quiet, his attention drawn to the window. The ranch owner had been distracted from the moment Beth had arrived.
“Is there something the matter?” she asked.
“Millie walked off the job a few days ago.”
“Who’s Millie?”
“The housekeeper.” His face turned ruddy. “Millie and I have been courting for about a year.”
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers tightened against the brim of his hat. “We’ve had disagreements before but it’s not like her to leave me high and dry.”
The ranch housekeeper hadn’t been the only one left high and dry. Beth’s home had sold within a week of going on the market in mid-December, and she’d had to scramble to put her belongings in storage and find a place to live. Not only had she been forced out of her home, but she’d been forced out of her job. She hadn’t been fired, but how on earth could she work for the woman who was about to give birth any day to her ex-husband’s baby?
Needing a temporary place to live and lick her wounds, Beth had perused apartment listings when she’d remembered that her father’s college buddy managed a dude ranch. Her parents had visited the retreat in the past but Beth had never gone along with them—horseback riding wasn’t her thing—but a ranch was the perfect place to hole up and not have to worry about running into her ex and former boss while she contemplated her future. Besides, if she’d remained in town, she’d have been tempted to drop in at the Number 10 Saloon and ask Mack Cash if he was up for a second go-round with her.
“You’re frowning,” Dave said. “Don’t you like your accommodations?”
“No, the cabin is perfect.” The place had all the essentials—a TV, queen-size bed, love seat, chair and a private bathroom. The best part of the cabin was the covered porch that offered a stunning view of Black Jack Canyon. “If you don’t hear from Millie soon, what will you do?”
“Start interviewing new housekeepers.” He walked to the door. “C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
Unpacking would have to wait. She left her purse on the bed next to the suitcase then locked the cabin door and accompanied Dave along the stone path that broke off from the main walkway used by the guests. “How many employees do you have?”
“Two full-time workers and three part-time. You’ll meet them at supper.” He glanced at Beth. “You’re welcome to take your meals in your cabin, but the cowboys are expected to eat with our guests.” Dave smiled. “Folks like to listen to their tall tales.”
Cowboys. Beth would never hear that word again without thinking of Mack. Even now—thirty-four days after their night at the El Rancho Motel—she couldn’t get his image out of her head. She didn’t understand how a few hours with an almost complete stranger had left a lasting impression on her. First on the get-her-life-back-in-order list was to forget Mack.
Dave stopped at the adobe cantina and held the door open for her. “This used to be an old mission outpost for Jesuit priests several centuries ago.”
Beth spun in a slow circle, taking in the plastered walls and dark wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. A large fireplace took up a good portion of the room and resting on its mantel were portraits of Spanish matadors. A pair of sofas and chairs covered in cowhide sat near the fireplace. “It’s beautiful.”
“This was the main room of the mission. The third owners of the guest ranch converted it into a saloon and a dance hall.”
“Wow, this place is full of history.”
“There’s information about the ranch in the guest packet in your cabin.”
“How many owners has the ranch had?” Beth asked.
“Seven. The land that the ranch sits on used to be part of a three-million-acre grant from the King of Spain to the Ortiz brothers of Mexico.”
“How long ago was that?”
“1812. The Gadsden Purchase was signed in 1854, determining the border between Mexico and the United States and the ranch fell inside the U.S. boundaries.”
“Who got the land after that?” she asked.
“Former Union Colonel William Sturgis bought the property and renovated the mission. When the Mexican Revolution came, Pancho Villa fired on the main house.”
“By main house you mean the building with the lobby and dining room?”
He nodded. “You’ll see the cannonball embedded in the stucco wall when we go inside the building.”
She wandered closer to the bar and ran her hand over the horse-saddle seats. “Cute idea for stools.”
“There have been a lot of famous guests at this ranch over the years.”
“Politicians or actors?”
“A few of both. Author Margaret Mitchell wintered at the ranch and Zane Gray also wrote here.”
Beth found the information fascinating. “Any presidents?”
“Franklin Roosevelt and Lyndon B. Johnson. We’ve had a couple of ranch guests through the years report seeing an apparition in this room. You’ll let me know if you spot one, won’t you?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. Seriously—she majored in business and math in college. She possessed an analytical brain. Logic, not emotion, ruled her actions and decisions, which was probably why she couldn’t put her night with Mack behind her. She’d acted out of character—normally she dealt with facts not feelings—but the country-western singer had broken down her barriers and reached a touchy-feely place inside her that she hadn’t known existed.
“We’re empty right now, but we’re full up on the weekend.” He walked to the door. “Be sure to take advantage of your stay and go horseback riding.”
“I’ve never been horseback riding.”
When they stepped outside, Dave said, “One of our trail hands will give you lessons.”
Beth couldn’t imagine herself riding a horse. Then again she’d never envisioned herself entering a motel room with a stranger.
There was a first time for everything.
* * *
“NEED HELP WITH THAT, HOSS?” Mack stepped into the barn late Sunday afternoon and caught the retired rodeo clown struggling with a wheelbarrow full of soiled hay.
“Best get out of my way unless you want a pile of road apples fallin’ on yer fancy boots.”
When Mack had taken the job at the dude ranch, the sixty-five-year-old Hoss had been the first employee his boss had introduced him to. The surly man had made it clear the barn was his domain.
Mack stopped in front of Speckles’s stall and rubbed the horse’s nose. Hoss had been granted the privilege of naming the trail horses—big mistake. The geezer had named the geldings after rodeo clowns—Bim
