The Reluctant Rancher. Leigh Riker

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      Upstairs Blossom was buying a diamond ring for some baby she sang to.

      He wouldn’t fall for Blossom Kennedy. If she thought he’d missed the travel plans that shone in her eyes, she was mistaken. She wouldn’t stay long.

      Neither would he.

      * * *

      “GIRL, SET YOURSELF down a spell. You haven’t stopped moving all morning.”

      Sam’s blue eyes sparkled, all the more vibrant in his pinched white face as he lay back against the fresh sheets Blossom had just put on his bed. She elevated Sam’s head on a stack of pillows and tucked an old but hand-sewn quilt around him. Dull sunlight streamed through his bedroom windows, which were filmed with dust, and Blossom made a mental note to wash them.

      “Rest,” she said. “Your grandson won’t thank me for making you more tired this morning than you were when I got here yesterday.”

      Sam grunted. “What I’m tired of is being in this bed.”

      “Logan is right. The more you rest, the quicker you’ll heal.”

      “What’s that?” he said. “Another old wives’ saying?”

      She smiled. “I don’t know any old wives.”

      Sam snorted. “That was good lemonade you made for dinner last night. Tart but just sweet enough.” He grinned. “Too bad my pucker was wasted. Some woman missed the best kiss of her life.”

      Blossom laughed. “You’re bad.” Gathering up his used sheets, she walked to the door. He looked pale to her, and although his running conversation had been sprinkled with corny jokes while she cleaned his room, she sensed he wasn’t quite himself. Blossom could read moods as fast as any high-speed computer could crunch numbers. “You take a short nap and when you wake up, I’ll have lunch ready.”

      He straightened. “More of your curry?”

      “There’s none left.” She raised her eyebrows. “The other men took care of that. And you,” she added. Last night Sam had eaten two helpings.

      “Not Logan,” he guessed.

      “He finished his dinner, too, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

      “Fussy eater. Always has been.” Sam shook his head then seemed to think better of it. He rubbed one hand over his forehead. “That boy didn’t eat anything but grilled cheese sandwiches until he was ten years old. Then came beef—when I still ran cattle like his daddy and grandpa before me. Even then, he still wouldn’t touch anything that didn’t start out bawling, on four hooves, right here on the Circle H.” He paused. “Far as I’m concerned, my bison now are better than beef. They yield less fat and more protein. But Logan won’t even try the meat.”

      We’ll see about that. “He needs to expand his horizons.”

      Sam’s expression turned wistful. “I wish I could have seen him choke down that curry. I heard Tobias and Willy laughing all the way up here.”

      Blossom didn’t miss his underlying message.

      “You can join us for dinner as soon as that dizziness goes away. I’ll save your place at the head of the table.”

      He fell back against the pillows again, as if the spinning in his brain had gotten worse, and Blossom felt her heart clench.

      “I am kind of tired,” he admitted. “Too much thinkin’ yesterday. I’ll rest my eyes to get ready for lunch. Don’t tell me what it is. Surprise me.”

      Blossom had no idea what to serve, or if Logan and his men would come back to the house for the noon meal. Maybe she should ask him to approve her menu—as soon as she made one. With a last glance at Sam, who had turned his face away, she stepped out into the hall.

      “Olivia?” The unfamiliar name stopped her, the bundle of sheets in her arms. “Thanks. Makes a man proud to have a daughter-in-law like you. Now, if you and Logan can just set your minds to giving me a few more great-grandkids...”

      He trailed off and Blossom’s heart sank. He’d mistaken her for his daughter-in-law. Yesterday he’d thought she’d come to the ranch in answer to some singles ad. When Logan had asked him his name, Sam had stopped to think. He was clearly disoriented, at least part of the time, but she wouldn’t make things worse by pointing that out and upsetting him.

      “We’re working on it” was all she said.

      With her cheeks feeling flushed, Blossom carried the old bedding down the stairs, through the front parlor and the dining room, and on into the kitchen. She dropped the pile down the laundry chute.

      More great-grandkids, Sam had said, which implied there was at least one already. Blossom hadn’t seen any children and certainly no wife for Logan. So where was Olivia?

      None of that was her concern. As long as Sam got well enough so he could leave his bed, she’d feel she’d done her job here. It was the least she could do in return for finding this brief refuge at the Circle H.

      The sunny morning and the vast expanse of land isolating her here on the ranch lifted her spirits. If she could find Logan, she’d ask about the lunch menu she didn’t have yet. While she was at it, she’d tell him about the incident with Sam.

      * * *

      LOGAN WAS IN a corral on the far side of the barn, trying to keep from getting his head kicked in like Sam. He’d rather be mucking stalls because, oddly, that chore was his favorite—if he had one here. As a kid he’d sure spent enough time at it. Logan had lived on the Circle H from birth until he left to join the service. With a pitchfork in his hand, he still liked to let his mind drift, to pretend he was really where he wanted to be, back flying a jet. Sometimes he even whistled to himself as he worked. But if he couldn’t cut short the brief leave of absence he’d taken from his job, this unplanned stay on the ranch could threaten his pending promotion. He wasn’t whistling now. No pitchfork either.

      “Stand still,” Logan told the shaggy bison bull calf he’d been trying to doctor for an infection. The stubborn weanling had turned over a bucket of warm water, splashing Logan’s boots. He’d just bent over the bull’s hoof again, one foreleg trapped between his thighs to steady it, when Blossom suddenly appeared. The startled bison knocked Logan on his backside in the dirt.

      “Hey!” he yelled, when he knew better than to shout or move fast around the touchy bison. Struggling for breath, Logan picked himself up, dusted himself off and glared at Blossom over the corral fence. “You live on a ranch, you learn to be careful. Hear me?”

      Blossom froze like some ice sculpture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

      Oh, no. There was that lowered head again, and her gaze had shifted away.

      “It’s okay,” he said in a softer tone. “No harm done.”

      Or would the new ache in his hip turn into something worse by nightfall? Getting hurt on a ranch with danger all around was par for the course.

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