fixed.

“I gotta go.” Kittie picked up the sack with the extra food in it. “Dad must be in our tent phoning Japan or something. What should I do with that?” She pointed to her empty plate and pop bottle.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “You go ahead.”

Kittie didn’t know what to expect when she got to the tent, most likely her dad talking business on his cell phone. He worked an awful lot, but she’d bet he was still upset with her. Dreading another argument, she peeked around the partition.

He’d fallen asleep with his legs extended on the ground and his suitcase open on the bed. She tiptoed over, put the food down and tiptoed out. There wasn’t any TV and he’d taken away her MP3 player, so she curled up on her mattress and chewed her fingernails as it got dark.

Benjamin and Mariah were nice, and if they weren’t going to try to fix her, the ranch wouldn’t be so bad.

For a while.

* * *

MARIAH ROSE BEFORE DAWN the next morning. A lifetime of getting up to do chores had made it impossible to sleep longer. Her city life at college hadn’t changed her; it just made it obvious she didn’t fit in there.

“Hi, Grams,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

“Hi, dear. Are you in a better mood today?” Elizabeth asked as she mixed a pot on the stove.

“Working on it.” Mariah pulled the newspaper away from her grandfather’s face and kissed his forehead. “What’s new, Granddad?”

He grinned his irrepressible grin and waved the paper. “What do you think of this? It came in yesterday’s Pony Express delivery—last year’s ball scores!”

“Imagine that.”

The family had been getting the New York Times as long as the newspaper had been mailing out editions. It wasn’t necessary with the internet available, but Granddad said there was no substitute for the smell of newsprint.

He folded the paper and put it on the sideboard. “By the way, Luke phoned. If you have time, he’ll come by later so you can go for a ride together.”

Mariah smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see him before the barn dance next Saturday. I’ll call him. He can come with me when I go out to check on the greenhorns.”

Luke Branson was the U-2’s closest neighbor, but she’d hardly seen him for weeks, spring being one of the busiest seasons on their respective ranches. It would be better once they were able to get married. Not that they were formally engaged; it was more a mutual understanding for the future.

“When are you two going to set a date?” Grams asked. “I’d like to have great-grandchildren while I’m young enough to chase after them.”

“One of these days. Luke understands why I want to wait.”

Reid stumbled into the kitchen as Mariah was sipping tea and eating oatmeal. He served himself a bowl and stared at it bleakly. He showed an equal lack of interest in the eggs and whole-grain toast that Grams put on the table. Mariah knew from the light under his door last night that he’d been up late studying. He needed to get more sleep, but it was hypocritical to urge him to get good grades and then interfere with his studies.

“I saw you take food to Caitlin O’Donnell,” she said to her grandfather.

“The purple streaks in her hair are a nice touch, but she’s death on a stick gussied up in so much black. I’ll have to teach her to have fun.” Granddad rubbed his palms together and Mariah figured he was the one who would enjoy himself the most. Benjamin Weston was a kid at heart.

“You won’t have a chance—you aren’t the O’Donnells’ wrangler,” she said edgily. But it wasn’t her grandfather who aggravated her; it was the thought of Jacob O’Donnell believing he could dump his daughter’s problems on someone else. No one at the U-2 had time to babysit an unruly, privileged teen. “I don’t want any of us to get involved. Her father didn’t go into details, but apparently she has issues to resolve. We need to let him deal with them.”

“Teaching her to have fun won’t do any harm.”

“For heaven’s sake, Reid and Mariah have enough to handle without your interfering, Benjamin,” Grams scolded, sitting down with the rest of them.

“Guess you’ll have to keep me busy.”

Mariah knew they’d clasped hands underneath the table. Above all, Granddad was a romantic. However hectic things might be, late every afternoon he and her grandmother strolled up the shallow valley, arm in arm, as if they were still a courting couple. That was how Mariah wanted things to be with Luke, a closeness that just kept growing.

Elizabeth poured milk into her tea. “What about Caitlin’s mom? She should be here if her child is in trouble.”

“She wasn’t mentioned, but I feel sorry for anyone married to that guy,” Mariah said. “I bet they’re divorced.”

“Mmm, not necessarily. He’s quite attractive.”

“And rich. Shame on you, Grams,” Mariah teased. “What will Granddad think?”

“That I’m a normal, red-blooded woman who can appreciate a hunk from a purely aesthetic point of view.”

Granddad chuckled. “And fortunately I’m so handsome I don’t have to worry.”

Mariah ate her last bite of oatmeal and dropped the spoon in the bowl. It was time to start the day, one she hoped would turn out better than the previous...especially when it came to Jacob O’Donnell. She’d made a resolution to treat him the same as any other guest, no matter how much he annoyed her. The trick would be keeping that resolution.

