Second Chance Ranch Chapter 6

Chapter SIX:

Squire couldn’t stand another evening by himself in his empty cabin, or in the mansion where his parents lived. He turned away from the window, sourness coating his throat. He had a half a tank of gas, and as he headed outside, he wondered how far he could get before he ran out.

Not far enough, he thought as Benson barked.

“Yeah, we’re going for a ride.” The dog bounded ahead of him and leapt into the back of the truck. Squire started the engine and aimed himself north, instead of east the way he usually did. Once, with a full tank of gas, he’d made it all the way to Oklahoma City before turning around. His father had been livid, though Squire couldn’t blame him. It had been a school night.

He drove until he saw the “Welcome to Oklahoma” sign. Squire had driven to the border many times when he needed to see the sky and figure out what to do. Here, he’d decided to join the Army. Here, he’d decided to go into pre-veterinarian studies. Here, he’d released his dreams to finish his degree and open a small veterinary clinic in town.

Here, he’d become the dutiful son who would inherit Three Rivers Ranch.

He got out of the cab and climbed in the back of the truck with Benson, already praying that he could find some solace. Darkness wouldn’t fall for another couple of hours, and Squire wouldn’t be missed until morning. Maybe not even then.

When he’d returned from his deployment last fall, his leg still cast and healing, his mind was filled with hurt and anger. This stretch of sky had helped, especially with Benson nearby. Then his father had told him he wanted to retire. A few months later, Hector died, and everything got tangled. If the ranch had the missing one-point-six million dollars, Squire could hire a foreman. Three Rivers would stay in the family, but Squire wouldn’t have to live it, breathe it, take care of it.

He’d been the one to suggest hiring an accountant—one who had a degree and knew the law—who could help them out of their “financial predicament.” Kelly had the piece of paper, but Squire still wasn’t sure she could get the job done.

As soon as he thought of Kelly, his thoughts tangled again. The confusion on her face when he’d mentioned prom. The interest when she’d asked about the picture. He should’ve discarded it a long time ago. Just like the cricket posters. But they meant something to him, and when he’d cleaned out his teenage bedroom to make a space for himself as a man, he hadn’t been able to throw them away.

He let his mind wander to more carefree times, when all he worried about was working out and playing football. He remembered Chelsea driving him to school, how they’d stop and get Kelly, how she’d have to sit so close to him in the truck.

He’d felt like he belonged to a group back then. First with Kelly and his sister. Then with the football team. With his Army buddies, his squad. Since he’d returned, he felt like he didn’t belong anywhere, not with his parents, not at the ranch, and not with Kelly.

* * *

Squire woke with hot Benson-slobber seeping through his pants. He nudged the dog, who scrambled to his feet. He yawned, and let his tongue hang out as he panted.

“Let’s go home, boy.” Squire jumped out of the truck and stretched, noting that the sky bled a shade barely lighter than dawn. He still had plenty of time to waste before Kelly showed up for work.

He made it the last five miles to the ranch on gasoline fumes, parked, and arrived in Kelly’s office before she did. He drummed his fingers on her desk, though she wasn’t late yet.

“Are you lost?” She entered the room with her purse slung over her forearm, the files she’d taken home gripped in her hand. “Isn’t this my office?”

“Nice shoes,” he said, taking in her flats. She also wore a pair of gray slacks and a frilly, pink blouse that matched the color of her lips.

“Thank you.” She put her purse in a drawer and appraised him with some apprehension in her eyes. “Nice clothes you wore yesterday. What? You didn’t go home last night?”

Squire scrubbed the back of his head, noting his need for a shower, unsure if he should be embarrassed or pleased that she noticed what he wore. “Uh, not exactly.”

“Oh, a little sleepover somewhere?” She crossed her arms and cocked one hip, her mouth turned down in disapproval.

“Me, Benson, and the Oklahoma border.” Squire gave her attitude right back to her. He swore she almost smiled. Almost.

“Yes, well. What can I help you with, Mr. Ackerman?” She settled at her desk, but didn’t start working.

A snag of hopelessness hooked his heart. “Come on,” he said, trying to smile in a way that would make her relax. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” She flipped open a folder and looked at it. She wasn’t reading though.

“All Mr. Ackerman. I’m not the boss.”

“You’re not?” She shot him a meaningful look through her eyelashes.

“Okay,” he said, standing. “I just wanted to ask you to do the taxes first. I thought of it last night. We filed an extension because of Hector’s death, but I think they need to get done.”

“But if I don’t know where the money is, how can I complete the taxes?”

Squire shrugged. “I’m not the accountant.”

