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.
CHAPTER FOUR
LATE IN THE EVENING Mariah reviewed and accepted four reservations for July and added them to the chart where she tracked which wrangler was assigned to each group of visitors.
She leaned back in the office chair and rotated her shoulders to loosen her tight muscles. The gray tiger-striped cat on her lap protested the movement before settling down again. Squash was a fine old fellow, preferring long naps these days to terrorizing mice the way he used to when he was younger.
The U-2 was now fully booked for June, mostly booked for July and had more than half their openings taken for August—recent good news on the economic front had bumped their bookings considerably. Regular, middle-class people hesitated to go on vacations when the economy was bad. The ranch didn’t get many guests with Jacob O’Donnell’s wealth—the whole sleeping-in-a-tent thing generally turned them off.
Hmm.
What should she do about the O’Donnell family?
Jacob was different from their other guests in more ways than just the generous size of his bank account. He wasn’t curious about ranching or the stuff that brought most people to Montana, yet he and his daughter were staying for several weeks. The only thing recommending him was the way he sat a horse. It might have been years since he’d ridden, but he seemed at ease in the saddle.
Years...
A wicked grin crossed Mariah’s face. She didn’t care how great Jacob O’Donnell was on a horse—he was going to wake up in the morning with the biggest case of sore butt ever. It was inevitable. You didn’t ride for the first time in ages and get away unscathed. The interesting part would be whether he pretended it was all right or asked Grams for liniment and aspirin to relieve the aches and pains.
She was betting his pride would win.
“It wasn’t nice to tell Mr. O’Donnell that he’d have an aching bum tomorrow,” she whispered to the fur ball curled up on her thighs. “Not nice at all.”
Squash gazed at Mariah drowsily. He was accustomed to having conversations with her in the middle of the night. She’d adopted him from one of the barn cat’s litters when she was thirteen—he’d listened to the highs and lows of her high-school years, sulked when she was away at school and was the confidant she had needed when her parents died. She’d told Squash the things she couldn’t tell anybody, even Luke. Squash didn’t judge; he just purred and blinked at her.
“I’m usually much nicer to our guests. And I bet now he’ll feel that he has to prove something by being an iron man.”
Or maybe not.
It probably didn’t matter to rich men what “the help” thought of them, and that was what she and her wranglers were to Jacob O’Donnell...the hired hands who were supposed to shut up and obey his commands.
Ha.
A lot of visitors came to the U-2 again and again because they loved the ranch. Some of them had to save awhile for their vacations, but they arrived excited to be there once more. It was why Mariah had begun offering a 10 percent discount for return visits, and she wouldn’t let a spoiled entrepreneur with a chip on his shoulder ruin anyone else’s trip.
The computer pinged, alerting her that she had an email waiting. She toggled to the message program and saw it was from Luke.
Still mad at me? Up late with a mare dropping a foal. Thinking of you and wondering if you are awake. Love, L.
Mariah smiled and typed a reply.
Not mad. Trying to decide what to do with Jacob O’Donnell and his daughter. He’s impossible. At least he didn’t go out of his way at dinner to annoy me. M.
Yet she wavered as the cursor hovered over the send button on the computer monitor.... Maybe she shouldn’t say anything about Jacob O’Donnell. She deleted the note and started again.
No, not mad anymore. Was it Little Foot having her foal? I’m juggling reservations and the schedule. Got a few days’ work for two of your cowhands in the second week of June, if you can spare them. M.
She reread the text and sent it. That was much better. When the U-2 was heavily booked, they hired additional wranglers from neighboring ranches, sometimes the ranchers themselves when things were slow. Ranching had its lean years and the extra income could come in handy. She didn’t go to Luke very often, since he was primarily a cow and horse breeder and didn’t have the same financial ups and downs as some of the other ranches—he shipped prize-bull semen all over the world and got paid extremely well for it.
Another message came right back.
Yeah, it was Little Foot. You can have Pedro and Tommy in June. They’re best with people. Call me if you’re not too tired. Love, L.
Mariah lifted the phone and dialed.
“I hope this is an obscene caller,” Luke said when he answered.
“I don’t have the energy to be obscene.”
“Me, either. Little Foot had me worried at the end.”
“You should have let me know. I would have come over.”
“By the time it seemed there might be a problem, it was too late to get you here.” Dull thuds sounded through the line and she figured Luke had pulled off his boots and thrown them across the room. “She’s a small mare and it was her first, but Dr. Crandall thought I could handle it. He wasn’t able to come when Little Foot went into labor—he was working on a German shepherd that someone brought into the clinic. She was found on the highway. I’ll bet some damned fool didn’t tie her properly in their truck and she either jumped or was thrown out when they were screaming down the road.”
“That’s awful.” It infuriated Mariah when she saw kids or dogs in an open pickup. Luke felt the same—they’d seen it turn out