Reid headed to the barn while Mariah and her grandfather went down to the mess tent where the wranglers were gathered for coffee. She loved seeing Granddad transform from cheerful jokester to tough-but-fair ranch boss. He didn’t know a ledger sheet from a gum wrapper, but he understood the practical end of ranching like nobody else. Ben Weston was close to a legend in Montana. She was trying to learn as much as possible from him before he retired.

“Hey, Mariah,” whispered a voice as she entered the tent. It was Caitlin O’Donnell.

“Go on,” she told her grandfather, who smiled at the teen.

Mariah looked back at Caitlin. “You’re up early. Is something wrong?” The first slivers of sunlight were barely visible on the eastern horizon.

“Um, yeah.” The agitated girl shifted from one foot to the other. “There’s an animal in my dad’s side of the tent. A really big animal. I think it’s a wolf and he’s snoring. He must have come in for the steak Mr. Weston gave me. I put the plate by the bed ’cause Dad was already asleep. Omigod, he’s dead and it’s my fault because I didn’t wake him up.”

Mariah hesitated.

She fully intended to make Jacob O’Donnell deal with his own daughter, only some things were ranch business, not personal. “I bet it’s just Pip.”

“Pip?” Caitlin trailed after her.

“Our dog—part Alaskan malamute and part mystery mutt. He’s a mooch and a thief, with a snore that raises the rafters, but harmless aside from that.”

They crept up to the tent.

“Pip, get out here,” Mariah whispered.

Pip’s distinctive snore continued unabated.

She gave Caitlin a sideways glance. “Go get some sausages from the cook in the black cowboy hat. Tell him they’re for Pip.”

The teen took off for the cooking area at a run. Mariah thought her reaction showed how much she loved her dad, though she’d probably deny it. In less than three minutes, Caitlin was back with a bowl of grilled sausages.

“Want a sausage, Pip?” Mariah asked softly.

Pip made a slurping sound. Within two seconds, he appeared through the tent flap, a happy, overgrown goof of a dog.

Caitlin released a tiny shriek and then clapped her palms to her mouth.

“Here you are, you old bandit,” Mariah said, setting the bowl in front of the animal. Pip inhaled every scrap. She scratched behind his ears and his tail wagged, merrily unrepentant at being caught where he wasn’t allowed. They’d tried to get him to understand that some people were nervous around dogs, but he couldn’t be convinced.

Everybody was Pip’s friend.

“He woke up because you asked if he wanted sausage?” Caitlin breathed, extending a cautious hand. Pip darted over, delighted to get attention from anyone willing to offer it—men, women, young, old, city dweller or country lover. He was a very democratic canine. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Mariah straightened. “If I tried getting him out any other way, it would wake everyone up.”

“Is he the reason we shouldn’t keep food in the tents?”

“One of them. We also get mice and ants and squirrels, among other beasties. Go on,” she said, motioning toward the mess tent. “You can meet whoever’s awake and let your dad get more sleep.”

* * *

JACOB STARED at the dark roof of the tent as Kittie’s and Mariah’s voices faded. It was almost like hearing his daughter the way she used to be—normal and well-adjusted.

He stretched. After midnight he’d woken up and checked on Kittie, eaten the corn bread he’d found on a plate of food by the bed and crawled into his sleeping bag. Later the dog woke him up again, but he’d been too exhausted to care. The animal was wearing a collar—what harm could it do?

Reaching over, he switched on the battery lamp. The remains of a steak, beans and coleslaw were scattered across his silk shirt. It seemed symbolic of his relationship with Kittie—an utter disaster.

“Argh.” He rubbed his face and got up. Perhaps a shower would clear his mind.

The heated restrooms were clean, serviceable and very basic. There were two buildings, one for men and the second for women. It was so early the place was empty. He felt more human after his shower, though until Kittie showed improvement, he wouldn’t feel completely right. It was strange how he could love his child to death and still be driven insane by her.

An idle, guilty thought occurred to him.... Did they have military school for girls? Was that even an option?

Everyone was up and moving by the time he was dressed and back in the tent. The air was chilly and there were good-natured complaints about the cold, teasing accusations that somebody had forgotten to pay the power bill and mad dashes for the restrooms to avoid a wait in line.

“Kittie?” he called, pushing aside the tent flap.

She wasn’t there.

Jacob spread his towel on the mattress to dry and headed to the mess tent. Inside there were cowboys drinking coffee, but no sign of Kittie.

“Anything I can do for you, Mr. O’Donnell?” asked Burt Parsons.

“Yes, I’m looking for my daughter.”