“Exactly,” Kelly muttered under her breath, but when Squire turned back to her, she gave him a sugar-sweet smile. “I’ll get right on it, Boss.”

He left, his heart pounding as if he’d just completed a hefty set of weights. Half from frustration at her attitude and half in appreciation of it, he willed his pulse to slow as he entered his office. But he had nothing to do, and he ended up in the front half of the trailer where Clark was updating the white board.

Clark never wore anything but jeans, a flannel shirt, and brown cowboy boots. Squire suspected his hat had been sewn to his head, though the brown hair poking out from under the brim had just been cut.

“Only Tom’s working today?” Squire asked when he saw that the board was mostly empty.

“Givin’ the boys some time off before plantin’,” Clark said. “Tom could probably use some help with the horses.”

Squire had spent countless hours in the saddle of his horse, Lucy. But she’d died a few years ago, and he’d bonded with Juniper. “Sure, I’ll head over to the stable now.”

Anything was better than suffering here, only a thin wall separating him from Kelly.

“In that?” Clark swept his gaze from Squire’s feet to his head. At least he had his cowboy hat on. “I think he’s muckin’ stalls, Boss.”

“Thanks, Clark.”

The controller removed his hat and scratched his right ear. “And then he’s gonna be out in the fields, checkin’ on the hay. Might want some sunscreen.”

Squire thanked him and hurried to his cabin. He couldn’t stand another day of watching Kelly work, of wishing she’d burst into his office with a miracle. She’d only been here one day, and his constant loitering obviously wasn’t welcome. At least his plan to push her away was working, though it did little to cheer him.

Benson ran in circles around Squire’s legs when he came out of his cabin dressed in his dirty jeans, crusty boots, and work gloves. He yipped like he hadn’t gone to work with Squire in months. And he hadn’t.

Sadness sang through Squire, and he reached down and scratched the old dog’s ears. “I know, boy. We get to work the horses today.”

Benson licked his hands and face before tearing off toward the stables. Squire followed and found Tom in the thick of shoveling out the stalls. “Need a hand?”

“I knew you were comin’.” He smiled. “Your dog can’t keep a secret.”

Benson barked, and Squire swore the dog wore a smile.

Hank whinnied. “Your horses either.” Tom nodded toward Juniper and Hank, who had both wandered over to the fence.

“No treats this morning, guys.” Squire stroked Juniper’s nose and ran his hand down Hank’s neck. The strength he gained from the animals made him bow his head in gratitude.

“You don’t need to help,” Tom said, breaking into Squire’s prayer. “I’m almost done.”

Squire picked up a shovel. “You think I’m too soft?”

Tom chuckled. “Nah.” He scanned him from head to toe. “Just haven’t seen you wear digs like those for a while.”

Squire grunted in response. Maybe he’d be more successful in convincing himself—and everyone else—he wanted the ranch if he worked it more often. He lost himself in the feeding of the chickens, preparing the bottles for the calves, and brushing down the horses. By lunch, he could’ve passed for a real cowboy, but he didn’t have to be happy about it.

* * *

By the time Squire sat in the Ranch Owner’s meeting in town, he found himself wishing he was still mucking out stalls with Tom. He knew most of the men and women in the room, but he felt small sitting beside his father.

Then Bear Glover entered, and only one seat remained beside Squire. Bear frowned at it and practically growled as he pulled the chair away from Squire and sat down.

“Howdy,” Squire said anyway. Bear was a beast of a man, and sandwiched between him and his father, Squire felt like a tiny man, though he stood over six feet tall too.

Bear had five or six years on him, and his father had just passed away the year before last. Maybe eighteen months ago. Squire remembered hearing about it in one of his mother’s emails. 

Bear’s brother, Judge, was the same age as Squire, and while they’d known one another, they hadn’t been best friends. Squire had played football and been an only-child for his last two years of high school.

Judge had a huge family, lived far from town, and had done FFA. Still, when a family had as much old blood in a small town the way the Glovers did, everyone knew them.

Squire supposed the Ackermans were old blood in Three Rivers too, and most people knew his family too.

“How are things at Shiloh Ridge?” Squire asked.

“Hot and dry.” Bear reached up and took off his cowboy hat with one hand, the other raking through his hair. “Haven’t seen you at these meetings much.”

“Yeah, I’m—” Squire cut off and truly looked at Bear. He wore a full beard in nearly black, but his hair was a lighter shade of brown. His eyes danced in a bright blue, and he tilted his head as if quizzing Squire the longer the silence stretched.

