call.”
“It’ll be better after hunting season,” Rachel said. “But you’re from Montana, so you know that.”
“Actually, I’d forgotten how things slowed to a crawl this time of year. I’m glad you said something.” She thought about the two guys who’d sworn they’d report early tomorrow. They’d mentioned something about not having tags, which now made sense. Evidently their names hadn’t been drawn in the lottery designed to restrict the number of hunters for certain types of game.
“You were twenty when you left, right?”
Beth nodded. “It seems like a lifetime ago.” She and Rachel had grown up in the same state, but any similarity ended there. Rachel had had the life Beth had always wanted. A home in the country, horses, a loving family. Definitely not living in a dusty trailer park with no parental supervision to speak of and a sister who was trouble from the word go.
“So everything else is going okay?”
Beth leaned back with a snort. And then it registered. “Hey...you probably know him....” She straightened. “Nathan—his last name starts with an L...”
“Landers?” Rachel frowned. “Nathan Landers? Sure, what about him?”
“Either Mr. Jorgenson got our orders mixed up or Landers got pushy so Jorgensen decided to give him the lumber I was supposed to have delivered today.”
“Hard to say. I don’t think Nathan’s the type to strong-arm anyone, but I really don’t know him very well. He has a big ranch east of here. I’ve seen his foreman in town, but not Nathan. Since he lost his wife, he mostly keeps to himself.”
A widower? Well, that was just peachy—here she was thinking about driving over to his place to find out just what was going on. It wasn’t as if she planned on being mean, but she didn’t want to come off as badgering some poor old man in mourning. “I swear his name sounds familiar, but I can’t think of any reason it should.”
“I can’t either. Technically he lives in the next county. Though Blackfoot Falls is closer to him than Twin Creeks.”
“You mean he doesn’t even use the hardware store in his own town?”
Rachel laughed. “I’m sure there’s another shipment arriving soon.”
“Not till Friday. And I have two guys who promised me they’d be here tomorrow.” Beth picked up a pen and drummed it on the plywood. “So, in your opinion, would it be worth it for me to have a little chat with Mr. Landers? Is he the reasonable sort?”
Rachel pushed her auburn hair back and narrowed her green eyes thoughtfully. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing crazy.” Beth smiled. “Don’t look so worried.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Rachel said, and come to think of it, she actually seemed a bit amused. So maybe Beth was the one who should be concerned. “I think it’s worth a shot. He’s probably just storing the lumber for winter jobs to keep his men busy.”
Beth glanced at her watch. If he agreed to let her have the order, she’d have to pick it up herself. Her truck was small, but she could make two trips. And if she waited for Liberty to be done with school, she’d help. Her niece might whine, but too bad. The budding graffiti artist needed the extra money Beth paid her to cover court costs as part of her probation. Beth really hoped that particular bud had been nipped. “I’ll give him a call.”
“Better yet, drive out there. It’ll be harder for him to say no face-to-face.” Rachel smiled. “I can give you directions.”
“Good.” Beth would still call. She’d never cared for that business of just showing up on someone’s doorstep uninvited. Though she’d end up at his ranch whether he said yes or no.
Nine years working all over the globe as a corporate meeting planner had taught Beth tact, grace and the art of persuasion. She’d be damned if Blackfoot Falls was going to teach her patience.
* * *
NATHAN LANDERS JOINED his foreman at the corral fence. “What do you think of him so far?”
“The kid’s got grit, I’ll tell ya that,” Woody said, his gaze glued to the young man stroking the mare’s neck.
“He get on her yet?”
“Twice, and ended up with a mouthful of dirt both times.”
That didn’t surprise Nathan. He’d known the horse wouldn’t be easy when he bought her. She’d taken the bridle just fine, and the bit hadn’t seemed to bother her. But she sure hadn’t liked being saddled.
He watched Brian give the mare’s neck a final stroke, then slowly fit his booted foot into the stirrup. With impressive grace, the kid swung into the saddle.
For a moment the mare just stood there, almost as if in shock that the fool had climbed on again. The second it wore off she burst into motion, rearing up on her back legs, then twisting and bucking. Nathan and Woody both moved back when the mare came close to the fence, trying to brush the kid off.
She bucked a few more times, then came down hard, lifting her hindquarters and sending Brian over her head. He hit the dirt in a cloud of dust and with a string of cusses. The kid was only eighteen, and easily sprang to his feet. The mare eyed him warily and shied to the other end of the corral.
Woody yanked off his hat and waved away the dust. “He ain’t bashful about getting right back on.”
Nathan nodded. He’d heard that Brian was good with animals, and he’d obviously already passed the test or Woody would’ve sent him on his way by now. “I’m assuming you want to hire him.”
“Up to you, boss.” Woody scratched his balding head, then slapped the battered tan Stetson back on.
Nathan just smiled. He might own the Lucky 7 but very little was up to him anymore. Woody Knudsen held the reins when it came to the cattle operation. Ever since Anne’s death, Nathan had lost interest. He still kept abreast of what was going on, met with the accountant quarterly and signed the checks, but the daily stuff was all Woody’s.
Now, the two Arabians that Nathan had recently purchased were a different story. He still had a lot to learn about breeding them, but at least the idea sparked some life inside him. Three years was a long time to feel nothing.
“Bad time to be hiring with winter coming, but I say we bring him on.” Woody propped his arms on the fence while he watched Brian go another round with the stubborn mare. “You’re gonna need help with those Arabians at some point. Might as well see what the kid’s made of.”
Nathan should’ve known this was about Woody looking out for him. Woody had worked on Nathan’s parents’ ranch as a wrangler and eventually the foreman. He’d been there for Nathan’s first step and when he’d climbed onto his first horse. And when Nathan had returned from college full of determination and too much ego, dead set on turning his own meager seven acres into one of the largest ranches in northern Montana, Woody had never doubted him.
Much as Nathan loved his parents—good, salt-of-the-earth, hardworking people—he hadn’t seen the faith in their eyes that he had in