“She’s around. I’ll be your wrangler during your stay at the ranch. And that young fellow—” he gestured at a man who was nearly as deeply wrinkled and weathered as Burt himself “—will be coming along today, as well. His name is Ray Cassidy. Nice boy, Ray. You’ll like him.” Burt sounded quite serious calling Ray a boy. Maybe when a person reached a certain age, everybody else was young by comparison.

“In that case, I want to be sure that my daughter’s safety is your top priority,” Jacob said.

“Not to worry. We haven’t lost anyone yet.” Burt ambled off to the serving table, cup in hand.

Resisting the urge to pound the importance of Kittie’s safety into everyone, Jacob got his coffee and turned in time to see Mariah Weston arrive. He blew on the black brew as she spoke with the cowboys and cooks. Some of the men focused overly long on her curves, but they were discreet. Their interest was understandable. Her worn jeans were molded faithfully to her bottom and she wore a soft flannel shirt that did nothing to conceal the swell of her breasts.

A stab of awareness hit Jacob. No. Mariah was impossible, the complete opposite of the kind of woman who had always appealed to him.

In another few minutes Mariah flipped him a cool look. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but striking with those high cheekbones and vibrant hair. Was she a natural redhead? Her blue eyes and creamy, lightly tanned skin suggested she wasn’t, but he was no expert. He preferred blondes anyway.

Anna had been blonde.

Blonde. Beautiful. Fragile.

Sighing, Jacob swirled the contents of his enameled metal cup. It wasn’t fair. Anna had wanted a baby so much, but she’d died less than three years after having Kittie, and a lot of that time she had been too weak to enjoy her daughter and be a mother.

He pressed his thumbs to his throbbing temples. He’d tried to do right by Kittie and by Anna’s memory, and yet he’d failed. Kittie was in trouble and he didn’t know what to do for her. If he could only put his finger on what was wrong.

“Good morning, Mr. O’Donnell,” Mariah said, yanking him from his thoughts.

“Hello, Miss Weston.”

Jacob noticed her gaze flick between his shirt and jeans—probably evaluating how suitable they were for the ranch—and almost asked if he passed muster. His irritation from the previous night returned, but he squashed it down. This was not a moment to be bothered with personality conflicts. By the same token, he wasn’t going to apologize for coming from the city and not knowing how to chase cows.

He cleared his throat. “I need to discuss safety issues with you. I’m a businessman, so I know why you require a signed waiver in case of an accident. As a father, though, I can’t help being concerned.”

A range of emotions flitted across Mariah’s face. “A ranch isn’t the same as a city park, but I’ve assigned our most experienced wrangler to you and your daughter for the duration of your visit, and a second one while you’re learning the ropes. Caitlin should be fine if she behaves herself. Now, your registration form says you’ve ridden before...?”

Jacob nodded. “We used to go horseback riding every week,” he said absently, still chewing on Mariah’s comment if she behaves herself. It gave him a nasty sensation in his gut—Kittie never behaved herself these days.

“I’m guessing you rode at a private stable with a riding track.”

“It wasn’t a ranch. We live in Seattle. But we haven’t gone out for several years.”

“That won’t be a problem. The horses I’ve chosen for you are older, savvy and unflappable. You ought to be all right on them—they’re practically catatonic,” Mariah said, a bit too smoothly.

Jacob leaned forward. “I want my daughter to be safe, Miss Weston, not bored. What good will the ranch do her if she’s bored?”

Mariah didn’t blink. “The U-2 isn’t boring, but we do insist that our guests don’t stretch their limits too far.”

Limits?

That was like waving a red flag at a bull, yet before he could react, she went on, “Vacations here are meant to be fun, not dangerous. My grandmother is a doctor and lives on the ranch. My aunt is also a doctor, and she lives in town behind her clinic. They’ve mostly treated our guests for aching bums, upset tummies, cuts, scrapes and sprained ankles. Since you haven’t ridden recently, I suspect you’ll be added to the aching-bum list.”

Nonplussed, Jacob opened his mouth...and then closed it. He wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or patronized or if Mariah was simply doing her job by informing him of the ranch’s medical support. Taking into account the few amenities the U-2 offered, having two doctors available was a surprise. He just prayed they wouldn’t be needed. Kittie had her mother’s rare blood type, so he always ensured adequate emergency services were present wherever they traveled. In preparation for this trip, his staff had learned there was a well-equipped clinic in the local town, but they hadn’t said a doctor lived on the ranch.

“I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Remember those friends I told you about? Their son came home with a cast on his arm. He broke it at the end of his visit here.”

Mariah’s expression chilled, no doubt from the censure in his tone. Fine, she should know he wasn’t accepting her word without question.