He snapped his mouth closed. “Did you ever not want your ranch?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Bear blinked a couple of times, and Squire wasn’t sure what he was doing. It wasn’t like he and Bear were besties. “No,” Bear said honestly. “I’ve always loved Shiloh Ridge and knew I’d take it over one day.” He shifted in his seat, folded his arms, and pressed his mouth into a tight line. “It just happened a little sooner than I anticipated.”

Pure foolishness rushed through Squire with the force of gravity. “I’m really sorry about your daddy,” he said sincerely. “My momma emailed me and told me the news.”

Bear nodded, his eyes sticking on something up front now, though the meeting hadn’t started. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

“Didn’t you have a brother who went to vet school?” Squire asked next, mostly to get the topic onto something else. Anything, really.

Bear visibly relaxed, his shoulders in that black-and-white plaid shirt going down as his gaze returned to Squire. “Yeah, Cactus. He’s only been back for a few years, actually.”

Squire nodded. “You guys didn’t have a full-time vet before that, right?”

“Nope.” Bear wasn’t particularly chatty on a good day, and Squire figured he’d gotten a lot out of him already. Thankfully, Britt Bellamore stepped to the front of the room and started the meeting.

Or maybe not-so-thankfully, as Squire couldn’t care one whit about any of the ranch business happening on the properties surrounding Three Rivers. 

His family’s ranch was the biggest of them all, but not the most profitable. That honor belonged to Shiloh Ridge and Bear, and Squire found himself itching to know who ran their finances at the ranch about as far south of town as Three Rivers was north.

He kept his mouth shut despite wanting to ask, and suffered through the meeting. His father contributed a few things, but he’d never been one to speak more than necessary either.

Squire had definitely gotten that trait from him, but he shook hands and smiled and wished the other ranch owners well once the meeting concluded. 

“So we’ll take our boys to help with the fire prevention at Golden Hour and Shiloh Ridge,” his dad said once they’d gotten in the truck to head back to the ranch. “Can you arrange that with Clark? Make sure we have five or six men, and they’ll come help us with that two hundred acres we can never mow in time during the harvest.”

Squire looked over to his father blankly. “Fire prevention?”

His daddy looked at him, at-once realizing that Squire had zoned out for the entire meeting. He hadn’t. Not really. He’d simply been thinking about how he could talk to Cactus about veterinary school or ask Bear about who they used for an accountant.

The Glover family was far bigger than his—they had six boys just in Bear’s family. His cousins helped run the ranch too, and there were three more males there. Even if he hadn’t wanted Shiloh Ridge, there would’ve been someone else to take over.

Squire didn’t have that luxury.

“Yes,” his daddy said. “Fire prevention.”

“They have a river running through Shiloh Ridge,” Squire said darkly. “Before it splits into three.” One of those arms ran through Three Rivers Ranch—the north-western most river—but it had been dry for weeks now.

“It’s dry,” his dad clipped out. “Weren’t you listening at all?”

“No,” Squire said, quickly following it with, “Sorry, Dad. Really. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Mm hm,” his father said. 

Squire waited for more, but his father wasn’t his mother, and no lecture came. No assumptions were made. He simply kept driving.

“I’ll organize the boys to go help with fire prevention,” Squire confirmed. And now he had a reason to call Bear and talk to him again, which made him smile. “For both ranches.”

“Great,” his father said. “Maybe this year, we’ll have excess hay to sell too, if they’ll come help us during the harvest.”

Their machines already ran twenty-four-seven during the alfalfa harvest, but Squire didn’t say anything. Britt and Bear would have their own tractors and threshers, and if it meant he didn’t have to mow two hundred acres, he could slather on sunscreen and go work in the Texas heat to put down a fire line.

Especially if he could talk to Cactus about becoming a vet, or learn more about how Shiloh Ridge handled their finances.

* * *

The following day, Squire left the ranch once again and headed back into town. Ranching was an around-the-clock job, but the administrative items fell off on the weekends. He planned to grab lunch at his favorite pizza joint next to Vince’s grocery store, and then head into Amarillo. For what, he didn’t know. He just knew he couldn’t loiter around the ranch today.

Chelsea was much more of a homebody than him, and he’d always found it funny that she’d escaped Three Rivers the first chance she’d gotten. She’d gone to Dallas for college, and his sister still lived and worked there.

After he got his food, he crossed the street to the park and found an empty bench further from the playground. He’d taken the first bite of his pizza when a woman said, “What are you doing here?”

Wiping his mouth, Squire squinted up. Kelly stood in front of him, her hands on her hips.

Warring emotions made his stomach seize. Apparently, excitement didn’t mix well with disappointment. “Eating?”

“I can see that,” she said. “Why are you eating here?”

