The Maverick of Copper Creek (29 page)

“Playing cowboy?” Griff asked dryly.

Jimmy shrugged. “Something like that, I guess. And since that was just about the best excuse I could think of to get away from my doting family, I jumped at the chance.”

With a grin, Griff turned to introduce Jimmy to Whit and Brady. After a round of handshakes, Griff took a seat beside the younger man's wheelchair. “I thought you were leaving the Corps when I did.”

“I planned on it. I had only another month when my luck ran out.”

“How bad is it?”

Jimmy's voice lowered. “I won't be running any marathons.” He brightened. “But then, I was never much of a runner anyway. The doctors think I'm a good candidate for a prostheses.”

“That's great. How long will you have to wait?”

The younger man shrugged. “I'm working with a doctor who is hooking me up with a guy he calls a genius at these things. But it all takes time. And while I'm waiting, I thought I'd take a break from my family. Ever since I got home, they've been all over me. Won't let me do a thing. Running ahead to open doors, picking up anything I drop before I even know I dropped it.”

Griff chuckled. “Don't fault them, Jimmy. You know they love you.”

“Yeah. And they're smothering me with all that love.”

He studied Griff, whose already muscled body was now honed to perfection, his skin tanned from weeks in the hills with the herd, his wide-brimmed hat hanging on the back of his chair. “Something tells me you've turned into the real deal. A cowboy.”

Griff couldn't stop the grin that spread across his features. “Guilty.”

Jimmy nodded toward Whit, seated across the table. “Did I hear you call him your brother?”

Griff chuckled. “You did. And yeah, before you ask, I'm as new at this family thing as I am at being a rancher.”

Jimmy looked at Brady, whose handsome, tanned face and white hair, along with a perfectly toned body made him look like a poster for the State of Montana. “And is this your long-lost father?”

That had all of them chuckling.

“Brady is the foreman of my father's ranch.”

“Okay.” Jimmy rubbed his hands together. “Now tell me about your mysterious father.”

With a glance at Whit, Griff was quick to say, “Maybe some other time. Right now, tell me about those Romeos.”

“Better than telling you, why don't I have you join us?”

Griff shrugged. “Join you for what?”

“A military reunion. We're heading over to the Grayson Ranch tomorrow. Want to join us?”

Griff was already shaking his head. “Maybe, after chores—”

Brady interrupted. “After the week you put in, I think you deserve a day off. Grab it while you have the chance.”

Griff looked pleased. “You're sure?”

When Brady gave a quick nod of his head, Griff didn't need time to consider. “Why not? If it's got something to do with veterans, I'm intrigued. Just tell me where and when.”

“We'll be heading over around noon. I'm told it's somewhere out in that vast expanse of wilderness folks around here call a hop, skip, and a jump from town.”

Whit was smiling as he added dryly, “I know where it's at. I'll give you directions before you head out tomorrow, bro.”

Jimmy drained his beer. “I'd better get back to my buddies. I'll see you tomorrow, Captain. We'll reminisce about the good times we had in the hills of Afghanistan.”

With a twinkle in his eye he turned his wheelchair and returned to the table in the corner, where the voices grew louder with each round of longnecks.

Whit narrowed his gaze on Griff. “Captain?”

Griff tipped up his longneck. “Not anymore. Now I'm just a ranch hand learning how to shovel manure.”

“And doing a damned fine job,” Whit said with a laugh as he caught Nonie's eye and lifted his empty bottle.

Within minutes she'd brought them another round of drinks, and the talk turned, as always, to the daily grind of running a ranch the size of Rhode Island.

S
ummer had settled in to Montana, bringing with it hot, sunny days and warm nights perfumed with bitterroot. The pale pink blossoms covered the hills around the MacKenzie ranch.

Griff leaned a hip against the sill and stared at the scene outside his window. Everything on this vast ranch seemed more. More space to roam. More cattle than any one man could count.

An eagle soared high above the herds that darkened the landscape. For as far as he could see, this land belonged to the MacKenzie family. His family now. The thought had him frowning. It didn't seem possible. After growing up dreaming about the father he never knew, he'd now acquired a grandfather, two half brothers, and a stepmother who still looked more like the model she'd once been than the rancher's widow she was now.

What was even more impossible to process was the fact that before his death, Bear MacKenzie had not only accepted the truth that Griff was his son but had included him in his will, leaving a portion of all of this to him, if he decided to stay and become a rancher. If he chose instead to walk away, he would relinquish his share but would find himself a very rich man.

He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. How could anyone starved for family turn his back on all this for mere money? What Bear had offered, and what Willow MacKenzie had agreed to when she'd learned of her husband's will, was worth so much more than wealth. She and her family had accepted him as one of them.

He'd arrived here an angry, bitter man, war-weary from three tours of duty, expecting to resent the sons who had been privileged to grow up alongside their powerful rancher father. Instead, he'd been made welcome, and was learning, by trial and error, to become worthy to be called Bear MacKenzie's other son.

“Hey, bro.”