“It happens occasionally—usually when people aren’t practicing reasonable caution or when parents don’t keep tabs on their children, assuming someone else will do it for them. That can happen anywhere, even in the city. Anyway,” she murmured, swinging her legs over the bench to stand up, “your wranglers will catch up with you after breakfast. We work hard on the U-2, so you might want to make sure Caitlin has a healthy meal before starting out. Have a pleasant day, Mr. O’Donnell.”

Jacob glared.

He wanted to call to Mariah’s departing back that he worked hard in Seattle as well and of course he’d ensure that Kittie had a decent breakfast...except it was pointless. Especially about Kittie. He knew perfectly well he couldn’t force his daughter to swallow a bite of food if she didn’t want to. And considering the precarious state of their relationship, she’d probably refuse to eat if he said anything about it.

CHAPTER THREE

LATER THAT AFTERNOON Mariah and Luke Branson rode in the direction the wranglers had taken the O’Donnells. She routinely checked on visitors to be sure the greenhorns were doing okay, and today the newest greenhorns were Jacob and Caitlin...not that Jacob O’Donnell would enjoy being described that way.

Her horse tossed his head, playfully testing her control of the bit. Shadow loved to run, the wind racing by, his hooves thundering across the land.

“You’re a live wire, aren’t you, boy?”

He whinnied and leaped a step. His black coat gleamed warm in the sunlight and his ears were pricked forward, alert to every sound.

“I swear that animal is your best friend. I come in a poor second,” Luke complained good-naturedly.

“He’s my best horse friend,” she agreed. She’d raised Shadow from the day he was born, right after her mom and dad’s accident. It had helped get her through those bleak, grief-filled days. “But you’re my best people friend.”

“So is Reid still saying he doesn’t want to go to college?” Luke asked with a pleased grin.

“More or less.”

“Maybe he’s worried how you’ll pay for it.”

“Could be. It’s tight, but we’re doing better. The debts are paid and I’m putting money aside. We should be able to swing the expense.”

“That’s great.” His mount sidestepped skittishly. “Stop it, Ghost, or I’ll turn you into dog food,” he warned the gray-and-white piebald.

Ghost snorted in disbelief.

“I could talk to Reid,” Luke offered. “He might open up for me—man-to-man, that sort of thing. Or at least as his future brother-in-law.”

“Thanks, but I’ve pushed enough. He’s got finals soon and they have to come first.”

“It’s your call. Are those the greenhorns you’re checking on?” Luke gestured to the south, down a sloping hill.

“Looks like them.”

Mariah bent over Shadow’s neck and watched the group in the distance. Though she’d still dressed in black that morning, Caitlin had forgone the silver-studded shirt and purple accents in her hair. Other than those small changes, she’d remained pure defiance. The anxious daughter from the predawn morning was nowhere to be found a few hours later. She’d mouthed off to the cowhands, told the cooks they were serving heart attacks on a plate and shown up an hour late to the corral. She wouldn’t say where she’d been, but Burt had calmly informed her that if it happened again she’d either sit her rear end in the tent for the day or spend it shoveling out the horse stalls.

Burt was always calm. It made him a terrific wrangler for kids. Things that might give anyone else a stroke made him yawn. She wished she could say the same thing about herself. Having Jacob imply she was lying about the injuries on the ranch had infuriated her. There had been a boy who’d broken his arm the prior year...but he’d fallen in Buckeye when his parents stopped to buy postcards on their way to the airport.

Luke controlled another sideways jump from his horse. “This O’Donnell fellow sounds like a real piece of work. I’ve never heard you gripe so much about a guest.”

“He rubs me wrong.”

“That’s interesting.”

She gave Luke a sharp glance. “There’s nothing interesting about it. He’s difficult, that’s all. He actually advised me that my parents should speak to Reid about being friendlier to guests. What nerve. He thinks the world revolves around him and his money. It isn’t that I don’t care what his daughter is going through, but he has to deal with it, not just throw his checkbook at the problem. On top of that, he said our facilities are primitive. Since when are hot showers and commercial-grade restrooms primitive? If he wanted a resort on the Riviera, he should have gone to the Riviera.”

“Okay, okay,” Luke placated. “I’m not the enemy. I’m on your side. Let’s go meet this difficult guest.”

Mariah brushed Shadow’s flanks with her heels and they cantered toward the others. As they got closer she could see that Jacob O’Donnell and the wranglers were working with a cow—its calf bawling in loud, unhappy tones—while a white-faced Caitlin remained in the saddle, some distance away. Mariah swung to the ground, her focus narrowing. The mother cow had a nasty cut running down her rear haunch. She was in pain, and that would make her more unpredictable than usual.