He took a long drag of his soda. “Because it’s a beautiful day in Texas.” He smiled from under the brim of his hat. “And last time I checked, it was a free country.” He paused as she huffed and checked over her shoulder. “If not, I don’t know why I spent sixteen months in Kandahar.”

Her expression softened and her gaze flickered to his right leg. Ah, so she’d seen the limp he’d tried so hard to hide. She wore black pants and a blue polo with Vince’s embroidered on the left pocket.

“You just get off work?” he asked to get the topic away from his injury.

“Just going in,” she responded, focusing again on the playground. “I brought Finn for lunch, and my mom is picking him up before my shift.”

“So you do eat,” Squire said. “Want to sit?”

She swung her attention back to him, her face an interesting mix of surprise and uncertainty.

“I don’t bite,” he said, picking up his pizza again. “Unless you’re covered in cheese and pepperoni.”

His words elicited a quick smile—Victory! he thought—and she sat way down on the other end of the bench. She placed two fast food bags between them, and they seemed very much like a barrier to Squire.

“Which one’s Finn?” he asked.

“Red shirt.” She pointed toward the slides, where a dark-haired boy bounced up and down while waiting for his turn.

Squire watched him for a couple of seconds before focusing on Kelly again. The creases along her mouth had softened; the edge from her eyes had melted. As she watched her son play, Squire could see and feel the love she had for him.

Squire knew he hadn’t been in love with anyone yet, even Kelly. He wasn’t sure what that felt like, but if the light glinting in her eyes was any indication, Squire thought love was pretty fantastic.

If it could loosen the rubber band constricting his heart, even better.

If loving someone could dull the past decade, set him free, give him hope for the future, he’d take it.

“He’s cute,” he said.

“He looks like his father.” She sucked in a breath. “I mean—”

“I see you in him too,” Squire said as the boy slid down the slide with pure joy on his face. He began running toward them. “The smile, for sure. His chin.”

“Mom!” The little boy arrived, full of energy and fun. “Did you see that?”

“Sure did. Sit down and eat.”

The wiggling Finn sat and took the paper off his hamburger. “This has no cheese.”

“That’s because that one’s mine.” Kelly snatched the burger from him and handed him the one with yellow paper. “Try this one.”

“You don’t like cheese?” Squire asked.

“Depends on the situation,” she said.

Finn peered at him. “Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”

“He’s my boss,” Kelly said.

The word clearly had no meaning to Finn, whose eyebrows puckered. “So we can talk to him, right?”

“Right,” Kelly said, ruffling his hair.

“I’m a good guy,” Squire said. “My name is Squire. What’s yours?”

Finn looked at Squire’s extended hand and then to his mom. Kelly gave him an encouraging nod, and he shook Squire’s hand. “Finnley Xavier Russell.”

“Wow.” Squire chuckled. “Can I call you Finn?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, picking up his juice box.

Kelly grinned down at him, and when she lifted her eyes to meet Squire’s, the smile remained.

He suddenly realized this could be his life. Sitting in the park on Saturday afternoon, eating lunch with his family, watching children swing and play tag and throw baseballs.

His arm slung across Kelly’s shoulders.

His throat tightened as a powerful sense of belonging washed over him.

But this wasn’t real. He didn’t belong to Kelly and Finn, and they certainly didn’t belong to him. Other couples dotted the benches, called to children, threw Frisbees to their dogs.

Squire realized that what he’d been missing was a family.

He slid a glance to Kelly, but she was absorbed in talking to Finn and eating lunch. He likewise focused on his food, his heart hollowing as he realized his fantasy of sitting at this park every weekend with Kelly was not his reality. Never would be.

“Grandma’s here,” Kelly said, standing. “Be good, Finny. See you in the morning, okay?”

Squire got to his feet too. “Nice to meet you, Finn.” He patted the little boy’s head before Finn ran toward Kelly’s mom. “Good to see you, Kel,” he said, his tongue stumbling slightly over the once-familiar nickname. “Have fun at work.”

“Oh, yeah,” she deadpanned. “I just love checking people out on Saturday night.”

“We used to check out a lot of people on the weekends.”

She laughed, her eyes brightening as she did. He realized that the spark of life he’d loved in high school only appeared when she allowed herself an uninhibited laugh.

“I think I prefer that sort of checking out to this.” She nodded toward the grocer. “But I can’t be late.” She took a few steps away and then turned back. “See you Monday.”

He lifted his hand in farewell, his attention singular as she crossed the street and entered Vince’s. He followed and aimed his truck southwest to the busy streets of Amarillo. But the city didn’t hold what he needed—a distraction. He was afraid that nothing would be able to free his mind of Kelly Armstrong, past or present—except the woman herself.