JONATHON BLACKWELL INHALED a deep breath in an attempt to calm the herd of agitated cattle mustering inside his chest. It didn’t help. Nothing would, save for getting in and out as quickly as possible. Shopping on a normal day was bad enough. Shopping when he was short on time was downright aggravating. Why weren’t items where they should be? And was it his imagination or were products rarely to be found in the same spot twice?
Although he had to admit, Brewster Ranch Supply was more organized than most, and if he had to shop, he supposed this was the least irritating option. Trout, on the other hand, enjoyed a trip to Brewster’s, where there was always a treat waiting for him at the checkout counter.
“Almost done, buddy.” The black-and-white border collie stood beside him sniffing a rack of vegetable seeds. “Only a couple more things.”
Jon trudged through Brewster’s “home” section, where he puzzled way too long over what kind of sheets a woman might like on her bed—cartoon cats seemed a little silly and more like something he’d buy for his five-year-old twins, while tiny hearts felt vaguely inappropriate. Telling himself he was overthinking it, he tossed a daisy-printed set into the shopping cart. It was just that any little thing he could do to facilitate a smooth transition for his new nanny, he wanted to do.
Nanny thoughts stirred his already churning anxiety. He needed to get back to his ranch, the JB Bar, because adding to his urgency was a sick calf that needed medicating, a cattle guard that needed fixing at the main gate, cows and heifers in labor and a generator for the calving shed that wouldn’t start. Somewhere in between all that he needed to wash the new sheets and make the bed in the soon-to-be nanny’s room.
Sofie, the wife of his best friend, Zach, was watching the twins but it felt like bad form not to be there to welcome his new employee and... The word warn popped into his head, and he felt a sting of guilt for even thinking that word with respect to his children. A rush of love and affection followed. He adored his girls but the honest truth was that an explanation was only fair where the twins were concerned.
Conscience feeling scratchy, he grabbed a package of those raspberry-flavored fruity snacks the girls liked from the end of the aisle. Those, he noticed, were always in the same place and perfectly aligned to the sight line of a small child.
“Meds for the calf and we’re out of here,” he told Trout and headed toward the refrigerated unit. At least he would have no problem finding bovine medication.
Or so he thought.
Frustrating seconds ticked by as he scanned the shelves. A soft voice from behind him interrupted his search. “Hey, Jon, can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t budge from his position in front of the display case.
“I’m sorry, Grace. But I’m in a huge hurry. Can it wait until—”
A silk-clad arm snuck in beside him, nimble fingers plucking a bottle from the shelf below the one he’d been searching. “Here.” The bottle-holding hand then smacked lightly against his chest.
Taking the bounty, he studied the label. “Uh...” No wonder he hadn’t found it sooner. Why were companies always changing label designs and bottle sizes and making things look different? “Thank you.” With a final glance at the medication and a shake of his head, he shut the refrigerator door and turned to face the petite blonde now standing rigidly in front of him. “This is it.”
Adjusting her glasses, she gave him a brisk nod and an of-course-it-is look. Her gaze seemed to soften as Trout edged closer to examine her shoe. She gave the dog a pat.
“How did you...?”
“Dad said you called this morning.”
Dad was Frank Gardner. He and his wife, Alice, owned Brewster Ranch Supply. Grace had recently returned to Falcon Creek and was working for her parents while she established her own accounting business. Jon was her first client.
And what Grace said was true—Jon had called earlier to make sure the medication was in stock. Had that only been this morning? It felt like days ago. Ranching and hard work went hand in hand, but springtime meant calving season, which pushed it to a whole different level. His day had started hours before dawn and wouldn’t end until after dark. Technically, it wouldn’t end at all, not for a few more weeks, anyway, until his last cow had calved.
Grace was still staring at him. “It will only take a minute.”
“What will?” he asked.
“What I need to speak with you about. I know how busy you are, Jon. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please.”
The earnest expression on her face gave him pause. Seeing as how Grace was currently doing his taxes, he felt it imprudent to refuse. Maybe something had come up.
“All right, then,” Jon agreed, even as an unsettling feeling began to creep over him. Grace looked...off.
Exhaling a loud sigh of relief, she took off toward the back of the store like a horse for the barn, her heels clicking smartly on the scarred wood floor. The thump of his boots and the tap of Trout’s toenails joined in discordant harmony as they followed.
Inside her office, which also doubled as a supply room, he was surprised to see Katie Montgomery already seated in the chair in front of Grace’s desk. Katie was the daughter of the ranch foreman on the Blackwell Ranch, his grandfather’s spread. Katie and her sister, Maura, had grown up there and, at seven years younger, Katie felt like his kid sister.
She looked up from her phone. The frown she’d been wearing transformed into a tight smile. “Hi, Jon. Hey, Trout.” The dog gave her a friendly nudge and an enthusiastic tail-wag. Katie scratched his neck. Strands of reddish hair had pulled loose from her braid and she looked as tired as Jon felt.
“Hello, Katie.”
Jon glanced around, considered sitting on a crate marked Farm Cat Tasty Food and then decided to remain standing. Trapped in a cramped room with these two women would normally feel like a treat. That was not the case right now. The air was thick and charged with tension, like that brief, hair-tingling moment of warning right before a thunderstorm came barreling down from the Rockies. You knew it was coming but there wasn’t much you could do about it except hunker down and brace yourself. When neither woman seemed inclined to get on with it, he looked pointedly from Grace to Katie and back again.
“What’s going on, ladies?”
Grace lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. “This is very difficult for me. I consider both of you friends... I hate having to do this, but I know you both will appreciate it if I just get to the point.”
“I know I will.” Tasks ticked through his mind again like a slide-show to-do list.
“I can’t get a hold of Big E,” Grace said. Big E was the name most everyone used when referring to his grandfather, Elias Blackwell. Jon wasn’t surprised, since most of the time Big E didn’t want to be gotten a hold of.
“Uh...” Jon wasn’t sure how this was his problem.