The Texas Rancher's Return. Allie Pleiter

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      Gunner retreated to the coffeepot. “Gran, do you have any idea who that was?”

      “It was a sweet little girl doing a third-grade report on native Texan animals. Finally, a child who cares to do schoolwork beyond looking things up on a computer! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to dodge her the way you were thinking.”

      “The person who ought to be ashamed is that darling little girl’s mother. Brooke Calder works for Markham. At DelTex. I met her yesterday when Daisy got out and blocked her car back on the west road. DelTex is...”

      Gran waved a hand in Gunner’s face. “I know very well what DelTex is. I hardly think you can put a stubborn bison down to corporate maneuvers. Or a third-grade girl, for that matter.”

      “That third-grade girl’s mama put her up to this.”

      “Her mama fixed it so that her teacher assigned a report on native species and talked her into choosing bison and opened the northwest gate so Daisy walked out onto the road in front of her car?” Gran crossed her arms over her chest and got that look on her face, that guilt-inducing “what’s gotten into you?” stare of which Adele Buckton was a master. “That’s what you think?”

      “Could be.” It wasn’t as far-fetched as Gran made it sound. Those big development companies would probably try anything to get what they wanted. How many times had gifts arrived at the house or some oh-so-friendly DelTex exec tried to invite himself onto the ranch in the name of “opening a dialogue”? What was to stop them from finding someone who fit his ideal of an attractive woman and sending her out onto his west road? Brooke Calder would probably earn herself a raise for conniving her way onto Blue Thorn land. “You know those people from DelTex have tried all kinds of ways to get their boots on our acreage. This could just be one more. There’s an awful lot of money at stake here, Gran.”

      Gran didn’t reply. Instead, she walked over to the cabinet and began to pull out cookie sheets. “What are you doing?” he balked, swallowing the urge to snatch the flat pans from her hands. This wasn’t a social call; this was likely a spy mission.

      “What does it look like I’m doing?” Gran said, eying him. “We have a child coming to the ranch. I’m baking some cookies.”

      Gunner started to formulate a long list of reasons why that was a whopping bad idea, but the look from his grandmother silenced him. No matter what the land deed now said, Gran was still the final word on things at the Blue Thorn. If she could read him as well as she claimed, then Gran already knew what he thought of her plans to ply the Calders with cookies. His opinion on hospitality clearly didn’t matter, for she began to hum “There’ll Be Peace in the Valley” as she walked into the pantry for ingredients.

      An earthquake. That ought to do it. Just send a small earthquake about 1:00 p.m., Lord, so I can call this whole circus to a halt. Gunner settled his hat on his head, muttering about pushy little girls and stubborn old women. Tornado, thunderstorm—I ain’t picky, Lord. Just get me out of this.

Chapter Three

      “Why do they call it the Blue Thorn Ranch?” Audie piped up from the backseat as Brooke pulled her little car up to the gate that marked the ranch’s entrance. A tall framework of timbers with BT at the center stood over a metal gate that joined two stretches of sturdy metal fencing.

      “Every member of the Buckton family has bright blue eyes,” Brooke answered. “But I don’t know about the thorn part—we’ll have to ask.” Brooke punched a button on the keypad mounted by the drive, announced herself and the gates slid open along the fence line. A wide-open landscape lay before them, mounds of grass stretching between clusters of trees. Ahead and to the left, the stone house and a series of outbuildings and barns formed the family compound.

      “Look.” Brooke pointed to three bison enjoying the shade of a large tree.

      “I see them!” Audie cheered. “Wow, they are big.”

      Audie began scribbling in a small notebook, a tiny pink-hued reporter hungry for her story. Even if she had her reservations, Brooke couldn’t have denied her daughter this field trip for all the world. Besides, she reasoned with herself, if Buckton was really as grumpy as her earlier encounter led her to believe, at least the grandmother sounded friendly. Adele Buckton was something of a legend in these parts, one of the old-school ranching families with ties to the land that went back something like four generations. In its heyday, Blue Thorn Ranch had been twice its current size and home to some of the state’s prize cattle. Adele Buckton’s social and philanthropic standing still cast a shadow that was long and wide, even in the woman’s advancing years.

      The ranch clearly had seen better days, with some of its former grandeur showing signs of wear and tear, but everything was solidly durable and clearly built to last. Some ranches were all about the flash—big showy things with massive houses to match. This place seemed... Authentic was the word that came to mind. Sturdy, sensible, determined to stick out the tough times—that was how the place felt as Brooke turned her car up the path toward the house. She looked forward to meeting Adele Buckton.

      “I hope Daisy’s feeling friendly today,” Audie said, reaching into her pink gingham backpack. “I brought her some Goldfish just in case she’s hungry.” She produced a baggie of the snack crackers, holding it high so Brooke could see it in the rearview mirror.

      Brooke pictured the reaction that would get from Buckton—and it wasn’t a charmed smile. “I’m not so sure bison go for Goldfish, honey. Maybe your first question to Mr. Buckton should be to ask what she likes to eat.”

      “Oh, that’s a good one.” Audie scribbled a note to herself, tongue sticking out in eight-year-old journalistic integrity. “But it’s only three index cards and a diorama, so I don’t think I’ll need to know much.”

      The main house was made of tan stone, wrapped with a huge front porch stretching on either side of a big front door. Dormer windows peeked from the second story, and a pair of ancient trees threw dappled shadows onto the front lawn. A picnic table was set with a blue gingham tablecloth and a tin pitcher of wildflowers. The place gave off all the welcome Gunner’s tone had not.

      This visit was a risk, but Brooke couldn’t ever resist a chance to indulge Audie’s curiosity. Her daughter’s inquisitive nature and bold personality were so very much like her daddy’s that it never failed to raise a lump in Brooke’s throat. So what if it meant pressing a favor from a grump like Gunner Buckton?

      He came out onto the house’s wide front porch, his steps the lazy saunter Brooke associated with all Texas cowboys. A big man, he seemed to tower over his grandmother as she came out beside him, leaning heavily on a blond wood cane with a silver handle.

      Getting out of the car, Brooke took the walk up to the porch to take in the man she’d only briefly met yesterday. Gunner’s bright blue eyes were just like the older woman’s, now that she could clearly see his face rather than squinting up at him as she had yesterday. Mr. Markham had indeed told her about the family trait of turquoise eyes—all the Buckton children and grandchildren had them. The grandmother’s were warm, friendly and sparkling. Gunner’s were cool, clear and intense. The kind of eyes you couldn’t stop looking at even though they made you uneasy.

      As they reached the porch, Brooke found herself meeting the man’s gaze with a friendly “let’s just all try to get along” expression.

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