Outside in the hallway, Whit pounded a fist on the closed door as he headed for the stairs. “If you're late for breakfast, I get your steak.”

Griff was still buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his jeans as he made a wild dash to the kitchen. “If Mad's making steak and eggs, you'll lose your hand if you even think about touching mine.”

The old man looked up from his wheelchair positioned in front of the stove, where he was flipping steaks onto a platter. “Any fighting at the table, the two of you will be shoveling manure for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Whit grinned at Griff as the two shared a laugh behind Mad's back.

The old man turned to give them a hairy eyeball. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing. Even grown men can misbehave, given the opportunity. But I do like the way Griff's military attitude is rubbing off on you, lad.”

Whit shot his grandfather one of his famous grins. “Now if only my charm with the ladies would rub off on Griff.”

At Willow's raised brow, Whit chuckled. “There were half a dozen hot chicks at Wylie's last night, all giving big bro here that ‘let's hook up' look, and he spent all his time ignoring them and talking to a bunch of military guys over in the corner.”

“Military guys here in Copper Creek?” Intrigued, Willow set down her coffee cup and turned to Griff. “There's no military base for hundreds of miles. What were they doing here?”

He shrugged. “They call themselves Romeos, because they're involved in some kind of therapy at the Grayson Ranch.”

“Ah.” Willow nodded. “I heard rumors that Buddy's widow was living there, but I hadn't heard any details. What kind of therapy are they involved in?”

Griff shook his head. “I don't have a clue.”

Whit chuckled. “Since you're going over there later today, Mom will expect you to have some gossip ready when you get home.”

“You're going to the Grayson Ranch?” Willow flushed, knowing she sounded a bit too eager. “It's not gossip. But like everyone around town, I'm curious to know what's going on there.”

“We all are.” Mad wheeled closer to the table and began filling his plate as Myrna Hill passed around platters of steak and eggs, cinnamon toast, and little pots of jam.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Griff turned to Willow. “Isn't it a working ranch like all the others around here?”

“It was.” She tasted her steak and smiled at her father-in-law. “Perfect, Mad. How do you always manage to get my steak exactly the way I like it?”

“Because I'm a genius in the kitchen.” He winked at his youngest grandson. “And don't you ever forget it, laddie.”

“As if you'd let me,” Whit deadpanned.

Willow turned to Griff and picked up the thread of their conversation. “The Grayson Ranch is fairly small by Montana standards, but it used to be one of the finest around. Buddy Grayson was the last remaining member of his family. When he died, we expected the place to go up for auction. Instead we heard rumors that his widow had shown up to take over the operation.”

“Good for her.” Griff took his time, savoring every bite of his breakfast. There'd been a time when he had only dreamed of meals like this. Now that it was a reality, he was determined to enjoy the moment. “So Buddy Grayson married a rancher. Did she grow up around here?”

Willow shook her head. “I'm not sure, but I heard she comes from the Midwest.”

Griff arched a brow at Whit. “Not exactly ranching country. But then, I grew up right here in Montana, and the closest I ever came to a working ranch was on a field trip in third grade. We all got to feed some hogs and milk a cow.”

“What?” Mad grinned at him over the rim of his cup. “Those teachers didn't have you shoveling manure?”

“They knew better. With a bunch of city kids like us, we'd have been holding our noses and climbing back onto the school bus, ready to hit the road at the first smell.”

That had everyone around the table laughing.

Griff returned his attention to the Grayson Ranch. “So, if this guy's widow doesn't know a thing about ranching, how does she expect to keep it going?”

“That's the million-dollar question around these parts.” Willow shrugged and turned to Brady Storm. “Have you heard how she's doing?”

He shook his head. “Word is, Jackie Turner, ranch foreman since old Frank Grayson was running things, retired right after he heard about Buddy's death. His heart was broken, and so was his spirit. Without somebody to ride herd on the few wranglers that are still there, the place is looking pretty shabby these days.”

Willow pinned Griff with a look. “As long as you're going there today, I expect a full report.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He shot her a grin. “Maybe you'd like pictures?”

“Words will be enough. At least for now,” she added with a smile. “Your father was a good friend to Frank Grayson. I think he'd be appalled at the thought of all that rich grazing land going to seed.”

Mad nodded. “While some outsider turns the place into a spa.”

Griff was quick to defend, even though he knew it was useless. “I don't think it's a spa. It's a place for some kind of therapy.”

“Massages. Therapy.” Mad scowled. “Same thing in my book. It's probably some fancy dude ranch and spa.”

Brady pushed away from the table. “I'm heading up to the highlands today. Whit, you coming with me?”

“Yeah.” Whit turned to Griff. “I wrote directions to the Grayson Ranch. The far end of their ranch butts up to our north ridge. Take the interstate highway and you'll be there in an hour. If you take the back roads, it'll take closer to an hour and a half. But if you'd like to take up the Cessna, you could be there in no time. I don't know if their airstrip is still in good repair, but I know that Buddy used to keep a single-engine plane in one of the barns.”

Mad's head came up sharply. “You licensed to fly in Montana, lad?”

