The Rancher's Prospect. Callie Endicott

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СКАЧАТЬ from a visiting Texan about Montana’s “little ole cows.” He’d never forgiven it, either. Josh supposed it hadn’t helped when he’d taken a job in the Lone Star state. Fifteen years ago, he’d tried working on the Boxing N during first his summer break in college but had been treated like a peon with no horse sense. Things weren’t much better now.

      “Huh.” Walt crossed his arms over his chest. “They might have done mail-order breeding at that fancy-dancy ranch where you worked down there, but my cattle are already first-rate. If we want to vary it up, we make arrangements with our neighbors.”

      Why couldn’t he understand? Josh wanted to produce top-grade organic beef. He had started the process of getting the Boxing N’s grazing land certified as pesticide-free, but even in the parts of the ranch that couldn’t be certified, he wanted to improve the stock. And borrowing a bull from a neighbor’s ranch wasn’t the improvement he had in mind. The Double J Ranch had prize-winning bull semen for sale, and it was exactly the upgrade he wanted.

      Of course...he could go to his brother. Jackson’s breeding program was well-known, but Josh didn’t want to slide in on his family’s coattails. It already felt as if he was behind the curve since Grandpa had delayed his retirement so long.

      The thought sent a mix of sorrow and guilt through Josh.

      Twenty-five years ago, Grandpa Walt and his brother had made plans for the futures of their respective ranches. Since Mitch was older and didn’t have children and Walt had two grandsons, Jackson and Josh, they agreed that Mitch would retire and give his ranch to his great-nephew once Jackson got out of college. Walt, in turn, would give the Boxing N spread to his younger grandson, Josh. Except Walt Nelson hadn’t retired when Josh graduated college, he’d kept working...until the accident.

      “I have a plan for the Boxing N, and bull semen from the Double J is part of it,” Josh said as calmly as possible. In the four months since Grandpa had given him the ranch, he’d danced around, trying to be considerate and respectful, but the situation was wearing on him.

      “Fancy-dancy nonsense,” Walt proclaimed. “That isn’t the way we do things here.” He stood. “I’m going to see how Grasshopper is doing. It’s her first foal.”

      As Walt Nelson limped toward the foaling barn, Josh held back a howl of frustration. Grandpa couldn’t let go of being boss, but you couldn’t have two bosses on a ranch, especially two with such dissimilar ideas.

      Perhaps it harked back to the old rivalry between the Nelsons, Josh’s mother’s family, and the McGregors, his father’s. It hadn’t been a blood feud, but it was fierce nonetheless, and it must have been a terrible blow to Walt when his only child fell in love with someone from the enemy camp. Walt still didn’t really approve of the McGregors.

      Needing space, Josh went to the barn, saddled Lightfoot and rode toward the north section of the ranch.

      His frustration doubled when he saw slack wire on a fence. One of the ranch hands should have found the problem and taken care of it, but they were confused about whose orders to follow, who was doing what and when to do it. And they were also shorthanded since several men had quit, telling Josh that they’d return once Walt was out of the picture. Between the two problems, things were getting missed.

      Taking the tools from his saddlebag, Josh began repairing the fence. Grappling with wire was preferable to the tug-of-war he was having with his grandfather. He would have used his trust fund to buy a different ranch years ago if he’d known everything would turn out this way. Now he was stuck—Walt couldn’t handle the Boxing N alone, and Josh couldn’t abandon the old guy, no matter how crazy the situation made him.

      Distracted, Josh felt his hand slip. The wire cutters slashed across his palm and blood immediately welled from the ragged slice.

      Damn. Damn. Damn.

      * * *

      TARA WALKED DOWN the street, following the directions to the clinic that Lauren had given her. It was almost surreal to see so many people dressed in jeans, boots and cowboy hats, as if she’d walked onto the set of a Hollywood Western.

      Just three days before she’d been at the Chartres cathedral, brushing shoulders with visitors from around the world. It had been a farewell trip to one of her favorite French landmarks since she didn’t know how soon she’d be back. Now she was living in the land of cowboys and hitching posts. She only knew they were hitching posts because she saw a horse tied to one.

      Stopping in front of the Schuyler Medical Clinic—a modest title since apparently it covered a vast array of services—Tara straightened her shoulders. The drive from Helena with her sister had been filled with awkward silences and even more awkward bursts of conversation. Still, it was too early to draw any conclusions about how well they would get along.

      It didn’t help that she wasn’t good at relationships in the first place. Her most serious boyfriend, Pierre Montrose, had made her failures in that area abundantly clear.

      Pushing the memory away, she entered the clinic.

      The receptionist’s eyes widened. “You must be Tara. The two of you really do look alike.”

      Tara tried to smile. She would probably hear that often while she was in town.

      The other woman looked at the clock. “Lauren should be ready soon.”

      “Thanks.”

      Lauren was a physician’s assistant and had moved to Schuyler the previous year. She’d come for a friend’s wedding and had immediately decided the small town suited her much better than Los Angeles. It wouldn’t have been Tara’s choice, but to each their own, she supposed.

      As she perused a rack of magazines, the outer door opened. A man stomped inside, his left arm wrapped in a bloodstained towel. He was attractive, with dark brown hair and intense blue eyes, but his face was flushed and scowling.

      “Good, you’re here,” he said, thrusting his injured limb at her. “I need this stitched up, and please skip the lectures.”

      Tara raised her eyebrows. “I’m afraid you—”

      “Give me a break, Lauren. Just do it without one of your speeches.”

      His manner was startlingly abrupt...surely all Montanans weren’t this rude.

      “I was trying to explain that you’ve mistaken me for my twin sister, Lauren,” Tara said, keeping her tone as even as possible. It wasn’t easy. She’d never had a cat, but she knew it annoyed them if you rubbed their fur backward, and that’s how she felt...as if she’d literally been rubbed the wrong way.

      “What the hell?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

      “I’d like to point something out, however,” she added smoothly. “Declaring you don’t want a lecture suggests you may need one.”

      “You’ve got one hell of a nerve saying that,” he snapped.

      “Didn’t I get it right?” she asked. “Tell me what happened and I’ll try to tailor my lecture.”

      “Hell.”

      “You seem to have a limited vocabulary. That was your third ‘hell’ in less than a minute.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