“It’s not too bad, Baby Girl.” Burt cursed amiably as he received a kick in the stomach. “But that gentle touch of yours will come in handy, Mariah.”

Her mouth curved. At rare moments he still called her Baby Girl, the way he’d done when she was four years old and would sneak into the barn to be with a favorite horse.

“Hey, Burt,” Luke greeted the cowhand.

“Howdy. Sorry to mess up your old-fashioned courtin’ with old-fashioned work.”

Luke chuckled, the cowhands sniggered, and Mariah could have belted all three of them. Luke wasn’t courting her. They had an understanding; you didn’t have to court somebody you were already going to marry.

The noise from the frightened calf was increasing the mother’s agitation, so Mariah nudged it into her sight. “Don’t fuss, silly, nobody is hurting your baby.”

Both animals quieted.

“I have the first-aid kit,” Jacob said when she looked up. He lifted the canvas pack that was a standard piece of equipment on the U-2.

Mariah took the kit. “Thank you. Stay with Caitlin, and we’ll take it from here.” They couldn’t let guests be involved in this kind of situation. It was funny, though. Jacob didn’t seem bothered that he might get injured himself at the ranch, just that his daughter be kept safe.

He stuck out his chin. “What about that guy?” he asked as Luke rolled up his sleeves.

“That ‘guy’ is our neighbor and an old hand at doctoring livestock. Luke Branson, meet Jacob O’Donnell.”

The two men gave each other measuring looks, testosterone zinging through the air, and she sighed in disgust. Men were men, regardless of where they’d grown up. She’d have to intervene before they started chest bumping or doing something equally stupid to prove their masculinity.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. O’Donnell, your job here is to reassure your daughter.”

“It’s Jacob, and I’m going to help. Kittie is fine. I told her to stay well back on her horse.”

“She’s the color of old paste and needs her father more than we need you getting in our way. You’re just delaying treatment for this cow by arguing with me.”

“That’s right,” Luke added, and Mariah dug her elbow into his rib cage. Did he think she couldn’t cope with Jacob O’Donnell on her own? She did not need his assistance; he would simply make it worse. He ought to have figured out by now that the Westons took care of their own troubles.

“Please...Jacob,” she said. “We have it under control.”

He glared darkly and stomped away.

Caring for the cow’s cut was messy and unpleasant, but Mariah finished as quickly as she could in order to make it easier on the animal and her calf. Burt untied the cow’s legs and she lunged to her feet, restrained from further movement by the lasso around her neck. Range cattle were tough; they could be down to their last ounce of strength and still be dangerous. She wouldn’t like being corralled, but the wound was septic and severe enough to warrant a few days back at the ranch.

Mariah dropped another rope over the calf’s head. “Caitlin?” she said, motioning to her.

The teenager swallowed. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, you found her before it got too bad. I want you to take the lead. The mother will follow her baby, so go nice and slow.”

“I don’t...um...don’t know the way.”

“You don’t have to. You’re riding Blue—he knows the ranch better than the rest of us. Say ‘Home, Blue,’ and he’ll get us there.” She gave Caitlin the end of the rope and focused on Luke. He’d hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his denims and was giving her a quizzical look. “You aren’t coming with us,” she informed him.

“You’re mad at me.”

“What gives you that idea?”

He laughed and kissed her lightly. “It was easy. I’ve known you since birth and recognize that expression in your eyes—it’s the same one you had when you were seven and hit me with a horseshoe. Am I still invited to the dance on Saturday?”

“You’re always invited. You know that.”

As he rode off, Mariah climbed onto Shadow. She was annoyed, but it wouldn’t last long. Luke was a handsome man, with the powerful build of someone who worked hard every day of his life, but she was surrounded by good-looking cowboys and sexy visitors like Jacob O’Donnell. It wasn’t Luke’s appearance that set him apart—it was the friendship that had survived childish squabbling, years away at school, and her need to concentrate on Reid and repay her school expenses before making a commitment. It didn’t matter how much you loved someone. You had to believe in the same things to have a lasting relationship.

When they were ready to leave, Caitlin said “Home, Blue” in a high, squeaky voice. She held the rope in a white-knuckled grip as Blue ambled toward the ranch. He had more common sense than most people, which was why she’d chosen him for Caitlin.

The cow limped forward, attention fixed on her calf. The baby was young, born late in the spring drop, but it wouldn’t be orphaned like the other calves they fostered annually.

Jacob jockeyed his horse next to Mariah. “She’s scared,” he muttered.

“Responsibility is scary, but that isn’t a reason not to take any.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“But?”

His jaw set stubbornly. “She’s just a kid and this must feel like life and death to her. It’s too much.”