Griff nodded. “After flying with Brady for the past month, I went to the county offices a couple of weeks ago and took the test. The formal documents came in the mail the other day.”

The old man gave him a long look. “You're just full of surprises, aren't you?”

Before Griff could respond, Mad's mouth curved into a wide smile. “I see you play your cards close to the vest. Just like your pa.”

Griff had no words.

It was, he realized, the highest compliment Maddock MacKenzie could have paid him.

It was a perfect day for flying. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. A gentle breeze was blowing in from the west.

Griff had thoroughly enjoyed being tutored by Brady, who had regaled him with hair-raising stories of the early years working with Bear MacKenzie. During those long airborne hours, Griff and Brady had formed a bond, discovering that they both preferred reading biographies to fiction, watching suspense movies over outrageous comedies, and both had grown up without a male role model in their lives.

Griff could see, through Brady's eyes, the sort of man his father had been. Blunt, hardworking, driven to succeed. A tough, demanding taskmaster who saved his harshest criticism for his own sons, believing it was the only way to assure that they would be able to survive in this unforgiving land.

Maybe, Griff thought, he was lucky to have been spared that part of his education. Military school had been bad enough. He'd been forced to fight his way through the first couple of years. Growing up under the thumb of Bear MacKenzie would have been a lot tougher. Which explained why Bear's son, Ash, had left in a rage after a particularly unjustly earned tirade, returning only after his father was dead.

Griff adjusted his sunglasses before peering at the land below. Just as Whit had promised, it was easy to discern where MacKenzie land ended and Grayson land began. The undulating hills of MacKenzie land were black with cattle, with dozens of capable wranglers to tend the herds. The sparsely populated hills to the north were nearly barren, with only the occasional small herd grazing. Griff saw no sign of horsemen below.

As the plane drew near the Grayson house and barns, the distinction was even clearer. There were gaps in large portions of fences. The roofs of the buildings appeared worn and shabby, the barns were in need of paint, the sprawling house sported a sagging porch, and shingles were missing from the peaked roof.

A couple of trucks and a shiny new bus were parked near one of the barns.

After circling the barn and concluding that the asphalt strip looked safe enough, Griff brought the little Cessna in for a smooth landing.

He was smiling as he opened the door and stepped down.

“I hope you have a good explanation for making me wait a whole week.”

The feminine voice was low, the words spoken in a tone that left no doubt that the one speaking was furious.

Griff turned to see a slender girl in torn denims and a skinny T-shirt standing just inside the doorway of the barn, hands on her hips, dark eyes barely visible beneath a faded baseball cap, spitting daggers at him.

His own eyes, hidden behind the mirrored sunglasses, widened in surprise.

He stepped closer, his tone lowering to a growl to reveal his annoyance at this unexpected greeting. “I beg your pardon.”

“You'd better beg my pardon. You were supposed to be here last Monday. You know how critical your equipment is to my operation. I can't believe I haven't heard a single word from you. And after you promised to repair that lift as soon as possible.”

“Look.” Griff reached out a hand. “I don't know who you think I am, but—”

She was too busy chastising him to hear a word he said. “Just take a look at the mess I've been dealing with.”

She turned away and stalked into the barn, expecting him to follow.

He did, reluctantly, and was forced to remove his glasses in order to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. As he did, he became aware of a cluster of men in wheelchairs, all watching him in sullen silence.

A movement to one side of the barn had him looking over at two little boys, cowering in the corner, staring wide-eyed at him.

Sensing their alarm, he immediately tamped down on the angry words he'd been about to unleash. At least now, having met his new family, he understood why he'd spent a lifetime fighting that hair-trigger temper. It was a legacy from his father and grandfather, and he was determined to curb it before it took control of him.

The girl snapped on a series of lights before pointing to the ceiling. “I hope you've brought all the right parts. I don't want to hear that after keeping me waiting all this time, you can't get this lift up and running properly without another holdup.”

Using these moments to cool off, Griff studied the track that had been mounted to the ceiling, forming a circle around the midsection of the barn.

Though his tone was still gruff, the words were muted. “I'm sorry about the missing parts, but you've made a mistake. I'm not the person you were expecting.”

She spun around to face him. “Don't tell me…” Her look went from fury to bewilderment. “You're not here from Endicott Medical Supply?”

“I'm here because a Marine buddy of mine invited me to stop by and see the Romeos in action today.”

For just an instant Griff thought she might break into tears. Then she composed herself. “Sorry. It's just that I've been waiting…” She turned away and stuck her hands in the pockets of her torn jeans before shaking her head and kicking at a clump of dirt. “It doesn't matter…”

“Captain?” A voice from the group of men had him looking over.

“Jimmy.” He watched as one wheelchair separated itself from the others and Jimmy Gable rolled forward, his face wreathed in smiles.

“Hey. You came to see us. I was engaged in a serious poker hand with my pal Hank when you came in. Since I figured it was the medical supply guy, I wasn't paying attention. Sorry.”

“I said I'd come, so here I am.” Griff reached down to clap a hand on his friend's back.