Marrying The Rancher. Roz Denny Fox

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      Tandy and Scotty had arrived late and slipped into empty seats in the back row. Stymied as to why she was being singled out, she glanced surreptitiously around, but saw only stern ranchers she probably once knew but hadn’t seen in a dozen years.

      “What’s your problem? I’ve only operated Spiritridge Ranch a couple of months. I haven’t fully rebuilt a herd.” Recognizing her sleepy son probably shouldn’t be here, she gathered him closer. He wouldn’t have come except that as a newly single mom, she’d had no one to leave him with. And the message left on her answering machine had indicated this meeting was important.

      Hicks, her closest neighbor and the president of the association, glared down at her from his lofty height and hooked his thumbs over a belt circling his portly belly. “I offered to buy your father’s ranch. Since it’s doubtful you know a thing about raising cattle, all of us expect sooner or later you’ll fail. It would’ve been smarter if you’d stayed in the army and let me have the ranch.”

      Garnering murmurs of agreement in the room, the man hitched his pants higher.

      “I beg your pardon! I grew up here,” Tandy asserted.

      “Yeah, well, I don’t recall you helped your pa work cattle.”

      “Because I was busy with schoolwork and sports.”

      He wagged a beefy finger in her face. “The past is over. What everyone here agrees with is that you can’t rent a casita to that damned wolf man. We know Curt, rest his soul, had the poor judgment to let Game and Fish come into our Eastern Arizona sector to do their dirty work after old-timers had rid the area of predators. No one wanted to hound Curt, him being so sick and all. You’re a different story. You’re a Johnny-come-lately who has no business messing in here at all.”

      “You mean a Janie-come-lately,” called an equally paunchy man, slapping a worn ten-gallon hat on his knee. His comment caused the room full of men to erupt in snickers while Tandy pondered how little time she’d had as a kid to help her dad with the ranch. But she’d loved it. After all, it had been her home.

      “We don’t want that government fella here,” shouted someone Tandy couldn’t see. That sufficed to jar her out of her memories. “And we don’t need you enabling him, missy. You understand?”

      “Mama!” Scotty tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “I’m scared. Why are those men yelling at you? I wish we hadn’t moved here.”

      “Shh. Don’t be scared.” She brushed the boy’s sandy-colored hair with a reassuring hand before turning her attention to her first accoster. “Mr. Hunt hasn’t shown up yet. How do you know he inquired if his old rental was available?”

      “Not that I have to tell you, but Hunt arranged to have his mail delivered out to Spiritridge along with yours starting tomorrow. Roy Wilkerson’s wife works at the post office. She took his call and passed on the bad news. You need to send him packing.”

      “I believe that’s my decision.” Tandy stood up, squeezing herself and Scotty past the man blocking the aisle with his bulk. She paused briefly to dismiss him with a scowl, along with the others in the room who’d turned in their chairs to stare, apparently all in solidarity with their spokesman.

      Lifting her chin, she said loudly, “When my dad was sick and dying of prostate cancer, Wyatt Hunt made time to drive him to the hospital in Safford for chemo. Dad said Hunt alone helped Manny Vasquez with chores and rounding up and selling his herd. If for no other reason, that would convince me to rent a casita to the wildlife biologist again.” In a last show of defiance she squared her shoulders, took Scotty by the hand and marched them to an exit door she stiff-armed open.

      “You’re making a big mistake,” Hicks called.

      “Stick it where the sun don’t shine!”

      Whatever else he may have shouted back got cut off by the slam of the heavy door behind Tandy.

      She half carried her gangly son to the parking lot, where she unlocked and wrenched open the back door to her SUV. She lifted him into his booster seat, helped him buckle up and hugged him when he started to cry. “Shh. I won’t let them hurt us.”

      “I don’t like that bad man with the big shiny belt buckle. He hollered at you. I wanna go back to Honolulu and live with my cousins.”

      Tandy’s heart sank. “Oh, Scotty, the ranch is our home now.” She gently shut his door and rounded the hood to slide behind the wheel. She glanced back at him before jamming the key in the ignition of the aging Wagoneer that had belonged to her dad.

      “What’s a wolf man?” Scotty asked, wiping his sniffling nose on his sleeve. “Is he like a werewolf?”

      “Heavens, no. Werewolves are folklore. They aren’t real.” Tandy wrenched too hard on the key and the Jeep roared to life then sputtered and died. “Where did you hear about werewolves anyway?”

      “From Mark. He’s got a cool movie.”

      “Auntie Lucinda let you kids watch that kind of thing?”

      “Uh-huh. And vampires, too. And zombies.”

      “Sheesh. Well, Mr. Hunt is a regular man. He’ll be renting the casita next to Manny’s for a month starting tomorrow, and he’s one member of a team of wildlife biologists who brought Mexican gray wolves back into this area while your grandpa was alive.”

      “Cool.” Scotty swept his hand across his eyes, drying his tears.

      “As I understand it, Mr. Hunt needs to track those wolves, count their pups then vaccinate and tag them for a wildlife project.”

      “But that man shouldn’t have been mean to you. I hope the wolf man’s nicer. Is he?”

      “Please call him Mr. Hunt. Grandpa Marsh liked him a lot and spoke highly of him whenever we talked. Manny says good things about Mr. Hunt, too.”

      “If he’s not nice I’ll have Mr. Bones bite him,” Scotty said, brightening considerably the minute he mentioned the Redbone Coonhound. She’d gotten him from the local animal shelter in hopes of helping ease Scotty’s transition to life on a ranch.

      “We don’t want Mr. Bones biting anyone.” Tandy loosened her grip on the key and this time started the vehicle without incident. She couldn’t help smiling to herself at her son’s protective instincts. However, her smile soon faded. At thirty-one, she was plagued by plenty of mixed feelings over her abrupt but necessary departure from the military, where she’d enjoyed her job and had earned a steady paycheck.

      Scotty had no clue how their lives had changed when his dad, also an army sergeant, had phoned to say he’d fallen in love with another woman. Dan was stationed in the Philippines while she’d served in Afghanistan. Hearing long-distance that he wanted a divorce had stung. But when he had angrily insisted he’d never wanted kids, leaving the army for the ranch she’d inherited in Arizona had seemed the only choice for her and Scotty.

      Cutting ties in Hawaii had been necessary because Dan’s sister, Lucinda, had cared for Scotty while both parents were deployed. She’d said to keep the peace in her family, she had to side with her brother. Compared to all that, having a group of old ranchers attempting to bully her felt minor.

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