“She’s leading a calf to the barn, not doing brain surgery,” Mariah said drily. “I think she can handle it, but if you’re so worried, you could ride with her instead of complaining to me about it.”

Jacob scowled. “I’m planning to. It’s just that you don’t know anything about my daughter, so you don’t know what she can or can’t handle.”

“You’re right, we don’t know her. Which begs the question...why did you think we could do something to help her if you couldn’t do it yourself?” Mariah winced as soon as the retort left her mouth. So much for her resolution to treat Jacob like any other guest.

“Hell. Are you rude to everyone, or am I special?”

He was special all right...especially irritating.

She couldn’t deny that Jacob’s lean, masculine intensity pulled at her senses. Physically he was a compelling man; it was his other parts she wasn’t so crazy about.

“I’m not trying to be rude,” she said evenly. “But it’s important for Caitlin’s welfare that you don’t expect a service we aren’t able to deliver. And if I have to push to get the message across, that’s what I’ll do.”

“At least we agree about her safety, but you can’t act as if she was raised on a ranch, with the skills and experience you and your brother have acquired from everyday life.”

“Kids grow up fast here. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everyone has to take chances to learn and really live. We just risk a few more than parents allow their children to in the city.”

“That’s so reassuring,” Jacob said sarcastically. “But I’ll decide how fast my daughter grows up, if you don’t mind.”

Mariah bit her lip to keep from saying something else she’d regret. For example, if he was so concerned for Caitlin, why did he spend so many hours working? She’d heard that he had already asked where he could charge the batteries for his smartphone and laptop computer, whether the ranch provided wireless internet and if they had a fax machine for guest use. What did he plan to do, set up an office in the mess tent and run his business while everyone else dealt with Caitlin? Surely she needed her father’s time more than she needed to ride in a Mercedes or have other expensive frills.

Mariah’s dad used to say it took all kinds to get by, but she wasn’t as certain. While she appreciated the income Jacob O’Donnell’s “kind” brought the ranch, it came at a stiff price. Money was a means to an end for Mariah; it wasn’t a priority the way it appeared to be for Jacob.

“By the way,” she said finally, “we never put our guests in the middle of a situation as serious as treating a wounded cow, so I know my wranglers didn’t ask for your help.”

“It seemed the right thing to do, and I wish you hadn’t interfered.” Jacob’s eyes were hard and impassive.

“I interfered, as you put it, because it’s my job.” She wasn’t sure what to make of his statement. Chauvinism? Or was it ego? She’d encountered an excess of male ego over the years—typically from weekend warriors taking risks to prove something to themselves or someone else. Except Jacob didn’t seem the weekend-warrior type. “Did you get kicked or hurt before I arrived?”

“Not to speak of.” He slapped some dirt and grass from his clothes. “You aren’t going to be sued. I signed your waiver-of-responsibility forms, remember?”

“Does everything boil down to money for you?” she asked, her nerves on edge...maybe because she knew that the waiver forms might or might not protect the U-2 in court. And the threat would go up if somebody with Jacob O’Donnell’s resources decided to sue them. He could likely purchase a hundred ranches without noticing the change in his bank account.

“There’s nothing wrong with money, and it safeguards my daughter.”

Mariah watched Caitlin. Despite what he thought, being rich didn’t offer guarantees. And while it was natural for parents to worry about their children, Jacob seemed to worry more than most. He must have been frantic about Caitlin’s behavior to bring her to Montana. Riding horses and working with range cattle was worlds away from going to a safe, air-conditioned movie theater.

“For what it’s worth, I think Caitlin is a good kid at heart,” Mariah said awkwardly. “I realize she has problems you’re trying to—”

“Problems?” The word burst out of him. “You could say that. Kittie set fire to her school gymnasium last Wednesday.”

The impulsive revelation was a shock, yet Mariah couldn’t believe the girl who’d panicked thinking a wolf might have eaten her father would deliberately set a fire. Besides, Jacob O’Donnell might be able to buy his way out of most of Caitlin’s mistakes, but arson would surely have landed her in juvenile court.

“How did it happen?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. She tried to hide the cigarette she was sneaking without putting it out. Kids are kids—they get in trouble,” he said, an aggressive thrust to his chin. “I only told you in case she mentions it and you get the wrong idea.”

“I see.” Mariah released the breath she’d been holding. Smoking was less worrisome than arson, and she could make inquiries to be sure Jacob was telling her the full story and not the sanitized version. “Does she have any cigarettes with her now?”

“Of course not.”

There wasn’t any “of course” about it, but Mariah didn’t want to antagonize him further by pointing that out.

“I’m going to check on my daughter.” Without another word, Jacob urged his horse into a trot. The tension in Caitlin’s body increased visibly as he rode up by her.

Mariah gazed at the O’Donnells and the calf and beyond at the tree-studded hills. Thank goodness she didn’t have the same problems with her brother as Jacob had with Caitlin.

Setting fire to the school?

Lord.

She began mentally reviewing the locations of the U-2’s fire hoses and extinguishers.

* * *

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Jacob stepped under a spray of water and rubbed soap on his chest. He was grateful they’d gotten back to the ranch center early—between cows, horses, sweat and dirt, he’d never needed a shower more.

The high window in the concrete shower stall was open and he saw Mariah Weston and her brother standing by the foremost barn. The afternoon sun turned her auburn hair into a dark flame, painting her curves with light and shadow, and he felt another unwelcome flash of attraction. She was so different from Anna it seemed almost disloyal to find her sexually appealing.

Not that he was a monk.

He dated and enjoyed an occasional discreet liaison as long as it was understood he didn’t want anything permanent. Lately, though, he’d hardly looked at women, what with Kittie acting out every parent’s nightmare. So it didn’t make sense that someone as impossible as Mariah was getting to him, even in passing. Hell, if nothing else, the jagged white scar he’d spotted on her left forearm and the half-healed gash on her right palm should be enough to warn him off.

How had she acquired those injuries?

A hundred disturbing possibilities came to mind, each attached to the knowledge that the same things could happen to Kittie. And it would be his fault for bringing her to Montana. Parenting had land mines he couldn’t have imagined fifteen years ago when he was debating with Anna whether it was too soon to start a family. He’d wanted to wait until he graduated and was established in his career, but she’d talked him into fatherhood without too much effort...the same way she’d talked him into everything.

Before long Reid went into the barn and Mariah stood there alone. For somebody operating a vacation business that ran on goodwill, she had a strange way of communicating with paying guests. Yet Jacob shifted uneasily. Strange wasn’t quite the best description; it was more a brutal honesty with a dash of temper. Still, the honesty was from her point of view, and it didn’t make her right.

Kids might grow up faster on a ranch than in the city, but he saw no reason for Kittie to grow up faster than she already had—particularly if it meant taking unnecessary gambles with her safety. Adulthood would come soon enough.

He did respect the way Mariah had treated the cow. Getting close to a wild, thrashing animal took guts; it had convinced him she was a genuine rancher, not just a figurehead. What Mariah didn’t understand was that Kittie had wanted him to help, and failing the request had put a new black mark on his parental report card.

He ducked under the showerhead and scrubbed his hair, aware that working with an outraged cow had also seemed easier than dealing with his own child. What kind of father did that make him?

He groaned.

It was so frustrating. One minute Kittie seemed almost like her old self; the next she was at her worst. Nobody else was bothered by her lightning mood swings, and why should they be? She wasn’t their daughter.

He hadn’t been this scared since Anna died.

When Jacob peered through the window again, Mariah was gone. Instead he saw Kittie. She walked to the barn, peeked around carefully and then went inside.

Crap.

He got out and grabbed a towel. Kittie had a crush on Reid Weston, and she’d already disappeared a couple of times—disappearances she hadn’t explained. Reid might have snubbed Kittie when they first met, but he was a teenage boy, and Jacob didn’t trust teenage boys.

After all, he used to be one himself.

* * *

I WISH MOM AND DAD were here.

Reid Weston spread fresh straw in the horse stalls, the familiar refrain going through his mind. If his parents were alive, they’d be managing the ranch and Mariah would be a veterinarian. But they weren’t and she wasn’t. She’d quit school after the accident and returned home.

And nothing had ever been the same again.

He blinked furiously and forked a load of straw into the last stall. Mostly he missed his mom and dad, but it would be nice not to feel guilty that Mariah had left school to take care of him and the ranch. She’d given up her lifelong dream of becoming a vet.

Another twist of guilt hit Reid’s midriff. He wanted to be a veterinarian, too. Yet how could he go away to college and leave Mariah in Montana to deal with everything on her own? On top of all the other stuff she took care of, she ran the business end of the ranch by herself, doing what their parents used to do together. And Reid knew that they couldn’t afford extra payroll costs, much less school expenses, no matter what Mariah claimed.

He wasn’t blind. No one talked about it, but he knew that if it wasn’t for the ranch finances and being responsible for him, Mariah and Luke would have already gotten married. Instead, his sister was working herself silly running the vacation business and taking on more and more of the things Granddad handled so he could retire. Never mind that Granddad didn’t want to retire.

“Why don’t you like me?” asked a voice suddenly from the barn door.

Damn.

It was that city brat. Kittie. He’d avoided her for a day, but his luck had run out.

Reid spread the straw more thoroughly than necessary. “I don’t dislike you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It isn’t you I don’t like. It’s where you...” Reid stopped, realizing how dumb it sounded to say that he didn’t like her because a drunk driver from Seattle had killed his folks and that was where she came from. Maybe it was dumb. He’d have to give it some thought.

“If it isn’t me, then what is it?” Kittie insisted.

“Just take my word, it isn’t personal.” He hung the pitchfork on the wall and dusted his hands. The kid might not be so odd if her hair wasn’t so weird. And he should be polite—it was what his mom and dad would have expected. “I’m going to see that cow you brought in. You can come if you want.”

Kittie bobbed her head eagerly. “Mariah says she’ll be all right.”

“She ought to be. My sister has a knack with hurt animals.”

“My dad thinks she’s hot,” Kittie said matter-of-factly as she tagged along. “I can tell from the way he checked her out yesterday. He thinks I don’t notice that stuff, but I do.”

Reid didn’t break step. O’Donnell wouldn’t get anywhere with Mariah—the night before he’d overheard his sister telling Grams that he was an obnoxious jerk who thought his money was better than anyone else’s. At any rate, Mariah didn’t go for men wanting a vacation fling. Short-timers were a regular feature at the ranch; they could try hitting on her, but they never got out of the gate.

“Are breasts really that important to guys?” Kittie asked.

That stopped Reid in his tracks. He stared at her, nonplussed. “What?”

“I mean, nobody will date me unless I have bigger boobs. Isn’t that right?”

She looked so miserable that he was doubly at a loss for words. “Uh...well...uh...different guys like different stuff. We’re not all the same.”

It was a lame thing to say and Kittie obviously agreed. “Oh, sure. Some guys prefer brains and personality.”

Reid could have told her she wasn’t doing any better in the brains and personality department, but she’d probably try to scratch his eyes out. He could take her down easily, except Granddad would kick his butt for fighting with a girl and her dad would only make things harder for Mariah.

“You’ve just got to grow...er...up more,” he mumbled, wishing he was on another planet. “You could be like your mom. Do you know when she got...bigger?”

“Not really. She was awful pretty, though, and Dad says I’m like her.” Yet Kittie’s face became glummer. “I don’t know much about my mom ’cept she first got sick in high school. Real sick. They tried to make her better, only it didn’t work or stay that way or something.” All at once Kittie seemed alarmed. “Please don’t tell my dad.”

“About what?” Reid couldn’t think of anything he’d want to tell Kittie’s father, especially about her questions. Honestly, asking how he felt about breasts? The brat didn’t have a lick of sense.

“Nothing. N-nothing I said.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

He headed again for the corral where they’d put the mother and calf. It was in the rear of the far barn where she wouldn’t be upset by too much activity. Range cattle had little contact with humans and didn’t take kindly to being penned at the best of times. True to form, the mother cow grunted and moved in front of her baby, stamping the ground in warning.

Reid ran a practiced gaze over her and the feed box. Her muzzle was wet, so she’d obviously drunk some water. And a portion of the feed had been eaten. Not bad after getting roped, stitched, dosed and confined.

“How is she?” Kittie rested her arms on the top fence rail, the same as him, but she had to stretch to do it.

“Not bad, considering.”

“What would have happened if we never found her?”

Reid thought of the animals they lost each year. Life was hard on the range; he couldn’t sugarcoat it. “Could have died. The baby is too young to survive on its own, and the mother’s wound was infected. But even if you hadn’t located them, someone else would probably have come along.”

Footsteps came from behind them and Reid grimaced at the sight of Kittie’s father. “Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Hello, Reid. I haven’t seen much of you since we got here.” There was a faint emphasis on the I and a hidden query whether another O’Donnell had seen him before now.

Reid tipped his hat back. As if he’d be interested in a city runt with an attitude. “Stands to reason—I’ve been busy and I’m not your wrangler.”

“That sounds like something your sister would say.”

“Yup. Some things run in families.”

O’Donnell flicked a look at Kittie, whose attention was no longer on the mother cow and her calf. “I guess.”

“Dad, am I really, truly like Mom?” Kittie asked intently.

A smile softened O’Donnell’s expression. “Really and truly, sweetheart. She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

“I... Whatever.” Kittie pressed her lips together and turned back to the corral.

“I’ve got work to do,” Reid said, deciding it was time to escape. “Don’t stay long, and don’t get near the mama or her baby. It’ll make them nervous.” With a curt nod to Jacob O’Donnell, he strode away.

All in all, he felt kind of sorry for Kittie. Her dad was rich, so she had plenty of money, but apparently her mom was dead, and he knew exactly how that felt.

Lousy.

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